Give In

by Layla Frost

And then someone knocked.

  I tried to lift my head away, but his hold tightened. “Whff fa fuaaa?”

  “It’s rude to talk with your mouth full, Eden,” he said, looking down at me with unbridled lust and blatant fury.

  He’s pissed at me.

  Why the hell is he pissed?

  The knock sounded again, each bang twisting my stomach and making my heart seize.

  He’s not going to answer it.

  That’d be insane.

  My heartrate kicked into overdrive as Damien moved closer to his desk until I was completely under it.

  I shook my head frantically.

  “Just a minute,” he called, his grip firm, keeping my mouth locked around him.

  I could’ve bit him, and I was tempted to. But I liked that piece of his anatomy. Not to mention, he’d likely yell, making it more likely we’d be caught by whoever was out there.

  Carefully, I stretched my leg back, relief swimming through me when I felt that the front of his desk went all the way to the floor.

  As long as I’m quiet, no one will know I’m here.

  And then I can kill Damien with my bare hands.

  Damien pulled me away until only his tip was in, and for a moment, I relaxed.

  I should’ve known better.

  He pushed my head back down his length, and had I not relaxed, I’d have gagged. Hard and fast, he raised his pelvis as he brought me down, fucking my mouth until I was a sputtering mess.

  And then he stopped.

  With a low hiss and a harsh curse, he pressed my head down a little more. “Come in.”

  What?

  No, no, no.

  He throbbed against my tongue, the salty bitterness of his precome steadily covering it. His fingers untangled from my hair as he released me completely.

  The door opened. “You wanted to see me?”

  No. There’s no way.

  Even he wouldn’t do this.

  Some papers rustled as Damien said, “Come in, Mr. Crosby. I had a note about your paper.”

  He did do this.

  God, he’s an asshole.

  I could’ve pulled away.

  I should’ve pulled away.

  Damien wasn’t forcing me to suck him off. He wasn’t holding my head down. He wasn’t even touching me.

  But I didn’t stop.

  Because Damien hadn’t told me to. He hadn’t moved me away. He hadn’t come yet.

  Because I wanted to be his good girl.

  I was mindless and stupid and greedy and horny.

  It was so wrong, but God, it felt so right.

  Gripping his thighs, I could feel the muscles clench as my nails dug in. Slow and quiet, I moved, using my lips to squeeze him tight. My tongue twirled against the head, flicking the sensitive bundle of nerves on the underside before I went down to swallow his shaft again.

  I tuned out their talking above me, only hearing the muffled hum of it. If my conscience was calling me nasty names, I must’ve tuned that out, too. I hated myself and Damien a little more with each passing second, but I couldn’t stop.

  I barely noticed that the buzz of conversation had ended until a door closed.

  “My depraved angel. Mine. Fuck,” Damien grunted, his fingers spearing back into my hair as he took control and rocked himself deeper to spill down my throat.

  When he finished, when I’d swallowed down every spurt of come he had for me, I pushed his chair so hard, it nearly toppled over. I scrambled out from under his desk, tears burning in my eyes and shameful lust coiled deep in the pit of me.

  “You asshole,” I snarled.

  Damien didn’t look concerned at my insult. He sure as hell didn’t look ashamed.

  Leaning back in his chair, his still hard cock stretching proudly up his stomach, he smirked unapologetically as he put his hands behind his head. “I didn’t do anything.”

  “You set that up.”

  He shrugged, tucking himself away and redoing his pants. “I may have set the meeting.”

  “You knew I’d be on my knees when he got here. I can’t believe that you did that.”

  Damien stood and circled me, a lion playing with his prey. “Was my hand on your head?”

  “No, but—”

  “Did I make you keep going?”

  “No, you—”

  The very tip of Damien’s finger trailed along my shoulder, back, and collarbone as he walked. “I heard an interesting story on the way to my classroom this morning.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear the haze so I could follow along with the rapid subject change. “What?”

  “A group of guys were talking about a party from a few weeks ago. One was saying he wanted to hit you up but wondered if you and Crosby were still… smashing.”

  It wasn’t fury that’d glittered in his eyes.

  It was jealousy.

  “Damien—”

  Stopping, his gaze cut to me.

  “Professor Caine,” I tried instead, but he shook his head.

  His jaw clenched, the muscle ticking wildly as he gritted out, “The group and I got a nice rundown of your ride home from the driver.” He stalked toward me as I stepped away—out of instinct not fear. “He said you were all over Crosby. Wild.” My back hit the wall, and his arms went to either side of my shoulders. His face lowered into mine. “Gagging for it.”

  “That was before,” I whispered.

  “Were you gagging for it, Eden? Or are you still gagging for it?”

  “Don’t be a dick.”

  He lowered an arm so he could cup me possessively. His eyes flared and he groaned when he felt my arousal through my pants. “Fucking soaked. Were you wet like this for him?”

  “Damien, please.”

  He slipped his hand into my leggings and panties. His thick finger speared into me, crooking to stroke the spot that had my toes curling. “Tell me.”

  I shook my head rapidly. “No. I kept thinking about you. Only you’ve made me wet like this.”

  He ground his erection into my side as he finger fucked me. “Because this is mine. You’re mine. I’ll never, not in a million fucking years, let you go. You chose this. Chose me.”

  Each of his filthy-sweet words pushed me until I exploded, coming with gasping breaths and mindless bliss.

  We were fucked-up.

  Dysfunctional.

  So wrong, but so right.

  Shame and guilt and confusion and happiness and lust and—sickeningly enough—pride, swirled through me with about a million other emotions. Overwhelmed by it all, the tears that burned my eyes spilled free, trailing in steady streams down my cheeks.

  Damien watched, his hard-on pressed tight to me as he lowered his head to lick a single tear.

  “I hate you,” I whispered my lie.

  “I know,” he whispered his.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  * * *

  Everything is Different

  Eden

  “I want you to come.”

  “I already did,” I joked through the disappointment that sat heavy on my chest. “If I come again, I might need an IV of Gatorade and a nurse.” I leaned back to look at Damien. “How would you look in a naughty nurse’s outfit?”

  His lips tipped up. “Awful. I don’t have the legs for it.”

  I squeezed my legs, pressing my knees against his outer thighs. “Now we both know that’s a lie.”

  Cupping my cheek, he brushed his thumb across my bottom lip. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  Yeah.

  I did.

  Despite the late hour, Damien and I were still in his home office. He was finishing grading some papers and replying to any urgent emails. I was straddling his lap, watching HGTV on the TV he’d set up on the small bookcase behind his desk.

  Part of why we were still awake was because he kept rewarding himself by kissing me or playing with me or eating me. Sometimes it was a pre-ward, done before he’d even started a task. Not very effective, but I wasn’t complaining
.

  The other reason he was still working was because he wanted to enjoy the long weekend with me. No assignments. No emails. No responsibilities. And, according to him, no clothes.

  Before we got to the naked fun time, though, he had to spend the next day at his parents’ house for Thanksgiving.

  “I’ll cancel. Say I’m sick,” he said, licking along my jaw to my neck.

  I tilted my head to give him more access. “Your family will show up here,” I reminded him.

  “I won’t answer the door.”

  “Doesn’t your sister have a key?”

  “I’ll change the locks.”

  I gave a soft laugh. “It’ll be fine.”

  “Just come with me,” he suggested for the twentieth time before biting down on my neck and making me melt.

  Shaking my head, I leaned away before him and his treacherous mouth got me to agree to anything and everything. “It’s just a few hours and then we’ll have the whole weekend together.” He opened his mouth, but I put my finger against his lips. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got wild plans that involve reading while I soak in the tub until I’m pruney. Then I’ll take the party train to bed and read there. Maybe I’ll get wild and nap.”

  Damien nipped the pad of my finger. “Telling me you’ll be naked all day is not helping your case.”

  Despite the joke, there was concern in his eyes.

  He’s worried about me.

  I hadn’t planned to spend the holiday with him. Usually, everyone I knew went home for the long weekend. Or they spent Wednesday night closing down the bars and Thursday in bed or sprawled on the bathroom floor. I’d been alone the last few Thanksgivings, and even before that, really.

  The holidays weren’t warm memories.

  Damien hadn’t shared my assumption of a day apart. He’d wanted me to come with him to his parents’. At my refusal, he’d declared he was staying home, too. It’d taken some back and forth, but I’d thought we’d reached an agreement.

  I might not have planned on spending the day with him, but knowing it was an option—a stupid risky one, but an option all the same—made it disappointing to have to turn down. It was yet another thing I’d miss out on.

  Forcing a smile, I hoped I hid the pang of sadness. “Hey, I can’t remember the last time I was home alone—no way am I putting on pants. It’ll just give you something to look forward to.”

  I’d barely finished my sentence when he took my mouth in a bruising kiss. I melted into him, loving the way he consumed me. His hands went to my shirt, and I grasped at the last bit of control I had.

  Gripping his wrists, I turned my head away and panted, “You’ve got work to finish.”

  “Taskmaster,” he grunted, grinding me down against his hard-on.

  “If my often sore and battered ass is any indication, it’s usually you wielding the whip.” I tilted my head and pursed my lips. “I’d be willing to wear some leather and give the crop a swing, though.”

  He laughed against my lips. “I’m sure you’d enjoy that payback. But no.”

  I shrugged. “It was worth a shot.”

  Keeping hold of me, Damien stood before setting me on his chair. “If you’re going to insist on making me read the same regurgitated Wikipedia paragraphs, I need another beer.” He grabbed my water bottle. “Want a snack?”

  I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.”

  My eyes took in the rear view of him as he walked from the room. His muscled back led down to where his track pants hung low on his hips. I knew I’d get an even better view when he returned since his shirtless torso was a sculpted-from-marble thing of beauty, and the deep vee muscles at his pelvis were practically a neon sign pointing down to his impressive dick print in the well-worn pants.

  Tucking my knee under my chin, I used my other foot to spin the chair in half circles, my mind on everything and nothing.

  There was a lot I needed to talk to Damien about. My family. His family, probably. Hell, we hadn’t even talked about what’d happened under his desk. By the time he’d gotten home that night, my anger had waned, guilt taking its place. I hadn’t even wanted to think about what I’d done.

  We needed to set parameters. Guidelines and limits.

  I knew it, and yet, I thought the same thing as every other time the opportunity had presented itself.

  We’ll talk later.

  It can wait.

  Shaking off my melancholy, I was about to spin around to watch my show when Damien’s open laptop caught my eye.

  I’d like to think that I was a good person. That my past, filled with a lack of privacy and untrustworthy people, put me in a unique place to fully appreciate the trust that Damien was giving me. He’d never tried to hide his phone passcode or angle his screens away from me so I couldn’t see what he was doing. He’d always been open with me, and I’d like to think that I’d earned that trust and would continue to nurture it.

  I’d like to think all that…

  But nope. My curiosity and nosiness took control, and I peeked at the subjects of his messages in his inbox. Most were just about meetings or requests for extensions.

  Boring.

  Boring.

  Way boring.

  Serves me right.

  “What’s this?” I whispered to myself, reading the subject. “‘Paid internship candidates?’”

  Usually, internship opportunities were just posted online, often getting filled before the majority of the student body even saw them. A paid internship would be especially competitive and cutthroat, like Hunger Games, but worse because everyone was fueled by a steady diet of Natty Ice and instant ramen.

  He has over a hundred unopened emails with multiple read ones mixed throughout. He’ll just assume he opened it.

  My heartbeat hammered in my chest as I did something stupid.

  I opened the damn email.

  I’m going to hell.

  Keeping an ear out for Damien, I scanned the message.

  Okay, I’m going to hell, but it’ll be worth it.

  I wanted that job. Badly.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to decide what to do.

  I could stalk the online listing and hope I saw it before everyone else. But the chance of that happening was slim, which meant I was waving goodbye to a dream job.

  I could tell Damien I saw the email. Then I had to hope he wasn’t furious I’d snooped in his email, and that he was willing to give me preferential treatment, something I’d been adamant he never do.

  Or I could forward the email to myself before deleting all traces of it from Damien’s computer.

  Again, I’d like to think I had to spend time deciding what to do…

  But I didn’t.

  I forwarded myself the email and deleted the evidence before my conscience had time to go all Jiminy Cricket on my hypocritical ass.

  I’m the worst.

  Even as I thought it, excitement at the prospect of a paid internship bubbled through me. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t qualified for it. I was smart. I had great grades. I’d been working shit jobs for years.

  I deserved a break, dammit.

  Spinning around in the chair, I pressed play on my show.

  I didn’t even realize Damien had returned a few minutes later until he asked, “Did you think I wouldn’t notice?”

  Jumping, I nearly toppled the chair.

  Holy shit, he knows.

  He always knows everything.

  Shaking his head, he handed me a bowl. “I was hoping we’d actually try to bake this.”

  I looked down to see a few scoops of cookie dough.

  Cookie dough that’d come from a package I’d already sampled a piece or two or half from.

  “Oops?” I tried as I stood.

  “Uh-huh.” He sat, and I straddled him. “Let me guess… She’s a professional balloon animal walker and he tests wind chimes, and their budget is nine hundred thousand.”

  It took me a minute to realize he was talking about the TV show. I’d bee
n so wrapped up in my guilt and excitement, I hadn’t even realized House Hunters was on.

  “Close,” I said. “She’s a professional snuggler and he paints erotic clown portraits, and their budget is one-point-five million.”

  “I’d laugh, but I’m not sure you’re joking.” Kissing my head, he spun the chair so I was looking over his shoulder at the TV and he was facing his desk.

  This is it.

  He’s going to notice the missing email.

  My heart hammered so crazily in my chest, I wondered if he could feel it. After a few minutes of tense silence, I leaned back to sneak a peek at him.

  He didn’t look suspicious or angry or confused.

  He looked… fine.

  No, that wasn’t true.

  He looked happy.

  And, sure, I was a shitty person who was going to hell, but I was insanely happy, too.

  Relaxing, I whispered, “Thanks for the snack.”

  I wasn’t sure what Damien saw in my expression, but he took one look at me and slammed his laptop shut. “Thanks who?”

  My lips parted, my just slowing heart kicking into overdrive again. “Thanks for the snack, Professor Caine.”

  “Turn off the TV, angel.”

  A full-body tremble went through me as I did what he said.

  Grabbing the bowl back from me, Damien reached over to put it, his beer, and his laptop on the bookshelf behind us. “Stand and strip.”

  I almost tripped in my hurry to climb off his lap. Stripping didn’t take long since I was only wearing one of his long-sleeved tees, a pair of sleep shorts, and bulky slippers. My moves were far from graceful, especially compared to what he’d seen me do at Sinners, but that didn’t seem to matter.

  If anything, he was more enraptured by me. The real me, without the rehearsed moves and sexy costume. His gaze shifted to watch my every movement, his eyes roving over each inch of exposed skin until I stood naked in front of him.

  Vulnerable.

  Filled with nervousness.

  Practically shaking with anticipation.

  “Bend over the desk, cheek down and arms spread toward the corners,” he ordered. I began to gather the papers he had strewn about when his palm landed hard on my ass. “Did I tell you to move those?”

  “No, Professor Caine.”

  “Then do as I said.”