Page 14 of Crown of Thorns
“Nowhere.” When he blinks, I swallow. He’s got the longest lashes I’ve ever seen.
“I’m afraid that’s not possible, Professor. Allow me—” He grabs my tray and walks off.
“To my office.”
“Certainly, Professor.” His shoulders are broad, rippling as he holds my food. I hate myself for noticing.
We walk in silence through the corridors. I don’t miss how everyone greets Louis, only to get a cool jut of his chin in return.
He whistles when he follows me inside. “Nice office, Professor. Although the furniture’s a bit old.”
“Please place the tray on my desk, Louis. Thank you. Now, let me give you back your phone.”
“You can keep it, Professor. Although I’d appreciate you executing my orders.”
I lick my dried lips, then slide the phone his way. He watches it for a beat before picking it up. The contact is deliberate, his fingers graze the edge of mine. But for once, he takes it back without comment, tucking it into his pocket like it never meant anything at all.
My fists unclench under the table, the release involuntary. It’s like watching a lion lower its head. Not out of fear, but play. “I’m glad we understand each other. Please refrain from leaving any items with my possessions. I won’t report it this time, but I will if this happens again.”
Louis grins. “Oh, you’ll report me? Please do, Professor. The thought gets me all hard.” He takes another step back, the grin still curling at his lips, but his hands remain at his sides.
“That’s enough. I won’t tolerate this behaviour.” But my hands are trembling, face flushed.
Louis barks out a laugh. “Beautiful. I’m having so much fun.”
“Leave, Louis.”
I sit glued to my chair, unable to move, desperate to keep my calm. My dick has hardened in my pants, and I’m mortifiedhe’ll notice. I’m not even sure when it happened. “Close the door when you leave, please.”
Louis’s smile is pure malice. He doesn’t leave. Instead, he moves around the desk with that same predatory grace, leaning down until his lips brush the curls above my ear. A slow exhale. A teasing blow. Then a nip to my lobe, sharp, claiming. He bites down harder than necessary, making me flinch. His hand slips between my thighs, cupping me with confident possession.
Then he straightens, smooths down his jacket, and strolls toward the door like a man satisfied. “I’ll let you know what I want from you,” he calls over his shoulder. “Given the situation you’re in.”
The raging storm is the perfect excuse to visit the library before finishing my work week. Besides, those empty bookcases in my office are a thorn in my side.
They remind me of what I am exactly.
Poor.
Climbing up the spiral staircase to the second floor, I'm welcomed by my kind of paradise. Enormous windows. An endless space filled with round tables, set with green notary lamps. And books. Rows and rows of them. Categorised by section, alphabetically. I'm practically salivating. It takes me less than an hour to create an obnoxiously messy stack of books.
I intend to read them all.
Recycling life with the unknown.
That’s what I’ve always done.
Back in my office, I playI Love Youby Woodkid on my phone and move around just because I can. And this cupboard…I contemplate going back up to the library and dragging another pile of books down here to fill it entirely.
Melody texts me about a party she’s going to, asking if I want to join. The invitation is touching, but we both know I won’t go.
It’s nice, this time together life has offered us. A second chance between brother and sister. After all, she was only seven when I left home.
Home.
I hate the word. It never meant safety; it meant silence, judgment, and exile. It represents nothing but shards of collections, swept up and binned in my Parisian shack. Because that's what you get for conditional love. You get sent away by your own father.
Ijerk awake with a gasp, heart hammering in my chest. Disoriented, I blink against the blackness, my breath catching as I peel a damp sheet of paper from my cheek. The air is cold, sharp with the scent of old paper and rain-soaked stone. For a moment, I can’t tell where I am. Then lightning flashes behind the curtain, and the thunder follows. Loud and close. The storm hasn’t eased. Still hungry.
