by Linnea May
I was so agitated and confused because of what had happened in Mr. Portland’s office, and I still am. But now that Monday is over and I have another six days before I have to worry about seeing him, I feel as if a heavy weight has been lifted from my shoulders.
That is, until I approach the entrance of my dorm building and see him sitting there. He’s sitting on a bench next to the path leading up to the entryway, about ten feet away from me, holding a newspaper up to his face.
I know that he saw me - and I know that he’s here because of me.
I freeze mid-motion, standing at the curve leading to my dorm, staring at him as if a monster spawned in front of me.
He’s here for me, but how the hell did he know where to find me? How does he know I live here, in this particular dorm building?
I was going to have a nice, relaxing evening, hoping to think up a strategy for dealing with what happened between us. Now, he’s robbed me of that much needed time and space by appearing out of nowhere, unannounced, and unexpected.
I’m suddenly so furious at him, gone is the shock and worry that I just felt moments before!
I march up to him with long, angry strides.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I bark at him, returning to my old self, the same Lana who approached him after that first day of class.
Mr. Portland chuckles and calmly folds his newspaper before looking up at me with the sweetest smile imaginable. He’s dressed rather casually today in dark jeans and the exact same sweater he lent me a few weeks ago beneath an expensive-looking leather jacket with a thick fur collar.
“Is that any way to address one of your teachers?” he asks, without the slightest indication of anger.
I frown at him, quickly checking our surroundings. Students are walking across the campus in the distance, and while no one is currently within earshot, I know that people will be returning to the dorm because the last classes of the day are ending. Celia will be among them.
“Sit with me,” Mr. Portland says, placing his hand on the free space on the bench next to him.
I shake my head. “I can’t, I need more-”
“Sit with me,” he repeats, putting terse emphasis on the first word. His eyes narrow to slits as he looks up at me. Threat is written all over his handsome face. “You sit down now, or your next punishment will be multiplied by the last one by the hundreds, Lana.”
Fuck.
I blush and follow his order, plonking myself down on the bench like a sulking child, arms crossed in front of my chest.
“Good girl,” he says, and my insides instantly catch fire.
Fuck. I don’t want this. Not now. I can’t handle this.
Yet, my cheeks are burning, my heart is racing, and my mind is trembling, and I’m sitting next to the man who is more than capable of turning my entire being, and everything I thought I knew, upside down.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
JACKSON
“You missed class today,” I say without looking at her.
Lana is sitting next to me, wearing dark blue skinny jeans that fit her slim legs like a second skin, and a gray coat that wraps the rest of her - which I know to be beautiful - in shrouded mystery. She has her arms crossed in front of her chest, her schoolgirl messenger bag placed next to her feet, and her legs pressed together as if she was scared of me reaching between them.
“I was worried,” I add, still avoiding eye contact. I know I startled her, and she definitely neither anticipated nor wanted to see me today. But she’s not the one making the rules here, and the silent treatment has never worked well on me. On the contrary, it makes me chase a woman even more.
“I’m sorry,” she says, her eyes resting on her lap while she does that thing with her black ring again, nervously turning and fiddling with it.
“That’s not what I want to hear,” I say. “I want to know what’s going on with you. Where are we at, Lana?”
She inhales loudly, shaking her head as if admitting defeat. “I don’t know.”
“You do know,” I insist. “You’re just scared to share it with me.”
I lean forward, placing my elbows on my knees and turning to her. “Look at me.”
She lifts her eyes and turns her head to me, her face partly concealed by her brown hair that’s falling down like a curtain on either side of her face. She looks so fucking vulnerable, and so angry. Her eyebrows are furrowed and her lips pressed together, turning them into a slim line, as she looks at me grimly.
“I don’t know,” she repeats, sounding more confident this time. “I really don’t know.”
Our eyes remain fixed on each other for a few moments. She’s withstanding my gaze, but I can tell how much it pains her to do so. However, her lashes aren’t flickering, which means that she’s maintaining a calm anger at me, and her heart rate has not spun out of control. Yet.
“You didn’t use your safe word,” I tell her, leaning in closer.
Her eyes widen and she moves away from. “People might see-”
“What they will see is a teacher talking to one of his students,” I explain calmly. “A student who missed class today, a student who has never missed class before, and thus made her teacher worry.”
Her eyes narrow as she regards me with a skeptical look. “But-”
“You didn’t use your safe word,” I repeat.
“To avoid punishment?” she asks.
“Not exactly,” I say. “But to gain clarity on what was going on. Safe words exist to prevent you from getting hurt.”
She looks at me, doubtingly. “You humiliated me.”
I nod. “Yes. That was the point of it.”
“Why?”
“Because you misbehaved.”
She huffs and leans back. “I already apologized for that.”
“That’s not good enough for me.”
I want to say more, but hesitate when I see the look on her face changing as she stares toward the sidewalk leading up to the front door of Cleveland Hall. A short girl in blue jeans just walked around the corner, heading for the dorm building. Her round face lights up when she looks over and spots Lana seated on the bench next to me. However, her expression changes when she notices me next to Lana. Her eyes widen with surprise, flitting back and forth between us. Her pace slows down, but she doesn’t come to a complete halt and her eyes don’t leave us.
I can feel Lana tensing up next to me, straightening her back and clenching her hands into fists, as if she’s about to enter battle. She shoots a glare at the girl, who lets out a short giggle and winks at us.
Her gaze finally draws away from us, and she returns to her original walking speed. Lana remains tense and quiet, until the girl has slipped through the door and is out of sight.
“Fuck,” she hisses.
“Who was that?”
“My roommate,” she murmurs. “The last person I wanted to see us together.”
Hearing her say that sends a rush of accomplishment through my chest. If her roommate knows about me, Lana must’ve mentioned me to someone.
“I feel flattered,” I say in all honesty, sitting up and leaning back against the backrest of the bench.
Lana gives me a look from the side. “You shouldn’t.”
“She knows about me?” I assume.
“You are well-known among most students, Mr. Portland,” she murmurs. “It’s not like your face wasn’t plastered all over the media when your book came out.”
I smile at her. The undertone of disgust is so apparent in her voice that it should infuriate me, but all I can see is the success of getting under this girl’s skin. I love watching her battle, as she tries to come to terms with her inner turmoil.
But we need to step forward. I have no time for her little dance. One step ahead, two steps back - that’s too much tussling, even for me.
“Look, Lana,” I say, my voice soft yet solid. “I have no time for your little games and inhibitions. We both know that I have something to offer you - and we both kn
ow that you are curious to find out more about it. You either take a risk and jump in at the deep end, or-”
“Or you’ll punish me?” she lashes out with a sardonic undertone.
“No,” I retort. “There will be no punishments if you say no. There will be nothing. You’ll return to being nothing more than a student in my class, and we’ll forget about all of this.”
The look she throws at me strongly suggests that she doesn’t want that. But of course, no words follow to confirm – or deny—this assumption.
“What are your plans for tonight?” I ask.
She clears her throat. “Why are you asking?”
“Just tell me, Lana,” I persist. “I told you, no more games.”
She shakes her head, lowers her eyes, and fiddles with her ring. “Nothing.”
“No plans? No homework?”
“Nothing,” she repeats. “Except for explaining to my roommate what I was doing with you down here.”
“Good,” I say. “I have a proposition to make.”
She looks at me quizzically.
“Obey me one more time,” I begin. “And let me make things up to you. Tonight.”
“How?”
“Give me your number, go up to your room, and wait for me to message you and tell you to come back out,” I say. “I won’t be waiting for you, but a cab will be. You will get into that cab and let it take you to an address I have provided the driver.”
“To your place?” she whispers. The excitement in her voice is obvious.
“That doesn’t matter,” I divert. “Just follow my orders. Or don’t. You’ll have a few minutes to think about it, and if you don’t get into that cab, I promise you, I will leave you alone. No repercussions.”
She nods. “Okay.”
***
The minutes that pass between me sending her the text and her liberating reply seem to cover an eternity.
I heave a sigh of relief when I read her answer.
“I got in the cab.”
Those five words are enough to fuel me with excitement. I didn’t exactly plan this. When I sat down on the bench in front of her building, I couldn’t be sure that she’d actually show up, and even when she did, I knew that things were anything but settled between us. She’s scared, confused, and hurt by the humiliation I caused her during our play in my office. I don’t regret doing it, as this is all part of the process. But I still feel bad about her being this distraught about it.
I said I would make it up to her, and I will.
I’m not sending her to my place, because I don’t want to risk her being seen around there. Instead, I’ve rented a suite in a hotel, far away from campus and everyone who knows either of us. I told her to walk up to the reception desk and tell them to ask for my room so they can send her up to me, hoping that this doesn’t make things too shady for her. She’s investing a lot of trust in me by following these instructions.
A shy knock on the door announces her arrival, about half an hour after I arrived to the room. I don’t make her wait long and hurry to the door immediately.
She’s standing before me, wearing the exact same clothes I saw her in when I waited for her at her dorm after class. She has a coy smile on her face and a little shoulder bag flung over her shoulder instead of her usual satchel.
“I didn’t have time to change, or-”
“It doesn’t matter,” I say, beckoning for her to come inside.
She follows my gesture and stands like she feels a bit lost in the middle of the room, as I close the door behind her.
“Wow,” she exclaims. “This room is gigantic.”
I lock the door and chuckle. “I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s quite something, Mr. Big Shot,” she says, turning around to me.
I’m glad to see that she brought her sassy side along. It will make things a lot more fun.
“Can I offer you a drink?” I ask. “Water? Tea? Champagne?”
She tilts her head to the side, and something about her cute smile tells me that she’s made up her mind. She’s here to enjoy herself, and she likes the idea of being pampered by me.
She’s in for a treat - and a lot of trouble.
“Champagne?” she asks. “I’d like that. Haven’t had any in years.”
“Years?” I ask, making my way to the bar. “It’s about time then.”
I fetch the bottle from the metallic ice bucket and open it. While I fill our glasses, Lana wanders around the rooms. The suite is nothing special, at least not in my eyes. It’s just a small living area that’s connected to a bedroom with a big king-size bed. The colors are not really my taste, a lot of red in varying shades, topped with golden accents. The thick draperies covering the windows reach the entire length from ceiling to floor. I’ve already closed the ones in the bedroom, but left them open in the living room area, so that Lana gets to enjoy the magnificent view from up here.
Indeed, she walks up to the floor-length windows, stopping right in front of them with her hands behind her back as she looks outside.
“Wow,” she gasps.
I move next to her and hold out one of the glasses to her. She turns to me and takes it, casting a coy smile up at me. “Thanks.”
We clink glasses, and when she takes a first careful sip of hers, I can see her entire body relax instantly. I can’t have her drunk, but a little buzz to take the edge off never hurts.
“You like it?” I ask, nodding toward the glass in her hand.
She nods. “Very delicious. A lot better than the last one I had.”
“Good,” I say. “I hope you’ll say that about me, too.”
She blushes and tilts her head, her eyes fixating on the city beneath us. “We shall see.”
We shall see, huh?
“Take another sip,” I tell her.
She looks at me, contemplating for a moment before she finishes the entire glass at once. That’s not exactly what I told her to do, but I’ll trust her to know what she can handle. I take the glass from her hand and put it aside, along with mine.
She’s still wearing her heavy coat and scarf. I take her by the shoulders and turn her around to face me.
“You’ll let me undress you,” I whisper. “And you’ll do nothing but obey me from now on. Understand?”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks are glowing hot pink, flushed with excitement and the effects of guzzling down her champagne.
“What’s your safe word?”
“Ivy.”
I nod. “Good girl. Don’t forget that. Ever. I will stop immediately if I hear you say it.”
She nods.
I free her of her scarf and coat. She inhales sharply when I kneel down in front of her, one hand tracing the back of her leg until it’s placed on her lower calf, the other hand reaching for her foot, gently lifting it and taking off her shoe. She’s wearing ballerina flats again, despite the cold temperatures outside.
I repeat the same motion with the other leg, and then get back up on my feet. She’s still wearing the same dark blue jeans she wore when I caught her on her way home, and a thin blouse very similar to the one she wore in my office the last two visits, but this one is a light blue color instead of white. The fabric is so thin that one can almost see through it, but not quite.
Her eyes are on mine, a shy smile on her lips. Anticipating. Her calm demeanor is deceiving, as I know she’s turned upside down with both excitement and nervousness.
She yelps in surprise when I wrap my arms around her and pick her up, grabbing her small ass as I push her up. She wraps her long legs around my waist, and her arms fling around my neck, her small chest pushing against mine. Just as expected, I can feel her heart hammering.
I carry her to the bedroom, away from the open windows and any potential prying eyes.
I wanted to tease her, to move slowly and drive her insane with want, but she leaves me no other choice. She’s not the only one who went home hungry that day weeks ago.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
JACKSON
I see her casting a look over her shoulder as we enter the bedroom. While she may expect me to throw her right onto the bed, that is not what I have in mind. I set her down on her feet next to the bed and we engage in a hungry kiss, initiated by her while my hands travel along the sides of her slim torso, down to the waistband of her jeans.
She moans when I continue to unbutton her pants, hooking my finger inside the waistband to pull them down with me as I go down onto my knees in front of her.
She’s wearing a black thong underneath what looks nowhere near as innocent as the rest of her outfit. I help her step out of each leg, removing her socks in the process, and then I lean forward to kiss along her thigh. She’s trembling and breathing heavily as I close in on her center. I pause when I reach her core, placing a gentle kiss on her mound before I get back up on my feet and start unbuttoning her blouse.
Her hands reach for me, trying to do the same to my shirt, but I push them away. She huffs and shoots me a sulky look.
I ignore her little gesture of discontent and continue removing her blouse. Her bra follows shortly after. I hold her in place with a kiss, wrapping one arm around her, tracing along the bony line of her spine, down to her perky ass, while I use the other hand to pinch her left nipple. She has shown that she’s very responsive to anything done to her in this area, and I’m cursing myself for not bringing clamps with me. Watching her endure those would have been such a feast.
She moans when I move further across her stomach, pausing just beneath her belly button, before my hand slides underneath the fabric of her thong.
“Are you ready for me?” I ask, cupping her mound.
Her reply is a deep exhale, accompanied by pleading eyes.
“Let me check how ready you are,” I whisper, enjoying her erotic moan when I move her lips apart and feel the wetness between them. She’s dripping with desire.
“Good girl,” I praise her, and she replies with a hearty groan when I start teasing her wet nub with my index finger. She’s squirming, pressing her body against mine and getting up on her toes, her legs parting as she savors my touch.