Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Finally, I knock.
“Come in.” His voice, although muffled, is still deep and piercing, and my skin prickles.
When we first started this unorthodox relationship, I was hoping I’d stop being so attuned to him, but it’s kind of getting worse, not better.
I slide the door open and walk inside, feigning nonchalance. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”
Kayden’s office feels colder than it should, the stark, minimalist decor giving it a sharp, impersonal edge. His desk is neat—too neat—papers lined up just so, a sleek pen resting perfectly at the edge. The soft glow of the desk lamp casts long shadows on Kayden’s face. He seems to fill the space with his presence, every inch of the room an extension of his control.
“Close the door,” he says without looking up from a paper he’s highlighting.
“You’re not supposed to do that, Professor.”
“Close the door and lock it, Carson.”
I hate the fucking last name. He only calls me that when he’s being a major prick.
“I’ll be accusing you of sexual harassment,” I say just to annoy him.
He lifts his brow, finally looking at me. “You think I give a fuck?”
Of course he doesn’t. With a sigh, I click the door shut and press the lock, turning the outside noises into mumbles.
He stands up and taps his desk. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“Quit the questions and come here.”
I release an exasperated noise and walk to him. His scent is all I breathe, and he’s so warm, but closed off. I can’t read him.
“Now what?”
“Bend over the desk.”
“You must be out of your mind. We’re on campus.”
“I said. Bend over, Carson.”
My body kind of folds of its own volition when he orders me. But if he calls me Carson one more time…
“What happens now?” I scoff. “You’re going to spank me or something?”
I hear unbuckling and look behind me, and sure enough, he’s undoing his belt.
Ah, fuck me.
He tried that before and I couldn’t sit properly for days. I came like crazy, too, so there’s that.
The first slap comes and I jerk against the desk, holding on to the edges with white knuckles. Even though it’s over my jeans, I feel it on my skin, and my dick is swelling. Fast.
No surprise there. I’m apparently a masochist, as V—the Reddit version—calls me.
“You need to watch that mouth.” Thwack. “You can’t run it however you please.” Thwack. “Next time I tell you to sit down. You.” Thwack. “Sit.” Thwack. “The fuck.” Thwack. “Down.”
I’m groaning and grunting. The pain is so great, I think my cock will burst, the sense of pleasure is surging through me despite all my attempts to remain unaffected. My groin is pushing against the desk, trying to get any form of friction.
“Quiet.” He shoves two fingers in my mouth, making me choke on them. “Unless you want them to come and see you being punished for being a fucking brat.”
He slaps me again and I grunt, my teeth grazing his fingers as I deep-throat them.
“But then again, you’re a little slut, so you might be into that.” He drops the belt on the table and reaches beneath me, his hand brushing against my engorged cock before he unzips my jeans. “You’re already hard with a little belting. What a fucking mess.”
He lowers my jeans and boxers just enough and then slaps my ass over the burning welts. I gag on his fingers, my eyes blurry, and I realize moisture is gathering there.
“Even if you’re into that, there will never be an audience.” He kneads the skin, and I release a choked sound. “No one gets to see this. No one but me. You’re only mine.”
He removes his fingers from my mouth. “Say it.”
I remain quiet, motionless, and he spins me around so that my back is on the desk. My ass burns when it meets the cool surface, but that’s the least of my concerns, because his eyes widen upon seeing my face.
Apparently, I’m fucking crying. So, yeah, I do cry during his punishments sometimes because I enjoy the pleasure mixed with pain.
But there’s something else this time.
And, of course, he notices it.
Fuck my life.
“What’s wrong?” He reaches out a hand, and I look the other way at an ugly floor lamp.
He pulls my pants up, covering my still raging erection because my cock is refusing to read the room.
His large palm grips my nape, stroking the skin as he speaks in a low tone, “If you don’t like me touching you on campus, I won’t.”
“It’s not that.” I’m still speaking to the lamp. “Idiot. Asshole. God, I fucking hate you.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Idiot. Asshole.”
“The ‘I hate you’ part. Don’t say it. I don’t like it.”
I stare at him through blurry vision. “I hate you, hate you, hate you—”
He grabs my jaw, leaning down, so that his face is a breath from mine. “I said. Stop it. Enough with the tantrum.”