Page 25 of Kiss the Villain

Break him the fuck up.

“Now, when we talk aboutactus reus, the physical act of committing a crime, it’s important to remember that it's not just about the action itself, but the context in which it happens.” He walks the length of the podium, speaking in a monotone voice. “Was there intent? Did the defendant have the necessarymens rea, the guilty mind? Without both elements, you don’t have a crime. Let’s take rape, for example.”

My pen screeches to a halt on the notebook as he continues to address the class.

“The act of sexual penetration is clearly the physical component, but it’s the mental state that determines the severity and nature of the charge. Consent—or lack thereof—is crucial here. If the accused knew, or should have known, that consent was absent, the question becomes: was there willful disregard for the victim’s autonomy? Was there an intent to dominate, to exert power?

“Rape as a crime isn’t just about physical violence; it’s about the control, the manipulation, and the disregard for the victim’s agency. And this is where it becomes complex, because consent, and whether it was freely given, is often a matter of perception, a gray area that must be examined carefully. We need to ask ourselves: did the defendant act in a way that violates the very essence of someone else’s bodily autonomy?”

The pen breaks in my hand, and I let it fall on the notebook as his eyes flash toward me, deep mockery lying within.

He’senjoyingthis.

The prick is having the best time of his life reminding me of the only humiliation I’ve ever experienced.

He’s rubbing it in, ripping open the stitches Kill sutured and thrusting his fingers inside the wound, toying and making me feel every move.

The lecture is a damn hassle. My head feels like it’ll explode even after he moves on to another subject.

So when it ends, I’m ready to leave.

To gather information, form a bulletproof plan, and come back to face him in better physical and mental capacity.

Notebook in hand, I trail after my other classmates, listening to the girls giggling and whispering amongst each other about the ‘hot-as-fuck’ professor.

And I want to bashtheirheads in.

Stupid fucking idiots with no sense of recognizing danger or predators?—

“Stay behind, Carson.”

My spine prickles at the disturbingly calm voice. He’s not even looking at me, his attention on his laptop, and I consider ignoring him.

I’m not in the mood for a face-off, and I’m certainly having more murderous urges this fine morning.

But then again, Gareth Carson would never ignore a professor. And I never pull away from a challenge.

With a sigh, I step to the side, letting the others filter past me.

Some of my classmates give me a fleeting look, many of them smiling inside at seeing the resident golden boy being hated by the hotshot new professor. People don’t really like it when you hog the attention, especially if they’re incompetent fools who could’ve never reached that height.

So they wish for your downfall—they fantasize about it.

As the last of the students leave, silence fills the vast lecture hall, along with the pounding in my head.

A constant fucking pressure that’s clouding my vision.

Kayden doesn’t move to close the door—protocol for sure. He wouldn’t do anything that would get him fucked all the way to Sunday at such a prestigious university.

He sits at the edge of his desk, his hands gripping the frame with an ease that suggests control, his legs casually crossed at the ankles. I’d say he looks relaxed if I didn’t know exactly what the sick fuck is capable of.

His long, lean fingers tighten on the desk, and I catch a glimpse of the veins at the back, prominent, pulsing with every flex, extending to beneath the cuff of his shirt. Those veins that tightened and tensed when he held my jaw, my cheeks?—

No.

Not going there.

“You need to stop looking at me like that.” His slightly rough voice is low enough that none of the students passing by can hear it.

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