Page 106 of Nocturne

“I don’t force women, Ara. That’s not who I am. But you, you will be mine. By your choice.”

His eyes shine with a smirk shortly, clearly seeing every unspoken thought, every reaction I’m fighting to hide. Satisfied with the stupefaction and anger on my face, he finally lets me go, leaving behind the imprint of his gigantic paw around my neck.

Before I can say something to knock that barely there smirk, I see Dr Harrison. I’m quick to plaster the practised smile, straighten my already neat dress and step in front of the infuriating man I decide to ignore.

“Dr Harrison, how are you?”

The man stops in the hallway, looking into the classroom at my voice. His usually frowny face, which has become his characteristic all over the university, softens, and he gives me a rare smile he only reserves for his close peers. I relax whenever I see that smile as it tells me that my hard work to befriend him hasn’t gone to waste.

“Good day, Ara. Will I be seeing you at my house for the weekend party?”

I nod, opening my mouth to say that I’d love nothing more. Harrison’s eyes dart behind me. I can feel Zagan standing there, so close that his body heat dances across my back. Something he must have seen there scares Harrison back into a scowl that I spent years softening. There is also fear as he clears his throat and takes a step back.

“Or perhaps, some other time. Goodbye, Dr Sinclair.”

A not-so-subtle way of invitation being revoked. Dr Sinclair and not Ara.

Harrison leaves, and I turn to glare at the man responsible. It doesn’t take much effort to put every ounce of anger into it. With the way he forced my hand yesterday, the irrationality of his words from moments ago, the utter embarrassment I felt and still feel for what I dreamt, wanted—and still do—last night and the way he behaves as if he owns the ground he stands on it, makes it is easy to glare daggers at the man. I pride myself on being patient, but this man doesn’t deserve my nicety anymore.

“It took metwoyears to befriend him! You ruined it!”

I expect him to retort that he did nothing. Technically, he did do nothing, but I know the ferocity of his glare and what it can do to people. No one stands to witness their doom when the apex predator looks at them as if he wants to shred them apart.

“Why do you need a spineless coward as your friend?”

“Because he allocates funds to research! Which happens to include mine!”

Ineeda Confocal laser scanning microscope and also some NGSs. Kevin broke the one I had. I could only have one of the two before; now, I don’t think I could have either. Angry tears come to the surface as I sidestep him, wanting to be anywhere but here. I also try my darndest not to call him any names. Name-calling didn’t do anyone any favour.

“I'll give you the money”

“I don’t want your money,” I pull my bag onto my shoulder and grab my things.

“I’m allowed to make donations and request its allocation, little siren.”

That shuts me up. One, I didn’t know he knew that. Two, and by request, I know he means to make a demand or scare the dean into giving me the money. Great, then I’ll be looked at as the professor with mob connections who slept her way for her research. Just frigging dandy!

“I say this with utter disregard,” I scowl at him, “Why don’t you take your money and shove it up your…your…butthole!”

I expect retaliation, more show of power. That’s what men with large egos did. Bulldoze or trample others with power orstrength. Zagan has both. But he surprises me by giving me a real smile. The smile that throws me off guard and stills me on the spot. It is small, but the tug of his lips and the lightness in his eyes make him look a decade younger, taking away the hard edges despite the scars. A smile that is embedded into my brain, a smile that makes it difficult for me to breathe.

“Your sass only makes me hard, little siren.”

I try to be repulsed by his words. I try a lot, but I cannot. Not when he puts an image of his hardness, and my eyes involuntarily snap down to his groin. I’m quick to turn away, my cheeks heating when I find an impressive bulge between his legs, straining against the material of his pants.

“That’s disgusting,” my voice strains to keep the breathlessness out of it.

“You want me, Ara.”

I do. But I'd rather stick my hand into a beehive than agree to that.

“I most assuredly do not!” I scoff and cross my hands under my breasts.

A second. Within one second, he is in my space, one of his hands circling my waist and pulling me flush against his hard chest. His other hand goes to hold the base of my hair, tugging on it harshly to make me look up at him. The lightness of his eyes is replaced by something dark and carnal, his nostrils flaring.

“If I shove my hand between these maddeningly thick legs,” the hand on my waist travels to my hip and then to the upper thigh, hitching my breath in the process. “Will I not find this cunt weeping for me?”

There should be a law against men with voices this deep, turning husky when he is turned on and talking dirty.

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