Page 3 of Blackwell Manor: A Lesson in Submission

Lillian’s lips curved, amused. She didn’t look away.

Neither did Isabella.

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The First Touch

When the lesson finally ended, Emily scampered off, leaving Isabella alone in the vast library.

Or almost alone.

She gathered the worksheets, her fingers brushing the smooth wood of the desk, her breathing steady—until she felt a shift in the air, the presence of someone stepping too close.

Lillian.

Isabella’s spine stiffened as the older woman moved behind her, so close she could feel the heat of her body.

“You’re very patient with her,” Lillian murmured, her voice low, warm, dripping with something dangerous.

Isabella swallowed hard. “She’s bright. Just needs guidance.”

A soft hum. “And do you enjoy your work, Isabella?”

The way she said her name. Slow. Measured. As if tasting it.

Isabella turned her head slightly, but it was a mistake—because now, Lillian was even closer, her breath a whisper against Isabella’s ear.

And then it happened.

A touch.

Faint. Lingering.

Lillian’s fingers brushed down the length of Isabella’s arm, barely there, but enough to make every inch of her skin tighten, every nerve flare awake.

Isabella did not move.

She couldn’t.

She didn’t want to.

“You’re very tense,” Lillian whispered, her fingers ghosting along Isabella’s wrist, soft, unhurried. “Are you nervous?”

Yes.

No.

Maybe.

Because this wasn’t normal. This wasn’t right. And yet—

A shiver rolled down Isabella’s spine, her breath catching in her throat.

Lillian’s touch didn’t stop.

Instead, she dragged a single nail up Isabella’s forearm, so faint, so deliberate that Isabella felt her stomach clench, heat coil low between her thighs.

She needed to step away. She needed to say something, to put an end to this before—

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