by Dani René
“Sit.” The one word is ice cold, piercing my chest with its finality. There is no room for debate from the look in his eyes, and as much as I want to fight him on it, I don’t.
Sighing, I sit down, but I don’t get comfortable. If this asshole thinks I’m some fragile little girl, he has another fucking thing coming.
“I would like to know more about you,” he says. “The night with the two men, and they were men, in their early twenties. What did you feel when you had their hands all over you?” His voice drops an octave; it’s gruff.
“Why do you want to know about that?” I challenge quickly. I don’t like talking about what I did. The past is where it needs to be—behind me. And as much as I would like someone to confide in, Mr. Donati is not the person I want to be spilling all my ugly secrets to.
“Pretty girls who do bad things are my kryptonite.” Elian’s tone turns to a husky growl, and the deep rumble sends a tingle straight between my thighs.
“Handsome men who do sinful things are my poison,” I counter, which earns me a sexy grin. “But what if I’m one of those bad girls who would most probably be very bad news for you?” I watch how his mouth tilts, how his perfectly full lips turn upward at the corners, and his eyes seem to glow with intrigue. “My addiction.”
“I doubt that, little deviant,” he says. “If I were to order you on your knees right this very second, tell you to spread your legs and settle your cunt on my shoe and rub it until you’re a whimpering mess … would you?”
The rumble of his tone turns dark, his eyes dim with a shadow, and the usually bright blue has turned into a deep, endless ocean. There is a promise in his voice, one that warns me once more to run, to turn for the door.
But I don’t.
“Yes.”
A groan is the response to my affirmation. He doesn’t realize that I’ve waited for this. I’ve craved, ached, and tormented myself just to hear those filthy words come from his mouth. He doesn’t know it, but I will make him see.
“Then do it,” he grunts, a smirk curling his full lips as he watches me. His pupils dilate, making the darkness in his eyes even more prominent. Slowly, ever so fucking slowly, I lower myself to my knees. I don’t move. Silence fills the air, it hangs heavily, a guillotine ready to drop, and I’ll go willingly if this is the last moment I have. My chest tightens, the ache that’s been following me for months is still there, but with Elian’s eyes on me, it eases.
His head tips to the side. He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he narrows his eyes as he looks at me. Taking me in, he slowly shakes his head, and I almost think he’s about to send me home, but he doesn’t.
“At first, I wanted to fight this bullshit attraction I have,” he says, his words lowering to a near whisper. My breath catches at his admission, and I wait for him to say more, but I’m met with silence.
“And now?” I’m once again poking the sleeping bear. But I don’t care anymore because I want this.
He pushes to his feet. He’s tall, looming over me and the coffee table that’s still strewn with papers. But he doesn’t come toward me. Instead, he goes to the liquor cabinet, and I watch him pour a generous shot of amber liquid.
He brings the tumbler to his lips as he settles back in the chair. His stare does nothing to calm my rapid heartbeat. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to calm down while I’m around Elian. Especially when we’re alone. Especially while I’m on my knees, waiting for him to command me into action.
“Tell me something, Arabella,” he says when he settles in his chair again. Blue eyes pierce me, holding me hostage. “Why are you here?” He rests his right ankle on his left knee and sits back into the cushions with his blue eyes piercing me.
“You asked me—”
“No. I mean, why are you kneeling in my living room?” he asks, tipping his glass toward me. “When you could be out with Ahren and his friends, or perhaps with some other young guy from the academy? Someone your own age.”
“I don’t want someone my own age,” I tell him fiercely as conviction burns in my words, but Elian doesn’t seem convinced.
He looks at me through narrowed eyes for a long while before he responds, “Perhaps that’s the truth. Is your young heart aching for a father figure? Or is it that you just enjoy being bad? Tell me your story, little deviant?”
“I’m—”
“And don’t bullshit me. I want the truth, or you leave my house and never return.” His command is fierce, cold, just like the way he’s glaring at me.
How do I tell my history teacher I want him to rip all my clothes off and do sinful things to me? It sounds stupid when I think it in my mind. I spoke a big game of being all grown up, but the way Elian is looking at me right now, I feel like the teenager with a crush that I truly am. Will he send me home if I told him how much I’d love him to dominate me?
“Shall I take a guess?” Elian asks, his dark brow arching in question, and I nod. “I think you’re here because when you’re close to me, when I look at you, it makes your pretty cunt wet. Your heart skips a beat whenever I call your name, and your body aches for my touch even though you have no clue what I can do to you.” His words send heat to my cheeks, and my body does respond in just the way he’s mentioned. My heartbeat is deafening while my throat is thick with nervousness. My fingers tremble, and I know he can see my reaction to him.
He lifts a tumbler to his lips and takes a long sip, but he doesn’t break eye contact, and I can’t find words to refute his admission. Instead, I stay quiet because even if I wanted to, I can’t deny he’s right. Everything he’s said, is exactly how I feel.
“And you’re here because you think I might want to seal your lips with mine, perhaps even trail my hand over your shoulder, teasing my way down your arm until I grip your hip and tug you closer to me. Those are all gentle, affectionate movements. Things a good man might do.”
The more he speaks, the deeper his voice gets. I can’t stop myself from squirming as my ass rests on the heels of my feet, and those blue eyes track my movement. As infinitesimal as it is, Elian sees it all. He doesn’t move; he doesn’t even smile this time. The serious expression on his face is hard as stone, as if no emotions are taking hold of him the way they are of me.
“What would you do?” I keep my gaze locked on his. I don’t want him to see me as weak because I’m not. I need him to look at the woman I am, not the girl. I’m old enough, and he knows it. The only thing keeping him at a distance is his job, which looking at his house, he doesn’t need.
“I’m very restrained,” he tells me. “I can wait this out until you finally admit how you feel. Let me make something very clear, Arabella,” he says, then leans forward. His elbows on his knees, his left hand holding onto the tumbler, and his other hand taunting me as he snakes it through his dark hair. “You will admit it. I love to fuck, and I do it very dirty. I like to toy with the women I’m with. I show no mercy. Is that something you want? Because the moment you say yes, there is no turning back.”
He gulps down the last of his bourbon before setting the glass on the folders on the table. The silence that awaits me is stifling. I need to answer him.
Can I do this? Can I be with him and still keep a shred of my dignity?
“I want to tell you, but …” My words taper off into the space between us, and it feels like my tongue is swollen and I can’t speak. I want to tell him how much I crave everything he’s saying, but for the first time in a long while, I’m scared.
“You have to understand something, Arabella. My job is something I can do without. But if we do this, if you can admit you want me and what I’m offering, then I’m not quitting. And you know why?” he asks. I shake my head no. “Because it’s going to be much more fun fucking with you at school, right under all their noses. I’m going to bend you over my desk and spread those pretty thighs, and I’m going to make you come all over my cock right in the history class.”
My body is flaming with desire. Lust courses through me like
lava, hot and fiery. My cheeks burn bright, and I’m almost certain they’re red. My panties are wet. The image of him doing just that causes my clit to throb painfully. I need the friction. Low in my belly, the ache starts. It twists and snarls and reminds me that all it would take is a featherlight touch to set me off.
I lock my gaze with his before I say, “I want this.” Three words. One promise that I’m nervous about, but I can’t take it back. I don’t want to take it back.
Elian’s dark brow arches, his eyes holding me hostage as he regards me. “You agree that you’re mine to do with as I please?”
“Yes.”
“You also agree that anything I say you will obey without debate?” The challenge in his gaze causes me to pause. Elian chuckles. “It’s the only way you get me. I make the rules, you obey. I’m an extremely dominant man, and I like things done a certain way.”
“What about Ahren?” I ask, realizing that he could ask me to be with them both, and even though I wouldn’t possibly say no, I need to know where he stands on it.
“If you agree you’re mine, my brother is off limits. Your friendship is all you’ll have with him. I may have shared women with him in the past, but …” Elian pushes to his feet, gifting me the view of his tall frame, causing my breath to catch in my throat. He doesn’t move for a few moments, and I hungrily take him in as he smirks down at me. He slowly makes his way over to me, each step calculated, as if he knows the effect he has on me. He stops inches from where I’m kneeling, my face right at his crotch. He reaches for my chin. His cold, strong fingers grip me, controlling my movement as he tips my head back, ensuring we’re eye to eye. “You’re mine. And I’m not willing to see you take his dick in any of your pretty holes. I will own every part of you.”
I open my mouth, then shut it again. I look directly into those blue depths and nod. “Fine.”
“Consent is everything to me, Arabella.” There’s a warning in his tone, and I nod once more. “Words. I want your words, your eyes, and every other part of you.”
“I do want this. You. As much as I shouldn’t.” The honesty in my words scrapes at my throat. Usually, I’m confident and outspoken, but with him, I feel like a girl unsure of herself. His blue eyes shine with desire when I push to my feet. It’s time to take my power back. I’m the one who has all the say here. If I refuse, he can’t do shit to me. “And I think as much as you try to be the good teacher, you’re as needy as I am.” My words spark him to life.
He grabs my arm, and I stumble into his body. Elian moves, his hands gripping my hips, and he tugs me close, so close I can feel every hard dip and peak of his muscular chest. His stomach is flat, toned, and then there’s his crotch, which is flush against my stomach. A ridge pokes at me, thick and unrelenting, and I can only imagine what it would feel like inside me.
“Then we’ll play my game. When you come to my class on Monday, no panties under that pretty skirt. You’ll seat yourself in the front row, opposite my desk.” His voice is rough, husky with lust. “Am I understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I smile when the pupils in those aqua depths dilate. The corner of his mouth ticks upward, and he leans in closer. I want his lips on mine, I want them now, so I make the choice and push to my tiptoes, causing our mouths to fuse. It’s only for a second, but it’s enough to know that what I feel right now and how I felt with Ahren are two completely different things.
His hand snakes its way to my stomach, then drops to the waistband of my yoga pants and cups my pussy over my panties. The heel of his hand presses against my clit, sending waves of pleasure coursing through me. A whimper falls free, and my lashes flutter as pleasure streaks through me.
“Go home. Do not touch this pretty pussy of mine unless I tell you to,” he warns me before stepping back and releasing me. A shiver wracks my frame at the sudden chill of not having Elian right up against me.
“But—”
He pierces me with a glare. “I said go home, Arabella,” he bites out as he rakes his fingers through his dark hair. The man is insufferable. If I weren’t so attracted to him, I would’ve told him to fuck right off, but I can’t deny the pull.
“Fine. See you Monday,” I grit out, moving to the door.
“I will be in touch tonight. Don’t think I’m not watching, little deviant,” he calls to me as I’m shutting the front door. I don’t respond. I’m angry, turned on, and utterly frustrated. Once in the car Aunt Midge said I could use, I pull out down the drive and out onto the street.
The man is a complete dickhead.
But I want him more than anything.
20
HER
THE PAST
It’s not the pain of having your heart broken that kills, it’s the moment when you see them smile at someone else. Living in the same city, the same town, even the same fucking building is too much. I wish I could run away. I want to race from this building, from my home, and never look back.
The deviant in me beckons, it calls to me, telling me that what I crave is right. But I know it’s not. I shouldn’t want this as much as I do, but he’s mine. I’ll always have him, and he’ll always have me.
The addiction to him came along with the need to watch his life play out in a series of unfortunate scenes because he’s doing all the wrong things. He’s with all the wrong people, but you can’t tell someone they’re wrong because they won’t believe you.
Instead, you wait until it’s time and watch as they learn for themselves just how stupid they’ve been. It’s the waiting that causes anxiety to twist in my gut. The tightening, the pain, the way my lungs struggle with breath because I know just how wrong this is.
The light drizzle does nothing to dampen his smile or his handsome face. It doesn’t deter from how he walks into the building like he owns it. Guilt weighs on me. It grips me in a feral hold, claws scratching at me, making me bleed. I deserve it.
I lift my feet up against the window. My scruffy sneakers are in dire need of replacement, but they’re my favorite pair. I wore them the night we met, and I doubt I’ll ever get rid of them. They’re one of the only items I own that reminds me that night was real. The costume I wore is gone, and the mask that covered my face has long since been discarded.
But the memory has been forever burned in my mind.
21
Elian
I should have kept her with me today. To learn all there is to know about her, but I needed time to plan. This isn’t going to be straightforward, and we need to be extremely careful with what we do and where we do it. Granted, my house is safest, but I want to see how much she can take before she begs for my dick to be inside her.
The sun is already low in the sky, streaming directly through the patio doors when I pick up my phone and hit dial on her number. I want to take things slow because I don’t want to overwhelm her, but then again, that’s not who I am.
“Hello?” Her sweet, tentative voice comes across the line making every inch of my body tense. There’s an innocence to her voice, almost as if she hasn’t seen the realness the world has to offer.
“Have you been a good girl for me today?” I ask, settling on the sofa which overlooks the back garden. The grass is lush, a bright green illuminated with a golden glow from the sun.
“I have. I even did my homework and didn’t think of you for one fleeting second,” she sasses with confidence, which makes me grin.
“Oh, I’m sure you haven’t. Can you tell me with all honesty that you’ve been in your bedroom, all alone, not thinking about how much I’d love to taste your sweet cunt?”
“You have a foul mouth.”
“That’s the way you like it,” I tell her. “If you didn’t, you would have hung up after telling me to fuck off. You would never have agreed to this if you didn’t want it. And I assure you, you’re going to love when I put my filthy mouth on you.” It’s a promise, a vow that I will not break.
“Perhaps. I promise not to fall in love with your filthy mouth since you seem to be so co
nfident about it.” Her voice lowers to a husky whisper when she speaks, which I’m almost certain she’s doing on purpose. But I can’t stop the chuckle that escapes at her words.
“Love? That word is not in my vocabulary. It’s a wasted emotion that doesn’t bring any form of happiness. It keeps you locked in a box, one the other person puts you in because that’s what they expect of you. I don’t like boxes,” I inform her.
“That’s a really sad way to look at the world,” Arabella counters, her voice strong and confident, which only notches up my respect for her. “Love doesn’t keep you restrained in any way. I believe that if you love someone, they’re the ones who unlock your shackles holding you back. The person who loves you unconditionally will ensure you soar rather than fall.”
“Then why do they say you fall in love? Falling isn’t something that can be done safely. It’s painful and violent. Also, there is no such thing as unconditional love,” I tell her with the confidence of someone who’s been hurt too many times. I thought I was in love before, I was convinced that I had my forever, until it fell apart right before my eyes.
“Of course, there is,” she insists. “Unconditional love comes in any form—friendship, family—”
“If you love someone without restraint, without limitations, there is an underlying promise of never hurting them, but human nature assures us that we can and will hurt someone, even if we love them. Think about any relationship you’ve ever had, whether it’s your parents, friends, or even a boyfriend.” I spit the last word with venom, and I wonder what she would make of my reaction to her having someone in her life. Someone who could give her what I can’t. But I continue, “Did they not hurt you in some way? As small as it was, they would’ve. And if they don’t hurt you, they try to change you.”