Page 68 of Deviant Obsession

Something—orsomeone—has become more important to her than excelling in my class. Whatever it is, is ensuring the future she’s dreamed of for so long is getting destroyed.

Rather than resume my pacing, I pause for a moment, compulsively straightening the already pristine arrangement of papers and stationery on my desk. Just like the first time I waited for her to walk into my office, I need everything to be in line. Controlled. A not-so-subtle presentation of my nature for her to absorb, consciously or not.

I clench and unclench my jaw while I picture how she looked up at me from beneath those long lashes during that first meeting, hanging on my every word as if I held the keys to some greater truth. Perhaps I do.

My watch shows 2:58. Any moment now.

I adjust the angle of my chair, align my pen parallel to the edge of the desk. Everything in its proper place. Unlike the chaotic thoughts currently racing through my mind.

The shuffle of feet in the hallway has my head snapping up quicker than I can consciously think to keep my impulses in check. The cadence is unmistakable—quick but somehow hesitant at the same time, like she's always fighting the urge to run in the opposite direction.

Slowly lowering myself into my chair, I take a deep breath and let an air of professional calm settle over me. I can’t afford to betray just how tightly wound I get at the mere thought of Rhea Foster.

The footsteps pause outside my door. I can almost picture her pausing there, gathering her courage, perhaps tucking her hair behind her ear or adjusting her collar in that way thatsays she chases perfection. My breathing quickens despite my ironclad determination to appear unaffected.

One quiet knock, then another. All the tentative reluctance of a bunny before a fox’s den.

"Come in."

Rhea slips silently through the door and turns to close it behind her, not looking up at me until the last possible moment. The sunlight catches the golden highlights in her hair, creating a halo effect that almost taunts my every unholy thought. Even so obviously exhausted, she's breathtaking.

I force myself to remain seated, gesturing to the chair across from my desk with a nonchalant sweep of my hand. "Rhea, please sit."

Her fingers twist in the fabric of her skirt as she perches on the edge of the seat. The perfect picture of anxiety. I let the silence stretch for a minute or two, just reveling in the way she squirms. It’s as if her body already knows she’s in trouble.

What I wouldn’t do to teach that masterpiece of luscious curves a lesson.

Before my brain has a chance to shut down from all the blood suddenly rushing south, I lift her essay from my desk. The paper practically vibrates in my grip, though whether from her nervous energy or my own tightly-leashed control, I couldn't say. Without a word, I extend it across the desk.

She accepts it hesitantly, her eyes widening as she takes in the red marks bleeding through every page. The color drains from her face so rapidly I’m briefly concerned she might faint.

"AD?" The question huffs past her rosy lips as if she hadn’t meant to let it slip, her emerald eyes lifting to mine filled with naked horror. "Professor Shaw, I can't...my scholarship..."

I cut her off before she can spiral further. "Explain to me what's going on with you lately."

The blush that floods her cheeks is fascinating—I’ve never seen someone transition from ghostly pale to crimson quite so quickly. Her gaze drops to her lap, where the fingers of her other hand start worrying at a loose thread on her hem.

"I don't..." She swallows hard, still refusing to meet my eyes. "Everything's fine."

"Miss Foster." I infuse the warning with just enough steel to make her shoulders tense. "I believe we've discussed the matter of lying to me before."

That gets her attention. Her head snaps up, lips parting slightly as if to protest, but no sound emerges. I watch her throat work as she struggles to form words, to construct some acceptable explanation for her academic decline.

The paper crinkles in her grip as she shifts in her chair, clearly searching for an escape route that doesn't exist. She's not leaving until I get my answers.

"I've been..." Another hard swallow. "I've just been a little distracted."

"A little?" I arch an eyebrow, gesturing to the massacre of red ink before us. "This isn't the work of someone dealing with minor distractions, Rhea. This is the work of someone whose mind is entirely elsewhere."

She flinches at my assessment, but I note with growing interest how her pupils dilate at my stern tone. Fascinating. There's something here, something beyond simple academic struggles. I just need to push the right buttons to make her confess.

I rise from my chair, circling the desk until I can perch on its edge directly in front of her. The movement forces her to lean back, to tilt her face up to maintain eye contact. The position of power isn't lost on either of us, I’m sure.

"Tell me the truth. What's been occupying that brilliant mind of yours?"

She shifts in her seat again, and I catch the slight press of her thighs together. "I've been, um...socializing more, I guess. Trying new things."

"New things?" I lean forward slightly, invading her space just enough to make those glistening eyes grow impossibly wide. "Would these new things have anything to do with my advice about breaking free from your constraints?"

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