Page 89 of Blades of Obsession

Blade’s touch becomes more insistent, his fingers working inside me at just the right pace. I cling to his arm for support, my knees threatening to give out as he rubs my clit with his thumb.

“You like that, don’t you? Listening to her getting spanked while I finger your tight cunt,” he murmurs next to my ear, his voice husky.

I can’t form words, my mind a haze of both the sensations and sounds. All I can do is nod, my body trembling under his expert hands. His fingers move faster, and his other hand pinches my nipple, sending jolts of pleasure through me.

As the sounds from the other room grow more intense, so does the tension coiling inside me, ready to snap. His fingers push me closer, driving me towards the edge.

“Can I…” I whisper, then gasp.

“Come for me, angel. Squirt all over my fingers so I can lick them clean and taste every last drop when you’re done.”

With one final thrust, he hits my g-spot, and my body tenses. A soft cry escapes my lips as my orgasm crashes over me. Blade holds me steady, his fingers working relentlessly through my climax, drawing out every last bit of pleasure he can.

Chapter 34

AMELIA

My heart pounds so violently it feels like it might burst out of my chest. I’m shaking as I stand outside the old wooden door labeledMr. Adams. It’s my first official day back after taking a few days off to recover. Mr. Adams emailed me to come see him before his next class starts. I know what he wants. Wondering why my project due after the New Year break wasn’t turned in yet.

The sound of the few students chatting as they leave his room fades into the background, replaced by the roaring rush of my anxiety.

I take a deep breath, then another. Finally, I knock.

“Come in,” his voice calls from the other side, sharp and impatient.

I push the door open and step inside. The classroom is empty now, only rows of long desks leading up to his imposing figure at the front. When I get closer, he gestures to a chair in the front row.

“Sit.”

I obey, sitting down as he folds his hands on the desk, peering at me through his glasses. “What is your reason for not turning in your project on time?”

“Umm…” I hesitate. I don’t want to tell him about my kidnapping. I don’t want to tell anyone. I just want to move past those couple of days and put them behind me.

He sighs heavily, the sound filling the space between us like a storm cloud. “Here comes the excuses,” he mutters, shaking his head. “You’d think you’d already have the excuse thought out since you had the whole winter break to think of one.”

I brace myself for the usual berating. But instead, his expression does a one-eighty flip. He smiles—an unsettling smile, but a smile nonetheless—and stands up. My stomach churns as he picks up his chair and brings it over, sitting down right in front of me. Too close.

“You know,” he begins, his tone oddly casual for the situation. “I hate that stupid group. They walk around here like they own the place.”

What does that have to do with me or my assignment?

He places his hand on the side of my chair, close to my thigh. I flinch, shifting away, but there’s not much space to move. The chair’s hard edges feel like they’re trapping me in. “Imagine if,” he rasps, his hand inching closer. “I said that you couldn’t turn in the project late unless you did me a favor.”

I can barely breathe. “What kind of favor?”

Nausea rolls through me. Every fiber of my being tells me to bolt out of here, but again, I remain frozen. What is wrong with me? Why can’t my body ever move when I’m in the face of danger?

His gaze drops to my chest. “You’re smart. I think you can guess.”

“H-he’s going to hurt you, you know.” I can barely get the words out. My mind reels from fear and revulsion, I’ve never been in a situation like this before. A professor coming on to his…student?

He chuckles, the sound low and chilling. “I know he’s going to try. But the thing is, he always uses a knife. His precious little knife,” he mocks. “But, I’ll have a gun. And you know what they say about bringing a knife to a gunfight.”

“Actually, I always carry a small gun on me. I just never use it,” a familiar voice cuts in.

I breathe a sigh of freaking relief. I turn to see Blade, leaning against the side door, one leg crossed over the other. He has no idea just how gorgeous he looks in that pose—dark, mysterious, and, excuse my French, but hot as fuck in his all black gear, the way it clings to every muscle.

God damn it, I must be ovulating. Here I am, with a professor trying to come on to me, and all I can think about is how ridiculously good Blade looks.

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