Page 42 of Give In

“Ha! I have a hard time believing anything you do is innocent. Life is your chess board, and every move you make is controlled and manipulative.”

He grinned outright. “I’m assuming that’s supposed to be an insult, but coming from the Mistress, it’s high praise.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Using the guise of innocence to manipulate and control… Sound familiar?”

Shit.

Of course it sounded familiar, I did it every shift at Sinners.

Pot meet kettle.

“Touché. Still, I’m going to continue workingwithCeaders.” Since he may have been a dick, but he was also my professor, I added, “I appreciate the offer, though.”

“No, you’ll be working with me.” He moved away from the door. “Now if I were you, I’d head back to class.”

“No.”

One dark brow arched devilishly. “Excuse me?”

“No.”

“Which part are you declining?”

“Both.” I put my hands on my hips and tried to look confident.

He was deceptively calm. “Both?”

“I’m not working with you, I’m working with Ceaders.”

“Why?”

“I’ve already made that point.” I headed for the door, but Professor Caine blocked it again.

“And now I feel like I have a point to make.”

“I think you’ve made more than enough.”

His blue eyes darkened as he stalked toward me. “It’s a very important one.”

“Which is?” My voice was breathy as I backed away until my legs hit his desk.

“How veryun-short things are.”

I didn’t need the reminder. I’d felt the thick length of him when I’d given him the lap dance and again when he’d pressed me against the door. I may have hated him, but that hadn’t stopped me from revisiting those memories when I was alone. Only, in my fantasies, he was blissfully silent and eagerly accommodating.

Since the real him was a selfish asshole, he’d deserved the earlier jab and then some.

When he reached me, I looked up at him with a bored expression. “Fine.” I sighed before making my tone exaggeratedly placating. “This meeting is a very average length. The perfect length for some, I’m sure.”

With a frustrated noise—somewhere between a grunt and a growl—his mouth dropped to mine. One of his hands went to my head, his fingers weaving into my hair. His other cupped my ass cheek. The thick length of him was hard against my belly, giving me another memory to manipulate for my own private use. His tongue traced the seam of my lips, demanding entrance.

One I refused by pressing them together as I fought to keep control.

At my resistance, his hand in my hair fisted. The sharp tug made me gasp, and he took his opportunity. His tongue slid into my mouth as he deepened the kiss.

My common sense may have told me it was stupid, but my libido didn’t care. It wanted to enjoy the crackle of my hypersensitive nerves. It refused to question the surge of sizzling heat that intensified each time he tightened his hold on my hair. Or why the burst of pleasure-pain gave me a heady rush, like a high I wanted to chase, even knowing it’d end in disaster.

---