Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance

“Lilia.”

The sound of my name drove me out of the black void of sleep, and my muscles jerked. On instinct, I prodded the pillow in search of my knife, and opened my eyes in a haze of confusion when I didn’t immediately recognize my surroundings.

The sound of moaning and movement had me turning over to see that Professor Bramwell had fallen asleep next to me. Writhing on the bed, he seemed caught up in a dream, and when he lifted his arms over his head, tucking them beneath his pillow, the sight of him sent a throbbing ache between my thighs. Jesus, the man looked hot even when he slept. Meanwhile, I probably looked like a drooling Saint Bernard.

Had he been the one to say my name, or was it an echo of my own dream?

“Yeah,” he whispered, still shifting on the bed. “Tha’s it.” The slight slur of his words told me he was still deep in sleep. “T’ch’me, Lilia.”

I froze. Heated tingles scattered over the back of my neck.

He was dreaming of me?

He turned his head away, and his stomach twitched, his hips grinding out a sensuous wave of unconscious pleasure. “J’slike that.”

My thighs clenched at the visual of stripping off my panties and climbing on top of him. With his arms tucked away, muscles flexing with his restlessness, he looked tethered and completely at my mercy. Like having a dangerous animal chained to the bed.

I trailed my gaze lower, over the dips and grooves of his carved abs, to the massive erection tenting his briefs, and God, my palms itched to touch him. I sucked my bottom lip between my teeth imagining my hands on him, the ridges and veins slipping beneath my fingertips. Don’t do it, my head urged. So badly, though, I wanted to pull it out and feel the weight of his cock in my palm.

A deep, masculine groan vibrated out of him, the sound slipping across my skin like rough hands, springing goosebumps.

Before I could stop myself, I slowly reached out, ghosting my fingers over one of his thighs—those powerful beasts he toned with his daily runs. Long cords of muscle contracted beneath my fingertips as I dragged them upward.

On a sharp breath, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist. I turned to see his eyes open, but heavy with sleep, as he stared down at me. Furious.

“What’re you doing?” he growled. “Get your hand off of me.”

Humiliation seared through me as I retracted my hand and scrambled for an explanation. I hadn’t expected him to be angry. Surprised, perhaps, but not this. “You …. You said my name. You asked me to touch you. I’m sorry.” I turned over, wishing I could crawl into a hole and lock myself away, the mortification springing tears to my eyes.

I’m so stupid.

Minutes passed in silence, and I eyed the door, wondering if I should leave and go back to my own dorm. The decision took hold, and I sat up in bed, not daring so much as a glance at him. As I reached down for my skirt, I felt a grip of my arm.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Going back to my dorm. I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that.”

“You’re not going anywhere at this hour.”

Wrenching my arm free was futile against the unrelenting grip he had on me. “Please. This is embarrassing enough.”

A hard yank sent me crashing back to my pillow, and I stared up at him, frowning at the abrupt movement.

That predatory gaze devoured me like a hearty meal, the sharp anger from before devolving to an untamable carnality. “Do you have any idea how fucking hard it is to lie next to you? It’s killing me.” Another hungry sweep of his eyes and he licked his lips. “I’ve been numb for as long as I can remember. You’re the first thing I’ve felt in years, Lilia. All I want to do is touch you.”

“Then, touch me.” I turned to face him and reached out for his hand.

Brows pinched to a frown, he gripped my wrist instead, his jaw clenching. “Don’t,” he warned.

“Touch me.”

“No.”

I twisted my arm to get loose, a heated mix of embarrassment and frustration blazing across my face. “Then, let me go.”

His grip tightened, his nostrils flaring in obvious anger, and when I brought my other arm up to push him off, he swiped up that wrist, too. Something inside of me snapped, and I wriggled to break free from his grip. The strength in his arms proved true, as he held me with little effort or exertion, while I thrashed for freedom. He gathered my arms together and, with ease, turned me to my side and dragged me against him, putting my back to his chest. Heaving breaths sawed out of me, as I lay trapped in his inflexible embrace with no chance for escape. Not a word spoken between us.

As I stared at the bookcase across from me, I took in the rigidity of his arms around me, the way they held me firmly. Tenaciously. And yet, how at home I felt in his embrace. Safe.

Another minute passed and his grip slackened.

His forehead rested against my shoulder, palm skimming down the length of my arm to my hip. The slow, aching grind of his erection pressed against my ass left me fighting to breathe, as I squirmed against him in a silent battle of wills. “This thing with you. It’s fucking me up.” His voice shook as badly as the muscles in his arms that held me against him like a steel cage. “You’re a sickness inside of me that begs never to be cured. Infecting me with this unshakable craving for things I shouldn’t want.”

“Then, let me go.”

“No,” he said in an uncompromising tone, his fingers digging into my hips. “I can’t.”

Without a word, I slipped my shorts off, leaving my panties as the only barrier.

As toxic as it was, I relished this game between us, the push and pull, the stolen touches and delicious tension. I knew it was wrong. I knew what hell this would bring.

If anyone found out about us, I’d lose everything and would be forced to return to Conner and Angelo and the life I fucking hated. I’d be forced to abandon however close I’d gotten to finding out the truth about my mother. Bee would undoubtedly get kicked out of her school, and God, if she’d ever caught wind of why, she’d hate me.

I’d hate me, too.

And the consequences didn’t end there. Bramwell could lose his position, and what then? Would the project go on? Would they continue to fund it, or move on and leave millions to suffer the loss of his discovery?

I knew all these things.

But I couldn’t help myself.

I both hated and craved the addicting way he’d hooked himself into my veins and fed me with this unbridled and reckless desire. It went against everything I was. Everything I believed. And yet, it was everything.

For so long, I’d been forced to bury that side of me. I’d grown up too fast and had left the wild and carefree teenager in the dust. When my friends had talked about boys and going on dates, and getting drunk in basement parties, I was stressing over bills and how I’d take care of my sister, while clinging to a distant dream of getting out of that apartment. On the outside was a smart and responsible young woman with a shit ton of potential, and yet, I yearned for the stupid girl who just needed a break. A moment of recklessness.

Bramwell was my moment. Even if he wanted nothing to do with me tomorrow and would cast me aside like leftovers, he was my greatest risk, and I needed to grab it by the balls and not let go.

Literally.

I slid my hand between my ass and his bulge, feeling his hard length behind his briefs, and his body turned rigid, hard like iron against me.

Hand covering mine, he silently halted my movements, and I waited to see if he’d throw my hand away and tell me to stop. Instead, he squeezed his hand over mine and shifted his hips, feeding his cock into my eager palm. A shuddering breath hit the back of my neck, and his teeth grazed my shoulder.

Victory surged on the wings of butterflies in my stomach. I bit my lip, smiling to myself as he relented some of his control.

With careful strokes, I massaged the erection sticking up out of his briefs, eyes widened as I took in the length and girth of the man, the way it strained behind that measly layer of fabric like it’d tear through any moment. Jesus. No wonder Gilchrist pined after him like a lost puppy.

“We need to stop. Fuck, I can’t do this.” His voice held a raspy tension, and I would have released him right then, but his hand betrayed his words when it slid up the hem of my shirt. A slow, taunting trail of his fingertips to the lace bra beneath, which he peeled back, springing my breast free. “Tell me to stop, Lilia. I’m fucking begging you.”

Opposite to what he asked, I wedged my hand down inside his briefs and stroked the stiff flesh that clearly begged for attention.

He hissed and rolled his hips in the motion of thrusting into my palm. “You’re going to destroy me. And I won’t stop you. It feels too fucking good to stop.” On a growl of frustration, he squeezed my breast as if punishing me for his lack of control, and I let out a moan, but the dominating grip of his palm felt so fucking good.

The heavy ache melted away with his kneading and stroking, and I arched into him with the relief of his touch.

His rough grip lightened as he ran the pad of his thumb over my nipple. “Every inch of you is something new to explore. A new texture. A new curve. Sensations I’ve been robbed of for so long.” In tiny circles, he painted an inescapable pleasure that left me in a dizzy lust. “Goddamn it, your skin is like fine silk. I could spend hours touching you and never tire of it.” With a nudge, he urged me onto my back and lifted my shirt up to my neck. He peeled back the cup of my bra and bent forward, sucking my nipple into his mouth.

I gripped the frame of the bed above me and slid my bottom lip between my teeth, biting down as the delicious pull of his mouth tugged the ache that throbbed at my pussy. My fingers curled tight around the metal bar above me, knees pressed together while the soft trickle of my arousal spilled into my cotton panties. I squirmed as he moved to the other breast, sucking that nipple to a hardened peak and flicking his tongue against the sensitive tip.

Seeming to notice the torment, he skated his hand lower, his palm flat against me, until he reached the apex of my thighs and rubbed his finger over my panties.

“Of course you’re wet.” His voice held a sharp bite of anger at the discovery.

My body slid closer to his chest, one of his arms wedged beneath me and across my chest, holding me to him as if I’d try to get away. Like I would’ve attempted such a thing right then.

Determined fingers breached the hem of my panties and I bowed in exquisite agony, as he painted gentle lines over my undoubtedly drenched seam.

“Fuck me.” That deep baritone voice in my ear innervated this frantic need for him that pulled like a taut string, ready to snap. Whether intentional, or a mindless act, his other hand gripped my throat as he ran his finger up and down my slippery seam, gathering the slick dew he’d worked up. In my periphery, he brought his hand to his mouth, and a deep throaty sound of satisfaction rolled through his chest. “Why do you have to taste like a sweet forbidden fruit? Goddamn, you’re killing me, Lilia. I can’t do this. I can’t.”

“Don’t stop. Please, I’m begging you. So many nights I’ve–” I cut myself off, embarrassed to admit that I’d fucked my own pillow to thoughts of him.

“You’ve what? Tell me everything. Every detail. I want to hear what you do when you’re alone.” It seemed to keep him interested, and though I risked the most humiliating confession of my life, I was too intoxicated to care right then.

“I dream that you come into my room. And …”

He flicked a wet finger over my clit, and I arched into him on a moan. “And what?”

“And you … climb into bed beside me, just like this.”

“Are you sleeping?”

“Yes.”

Teeth grazed the shell of my ear, his shaky breaths telling me the story turned him on, so I kept going.

“You shove your hand down my panties … just like this.”

He spread me wider and pressed into my clit, giving just enough pressure that I clenched my teeth as he rolled the sensitive flesh between his fingers.

“Do I fuck you with my fingers?”

“Yes, definitely.”

At that, he plunged two fingers up inside of me, his thumb still pressed to my clit. The man knew exactly what he was doing, as if he’d earned a goddamn degree in fingering. Wet sounds reverberated in my head as I relayed the fantasy. “You…choke me a little. Not hard. Just enough to make me gasp.”

“I like this dream.” His palm pressed into my throat, the pressure parting my lips, and fucking hell, it was perfect. The lack of breath. The disheveled state of my clothes that made me look ravished, the feel of his fingers plunging and stroking while he held me captive against him. Every detail culminated into the flawless visual inside my head.

“Tell me, Little Moth. Have I ever eaten your pussy in these fantasies?”

“Not yet. But … mostly because I’ve …” I hesitated to admit the truth that played on the tip of my tongue. It was stupid. Every other girl I knew had had a boy go down on them before. I’d had fingers prod and poke me there, but never a mouth. “I’ve never done that before.”

To my utter disappointment, he stilled against me. “Tell me you’re joking.”

My cheeks heated with humiliation.

“Are you a virgin?”

The question brought to mind the incredibly awkward and dissatisfying attempts at fifteen years old with Ghostboy. No, technically I wasn’t a virgin, but that didn’t mean I’d actually experienced sex. At least, not the kind of sex Professor Bramwell undoubtedly excelled at. The rest of my sexual experiences had boiled down to blow jobs and hand jerking–two skills I’d honed during my tutoring sessions. “I’m not a virgin, but I haven’t done much at all in the last couple of years. I just … never had time for boys, so I never really dated after my mother died.”

“Fuck.” He released me and rolled onto his back, rubbing a hand down his face.

The humiliation squeezed me harder, and I settled on my back beside him. “I want to do this with you.”

“No. I’m not going to be your first anything.”

“Right. So, it’s better for me to experience that with some asshole in the back of his car who’ll ghost me the next day.”

He made a gruff sound of disapproval, and I turned to see his jaw grinding, as if I’d pissed him off.

“Please, Devryck. I want this.” Flares of mortification arrived in rapid fire, when I realized I’d just called him by his first name.

Clearly, he’d caught it, too, as he slowly lowered his hands and turned toward me. “Say that again.”

“I want th–”

“Not that.”

“Please … Devryck.”

Another agonizing moment of contemplation followed, and I was certain he was about to roll away again. Instead, he pushed up from the bed and rolled over top of me. A carnal darkness shadowed his eyes as he stared down at me, stroking his long, hard cock. He tore away the sheet, exposing my lifted shirt and soaked panties. “I’m not fucking you tonight. But I am going to dine on this obnoxiously wet pussy, and I’m going to enjoy every moment of knowing I’m the only man who’s ever tasted you.” Eyes locked on mine, he slid my panties down my thighs slowly, until they reached my knees, and only then did he break contact. “And because I’m a selfish prick who has to live with the fact that I cannot have you to myself, I’m going to ruin you so that any boy who comes after me will leave you deeply unsatisfied, and you’ll be left fucking your own fingers, desperate to remember the time you had your professor’s face between your legs.”

The crass edge to his words titillated my nerves and sent a tremble of excitement fluttering in my core.

His tongue swept across his lips as he slid the panties over my ankles and tossed them away. “Panties are for the modest,” he said with an air of disgust. As if I was the one who’d brought him to this place of desperation. As if I alone shouldered the blame for what was to come of this night.

Once that little layer of cotton was out of his way, he pushed my knees apart, and the disgust carved in his furrowed brow withered to a shimmer of gratitude as he stared down at me. Chest rising and falling, he kept his gaze fixed between my thighs and bit his knuckle, falling back onto his heels. “Damn you, Lilia. Goddamn you.” He reverently ran his hand down my inner thigh and dropped forward, propping himself up on muscled arms. He kissed the inside of my thigh, the softness of his lips sending a tickle to my stomach. Lower and lower, he trailed his kisses, and when he finally reached the apex of my thighs, I held my breath, my heart so wound up, it was a wonder he couldn’t hear it rattle across my ribs. He rested his nose against my folds, and I twitched on contact.

A deep inhale sent my pulse rate soaring. He was smelling me. There. Oh, God. All I wanted to do was slam my legs closed right then, but his head would’ve gotten crushed.

A whimper slipped past my lips, and I reached down to grab the top of his head. I wanted to tell him to stop, but the humiliation exhilarated me. What the hell was wrong with me? It was so primal. Hot. So hot, I felt the shameless urge to grind against the ticklish stubble of his face.

He took hold of my wrist and pried it from where I’d clutched the top of his skull.

“Devryck, I’m nervous.”

“You should be. Your professor is about to eat your pussy, Lilia. There’s a whole host of reasons why that’s fucked up, but I’m too far gone to stop myself. At this point, there is nothing I want more than to feel that obscenely pink clit of yours against my tongue. And we will never do this again after tonight. Do you understand? This cannot happen again.”

“I understand,” I rasped.

Wearing that same stern, unyielding expression that he wore in lecture, when he refused to entertain further questions, he lowered his head.

Legs spread wide, I turned away, closing my eyes. In the silence of my mind, I prayed that I smelled okay, that I hadn’t missed a spot when I’d shaved earlier that morning. Oh, God, what was taking so long? I felt completely open and on display. The anticipation curled in my belly, and when he finally made contact, every nerve ending flared inside of me. My muscles violently twitched, and I dug my fingers into the bedsheets. It occurred to me how much I’d ached for the man, as I bit down hard on my lip and pressed the crown of my head into the pillow, desperate, needy, hungry.

At a long, delirious drag of his tongue, I arched upward, my fingers clawing the sheets while the shock of his invasion seared my insides.

Prickles of stubble grazed my thighs, his warm, wet tongue dancing against my clit, while his fingers held me open for his assault.

I wanted to bite, scratch, scream, but instead, I dragged the pillow over my face, pressed it there, and focused on every sensation he’d commandeered. The sounds he made in his throat. The way his fingers plunged in and out of me, working in tandem with that relentless mouth. It was a level of mastery I couldn’t even fully appreciate, because I’d never had someone so boldly dive between my legs before. In my limited experience, boys took. They took without much thought, and they rarely ever reciprocated.

Bramwell was right. He’d ruined me. Destroyed me from the inside out, and there wasn’t a chance in hell that I’d ever feel something so raw and thrilling and forbidden again. I threw the pillow to the side and dared to lift my head, watching him devour me like a death row meal. The slurping sounds and moans and growls he made were lewd and filthy, and spoke of a man who fervently enjoyed the task.

He lifted his head for a moment, his ordinarily stern eyes heavy with intoxication, while the shine of my arousal glistened across his face in a way that reminded me of an animal feasting on prey. When he dove back in, I felt him latch onto the sensitive bud, sucking on the bit of flesh with such intensity, my hips jerked toward his face. Strong hands held me down, as his mouth ravaged my clit with unfaltering determination.

A shocked breath missiled past my lips, and I arched back, rolling my head against the mattress, my hands mindlessly fisting the sheets, desperate to claw into something. I’d learned how to stimulate my clit on my own, but it’d never felt like this. An intense and delicious pull that had my belly curling, my thighs shaking. A tearless sob broke in my throat as the tension wound tighter and tighter. More powerful than when I’d masturbated with my pillow or caressed myself.

The pressure throbbed and pulsed, like a gluttonous beast fattening itself on my pleasure. I was about to come. Oh, God. I’d never come with anyone before. I’d only ever done it alone, and it’d only ever lasted a second, or two.

My breaths hastened. My muscles trembled and turned rigid. So tight.

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah.

I ground my hips into his face. My professor’s face. The very thought of that had such a filthy, immoral ring to it, but I’d worry about the utter depravity of it later. Right then, I was too close to stop. So close!

He lifted his face from between my legs, holding my knees apart as he stared down at me.

“Wha … what are you doing?” I sounded drunk, intoxicated. I ground my ass into the bed, desperate for his lips and fingers and that fiendish sucking that had turned my world on its ass only seconds ago. “Please. I need–”

“You need what?” A hard, stinging smack smarted my pussy, and I twitched, moaning at the sensitivity of my flesh, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain.

“I need to come. I need to come so bad!” I circled my hips as the desperation vibrated in my muscles, intensifying the ache. I thirsted for his touch like a withering flower.

The need he’d stirred with his fingers coursed through my body with a punishing violence.

“You’re a salacious little nymph, aren’t you? Turn over.” His command was terse and pitiless, and as I turned over onto my belly, he roughly yanked me up onto my knees.

“Ass in the air. Hands flat on the mattress.”

Frustrated and painfully aroused, I did exactly that, letting him position my knees apart however he wanted. I needed this. I needed him to finish me, or I’d die of agony. Was that even possible? Could someone die of the desperate need to come?

His big palms cuffed my ankles to the mattress, holding me spread open. I waited for him to do something. To stick his fingers in me again, or drag his tongue over my throbbing clit. My thighs trembled with a ravenous gluttony I’d never felt before. Instead, he bent over me, those muscled arms caging me beneath him. “I’ll bet your pussy is aching to be filled right now.” It wasn’t a question. The sadist knew what he was doing.

The tension in the air bore teeth and claws, whose jagged edges razed my skin. I’d never wanted to be destroyed so much in my life. “Yes. Please. It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts.”

A sharp pain struck my skull as he yanked my hair, lifting my head from the bed. “Did you think I’d feel sorry for you? That I’d be gentle? I feel this torture every fucking time you walk into a room.” He pressed a thumb into the crease of my ass, and I sucked in a breath as he threatened to breach the tight ring of muscles there, pushing and massaging. “So, I don’t feel sorry for you, Lilia. In fact, it warms my dirty bastard soul to know you ache this way.” Holding his thumb there, he alternated between licking my pussy and fingering it. Each time I neared climax, he stopped, dragging me back from the edge, and I was left soaking wet and twice as needy. He toyed with me like that for what felt like an eternity, never seeming to tire of this vicious little game.

I, on the other hand, clawed and scratched and pleaded, damned near sobbing.

Once again lying on my back, I wrapped my arms around my knees, holding myself open for him when he commanded I do so. Wearing the same cold expression as before, he stared down at me while stroking his cock. Teasing me with it. The level of control the man demonstrated only heightened my arousal, as he stared down at me with those mercurial eyes that seared my insides.

“I cannot properly express how much I’d love to shove my cock inside you right now.” The mere suggestion had his tip shining with more precum.

I wanted to tell him to do it, but the size of it scared me. Would probably split me in two. Instead, I licked my lips, wishing I could taste the fluid gathered at the head of it.

“Are you ready to come, Lilia?”

“Please don’t tease me. I can’t stand it anymore.”

“Don’t tease you? The way you tease me every goddamn day, with these short skirts and those pouty, fuckable lips? That obnoxious lipstick that I imagine smeared all over my cock.”

“You don’t exactly dress like a priest yourself. You don’t think every girl in class dreams of fucking you?”

“I don’t give a damn about every other girl. There’s only one who crosses my mind a fuck-ton more than she should. So, I’m going to finish you, Lilia. I’m going to give you the release you’ve been craving, and I won’t touch you again. But this pussy belongs to me. You let any other undeserving prick near it, and I will cut out his tongue and send it to you in a specimen jar.”

I must’ve been sick, considering the rush of arousal that leaked down my ass as I took in his dirty and psychotic words. As well-mannered and refined as he was, the man had a darkness about him that was absolute catnip to my libido. He stirred an ungodly ache that sang to the deep-seated fantasies I kept in a box tied with black ribbons somewhere inside my head.

Red and swollen from his relentless sucking, I imagined myself sitting in lecture the next day, watching him in his button-down shirt and dark jeans, listening to that voice that made every girl in class wish he taught erotic literature. I tried to imagine the terrifying feeling of knowing I’d only had him once but it’d been enough to mess me up for the rest of my life.

I couldn’t stay in those visuals, though. Because every speck of thought came spiraling back into the present when he put his mouth on me again. Gentler, that time, as if he knew it was coming to an end and wanted to savor the last bits.

With featherlight tickles, he teased and taunted me toward the pinnacle again. My body tensed and loosened, hesitant to let him lead me up such a treacherous path, untrusting of his tricks, but he was persistent. He didn’t move, didn’t jar my senses with some maddening switch of position. He tickled my appetite with the same consistent flick of his tongue, until my muscles trembled again, breaths panted out of me, and my hands balled into tight fists.

Please, please, please, my head begged. The storm inside my belly thrashed and twisted and rolled, like a tide gathering momentum. Faster. Faster. That euphoric crest loomed over me like a wicked threat, one that would pull me under and drown me in a black squall of ecstasy. I wanted to spit the same venom back in his face for refusing to let me come, by making him wait for the finale he so clearly sought from me with that relentless tongue of his.

I couldn’t, though. Goddamn it, the man had my muscles cramped and shaking with desperation.

He fluttered his tongue one more time, and the wave crashed down mercilessly, exploding at the back of my head. Body bowed, I screamed his name, writhing under his unforgiving mouth, as he shook his face and gave one long agonizing suck of my clit to finish me off.

He released me on a pop, and I rode out the subsequent shocks that rocked through me like tiny bolts of electricity. It was everything. Everything I ever dreamed it would be with him, and when he moaned, lapping up the fluids spilling out of me, I lifted my head from the bed to commit the scene to memory. Every sensation, every scent, every sound. I wanted him in my blood, pulsing through me, heating my skin on the nights when I’d be alone in my bed, thinking of this moment. Right here. Right now. Forever.

He pushed up from my thighs, staring down at me with a look of awe that made my belly flutter again–one that begged me to look away, to avoid seeing the prideful victory creep across his face like it had with every other boy who’d felt he somehow conquered me after hooking up. “I knew you’d be fucking beautiful when you came, but I didn’t imagine you’d look like this.”

“Like what?”

He didn’t answer, but the carnal and possessive glint in his eyes, as his fingers dug into my skin, said everything. Mine. With a firm grip of my ankles, he slid me down to the edge of the bed and fell forward, catching himself on outstretched arms. One hand stroked down my hair as his lips latched to my neck. “You can shower first, if you’d like,” he said against my throat.

It seemed almost silly showering separately, after what he’d done to me, but I didn’t bother to offer suggestions. “You go first.” I didn’t want to wash him off me yet. A part of me hoped his essence would seep beneath my skin. That, maybe, he’d feel the same shiver of need as I did, if I kept a part of him inside of me. What a sickening thought.

It wasn’t until he pushed away that I caught a glimpse of what must’ve been a painfully-stiff erection sticking up from his boxer briefs. How badly I wanted to run my tongue over it. The mere suggestion watered my mouth, and I could practically feel my gag reflexes kicking in. When he turned away from me, my focus switched to his broad, muscled back that tapered down into the most deliciously-toned ass I’d ever seen, and long, powerful thighs that I imagined could hold a woman in place with little effort.

He disappeared through a door to the right of the fireplace, closing it behind him. Light radiated through the crack at the bottom, followed by the sound of a shower flicking on.

I turned toward the computer on his desk. The cabinets undoubtedly brimming with old files.

The younger me, the girl who’d grown up on the unforgiving streets, where etiquette and decorum were nothing but the fancy words of the rich, begged to unscrupulously plow through his personal space without care.

The other part of me loathed the thought of betraying his trust.

I pushed up from the bed, fixing my bra and shirt, and swiped up my tangled panties, the crotch of them still damp as I slid them up my thighs. When I stepped in the direction of his desk, I paused, though.

Would a man like him leave information like that lying around for anyone? He probably had a password on his computer. His desk was undoubtedly locked, along with any file cabinets. Was I foolish enough to think he’d make it easy to drag out what must’ve been a humiliating piece of his past? The experiments that’d marred his family name.

I brushed my finger over the mousepad of his laptop, where I was prompted to enter a password. A tug of the drawers to the right of me confirmed that he’d locked them.

It would be futile to attempt rummaging through his things. Especially when I already had an advantage that, to my knowledge, most didn’t. How many could’ve said they’d gotten that close to the man?

I lifted my gaze toward the bathroom door, where the light flickered beneath, and licked my lips, before I darted for my bag and rummaged for the tube of lipstick. I applied it thickly across my lips and, without much prompting, padded toward the door, carefully turning the knob to find it wasn’t locked. A light push cracked it open, and the monotonous sound of running water sharpened as I peeked into the steamy space. It was obvious, based on the simple but modern decor of white tiles, white porcelain pedestal sink and toilet, that it’d been added on at some point, as it didn’t fit the aged look of its surroundings. The shower was a simple box with glass doors thick with steam, through which I could just make out his shape, bent slightly over himself, his arm moving quickly, the merciless strokes of his fist echoing through the stall. Turned slightly away, he didn’t seem to notice me watching him, and my tongue prickled as I imagined that long cock sliding against his palm.

I yanked the hem of my shirt over my head and snapped off my bra, then slid out of my panties. With careful steps, I tiptoed closer, and when I slid the glass door aside, I was greeted by the full scope of his erection. Jesus. The man was huge.

From where I stood, I could see the entirety of his shoulder and bicep that’d been ruined by the acid attack. The raw shine of newly healed skin. The scars. So many of them scattered over his flesh. The sight of him had my fingers itching with the urge to touch them, to feel the cruelty that had been inflicted on him. I’d noticed it before, but beneath the harsh lights, it was almost glaring.

He twisted around, and his gaze immediately skated down my body, the appreciation in his expression tickling my confidence, and when it trailed back upward, he seemed riveted on my lips.

I stepped into the stall and slid the door closed, shutting me in with him. Eyes locked on his, I lowered to my knees, squinting against the errant drops of water that sprayed in my face.

Cock still in hand, he watched me warily, his chest rising and falling.

I didn’t bother to break my stare, as I leaned forward and licked the weeping tip, watching his eyes screw shut.

“Lilia …” The strain in his voice told me a battle waged in his head. “I can’t do this.”

I ran my fingertip over the ridges of his shaft, the deep map of blood feeding his engorged cock.

A sharp sting struck my skull as he gripped my hair. “Please. For fucks sake.”

It didn’t stop me, though. I pushed forward and ran my tongue over his heavy balls, drawing them into my mouth.

He let out a hiss, his grip of my hair tightening. “Stop,” he rasped, but when I did, he unraveled his fingers from my hair and pressed his palm to my crown. “Don’t stop. Fuck.”

I wrapped my lips over the head of his cock, letting my tongue explore the textures along his shaft. A faint smear of lipstick marked the path of my mouth, and I couldn’t even imagine what my face must’ve looked like right then. Flexing my jaw to accommodate his girth, I gave one long, passionate suck.

Brows tight, he bit his bottom lip on a growling moan. “Fuck, Lilia. You feel so fucking good.” His praise stoked my senses, while he fed me his cock at a languorously slow pace. About a quarter of the way down, my gag reflex kicked in, and I pushed up higher onto my knees, angling myself to take more of him. “That’s it. Take as much as you can. I need to fuck those pouty lips.”

Careful not to scrape my teeth over him, I sucked the water from his skin, savoring the flavor as he glided in and out of my mouth with ease.

“You’ll swallow my cum, yeah?” A delirious edge clung to his voice, and I released him on a pop of suction and nodded. I drew him back in, sucking harder than before.

His hands shot out to either side, and a look of pained ecstasy claimed his face as he rammed his length into my mouth with unrestrained fervor. A growl slipped past his clenched teeth, his head thrown back, stretching the wires of tension in his throat. Faster and faster, he pumped his thighs, his grunts echoing all around me. “Good fucking girl,” he said in a ragged and strained voice.

My whole body jostled with every fevered drive, as he plundered with greed. I slid my hands up the back of his muscled thighs to his tight ass and dug my nails into him, feeling him clench with every retreating suck.

He moaned and panted, and his thighs shook as I held him to my face. “Show me those beautiful eyes,” he rasped, and when I dragged my gaze to his, he held the back of my head, fucking my mouth with brutal decadence. Over and over, his thighs flexing with every thrust.

Drool leaked out of the corners of my lips.

His grunts heightened to a mixed sound of pain and pleasure.

Not a second later, he swayed, and warm fluids shot to the back of my throat.

I coughed and gagged, but never once broke contact with his shaft. I gripped his cock tight, holding it steady as the sound of relief that broke from his chest bounced off the tiles and hot jets filled my mouth, dribbling down my chin. I swallowed it back and licked the head of him again, sucking away the water-drenched cum.

The floor scraped across my shins, as he yanked me to my feet and slammed me against the tiles. Vexation and intoxication and exhaustion swirled in his eyes like a turbulent storm, as he pinned me there, heat rolling off him.

“What are you doing to me?” He rested his forehead against my shoulder, his body trembling, chest heaving. “What the fuck are you doing to me, Lilia?”

I threaded my fingers through his hair, and he gripped my bottom, lifting me up, as I wrapped my legs around his waist.

My fingertips ghosted down his neck, where the puckered flesh of his acid scars slipped past.

He pushed away, but I clutched him tighter, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Don’t. Please. I’m sorry.”

For a moment, he stilled, and then his lips were on mine, his body pressing me into the shower wall. “Why did you come in here? Why do you insist on making it worse?”

“Making it worse? Or making you want me as much as I want you?”

“We already agreed. This was only one night.” He wiped away the remnants of lipstick smeared across his mouth. “That’s all.”

“Is it? Do you honestly think everything will just magically go back to the way it was before?”

“It has to. My work is too important.”

I didn’t want his words to sting as much as they did. I didn’t want to feel like he’d punched me in the chest and I couldn’t breathe, but that was exactly how I felt right then. I hated myself for letting him crawl beneath my skin. For allowing my guard to fall, to crumble into a pile of miserable rubble, knowing he would kick the pieces around.

Holding back tears, I wriggled to get loose, but his grip tightened. “Let me go.”

“No. Not until I know that you won’t say a word of this.”

“Of course not, Professor. Your reputation is safe with me.”

“It isn’t about that, Lilia. Stop being foolish and emotional. They’ll tear you apart to keep me here. Do you understand that? That is what I mean when I say my work is too important. They will make you look like an impoverished whore, to spare my good name.”

“So, what? They think that, anyway, don’t they? Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer, only stood there, silently snarling at whatever thoughts ran through his head.

I refused to let myself regret this. No matter what he said, what he did, how it all played out in the end, the fact was, he made me feel something extraordinary. Something no one had ever made me feel. Even at the risk of pain and longing. “I don’t care what this was to you. It was still worth it.”

His eyes softened, and he exhaled a breath, lowering me back to the floor. A gentle hand ran over the top of my head, and he planted a kiss to my forehead. “I don’t regret tonight.” He stepped past me and exited the shower. Through the glass, I watched him nab a towel from one of the hooks on the wall and dry off. He wrapped the towel around his waist, and with one more glance back at me, he exited the bathroom, closing the door on a quiet click.

Don’t cry. Don’t you dare cry.

It wasn’t as if I’d pined after the man, as if I’d sought him out for any reason other than the opportunity to find out more about the organism and, possibly, my mother. I’d planned to use him, too. Didn’t that make me just as shitty?

I’d survived getting ghosted by the small handful of boys I’d given blowjobs to under school bleachers and in the backseats of rusted-out cars. So, this was nothing new for me, right?

Except, it was. Everything was entirely new. The way he made me feel. The way he gave without asking for anything in return. The way his arms felt around me, and the dirty, titillating words he whispered in my ear. It was all new. It was all beautiful. And even if it was fleeting, it was perfect.

When I finally exited the shower, he sat leaning against the edge of the foldout bed, the towel still wrapped around his lower half, cigarette dangling from his fingertips. Seemingly mesmerized by the flames.

He took a drag of his smoke and tipped his head back, blowing it upward, and spared me nothing more than a glance.

Towel wrapped around myself, I scampered toward the other side of the bed and sat down on the edge of it. “Cracking open chest cavities hasn’t turned you off to smoking?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood and lessen the awkward silence.

“I don’t do it frequently. Only when I’m fucking tense, or reeling from an intense fuck, and right now, I’m both.”

“I made you tense.”

“Yes. But it’s not your fault. It’s mine.”

“Why is it anyone’s fault?”

He snorted and leaned forward to flick his cigarette into the flame. “No more questions tonight.” Hiking his arm over the edge of the bed, he went back to staring off at the flame, and I settled into the sheets at the opposite side.

“You should probably hate me right now,” he said, his voice stained with remorse.

“I probably should. But I don’t.”

With a mirthless chuckle, he shook his head. “Here, I thought it was the moth who would succumb to the fire.”