Page 11 of Under Fyre

“Trust me, Charlotte.” I put my mouth by her ear. “Let me help you.”

She starts nodding furiously. “Okay. Okay.”

I know she’s not sincere, but it doesn’t matter. The brain is an intriguing machine. It can easily fool itself.

“Tell me you trust me,” I whisper, my hands gliding over her hips.

“I trust you.”

“Tell me you’ll obey.”

“I—I’ll obey.”

My hand slides around to her plump ass. I can’t stop myself from squeezing her, and a thrill chases through me at her breathless gasp when I do.

“Now ask me to fix you.”

Charlotte’s throat moves when she swallows. “Fix me.”

I shake her. “Like you mean it.”

“P-please fix me, Professor Fyre.”

I smile, give her one last squeeze. It’s unbearable, the urge to slide my hand between her legs. To feel if this contact is making her as wet as it is making me hard.

But I can’t lose control now that I’ve managed to scrape it back.

“Good girl,” I murmur into her ear. “Good girl, Charlotte.”

Chapter Seven

Charlotte

Asharp bark wakes me. I sit up in a rush, my heart pounding and my eyes struggling to focus on anything in the dark room.

I left the curtains open last night so I could see the moon and the stars. Now gray light streams through the windows. Soulless, empty.

Another bark has me on my feet.

I inch over to the window, keeping myself flat against the wall as I peek around the corner.

Fyre’s dog is outside—a low, dark shape against the grass. It’s chasing something, but I can’t see what. When whatever it was reaches a tree and goes up it, the dog jumps onto its hind legs.

It’s only up for a second before one of its back legs collapses, sending the dog sprawling.

My hand shoots to my mouth.

I don’t know how it’s possible to be terrified of somethingandnot want to see it get hurt. Maybe it’s because this dog could have attacked me, but it didn’t.

It could have lunged at me, ripped out my throat. All it did was stop me from escaping.

I climb back into bed, try to sleep. But oblivion evades me—my mind is awake, regurgitating yesterday’s events, trying to understand them.

A while after daylight hits my room, Fyre comes in with breakfast.

He’s wearing a thin, long-sleeved shirt and a jacket today. Is he going outside? Running errands? Would that give me an opportunity to escape?

I see a shape in the hallway before he pushes the door closed with his heel. His dog, sitting patiently outside. When our eyes meet, its ears flinch and it starts wagging its tail.

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