Page 58 of Royal Bargain
I trail a hand down his chest. “How does that sound, baby? Some fun, kinky time together?”
He leans in, brushing his mouth against mine. “Only if I get to make you sing for me.”
20
LIAM
She says the word kinky and I’m a goner.
My brain short-circuits in the best way, already conjuring half a dozen filthy scenarios—and knowing Ana, she’s got a full plan forming behind those wicked eyes.
“Only if I get to make you sing for me,” I murmur against her mouth.
She hums, pleased, then pulls back just enough to look at me properly. “Tempting. But I was thinking something… new.”
“Oh?” I slide my hands to her waist. “You’ve got something in mind already, don’t you?”
Ana tilts her head like she’s appraising me—eyes glinting, a slow smile curving her lips. “Tell me, Mr. Brannagan… have you been keeping up with your assignments?”
I blink. Then grin. “Wait. Are we doing a professor thing?”
She turns, walking away with a sway of her hips that makes it real hard to focus. “I mean, you did say ‘sexy professor, naughty student’ the other night. I’m just taking you up on it.”
“I thought I was the professor in that one,” I call after her, amused.
She doesn’t even look back. “Too bad. I called dibs.”
God, this woman is incredible.
By the time I follow her into the bedroom, she’s already slipped off her shirt and is pulling a pair of glasses—her disguise glasses, the ones she wore to meet Ingrid—out of the drawer. She perches them on her nose and gives me a look so commanding it sends a thrill straight down my spine.
“Take a seat, Mr. Brannagan,” she says, all clipped precision. “I’ve reviewed your latest… submission.”
I flop down at the edge of the bed, trying not to laugh. “And? Am I passing?”
“Oh, absolutely not.” She stalks closer, one slow, deliberate step at a time. “In fact, your essay was riddled with inappropriate metaphors, and more than a few deeply unprofessional comments about your instructor’s—” she pauses, eyeing me over the rim of her glasses, “—physical attributes.”
I pretend to be aghast. “I would never.”
“Oh really?” She straddles my lap without warning, fingers curling into my shirt collar. “You ended a paragraph with, and I quote, ‘Professor Volkov’s mouth could tempt a saint to sin.’”
I smirk. “That does sound like me.”
She yanks my shirt open—buttons flying—and presses her mouth to the curve of my throat. “You’ll have to be punished for that.”
“I accept my punishment,” I groan, dragging my hands up her thighs.
She adjusts her glasses like she’s getting into character, even though I know she’s halfway there already. The glint in her eyes says she’s ready to devour me—but only after I’ve been thoroughly broken in.
“You’re lucky I didn’t report your behavior to the Dean,” she says, her voice smooth and sharp like silk over steel. “But I believe in… rehabilitation.”
I swallow hard, heat coiling low in my gut. “I’m willing to do whatever it takes to earn back your trust, Professor.”
“Oh, I know you are.” She slides off my lap and stands in front of me. “Strip. Slowly.”
I obey without question, heart pounding as I stand and begin unbuttoning my shirt under her watchful gaze. She doesn’t move—just crosses her arms, watching every inch of skin I reveal with clinical interest, like she’s cataloging me for future lectures.
When I reach for my belt, she lifts a hand. “That’s enough.”
