Page 31 of Give In

And if that meant sacrificing a little more of myself—bending so he’d break—I’d do it.

I’d cut off my nose to spite my face, and I’d grin the whole time.

Because I hated Damien Caine.

Reaching over, I touched play on the screen and was surprised when one of my stage songs began. He must’ve adjusted it because the slow and steady rhythm ofDon’t Stand So Close to Mefilled the room.

Okay then.

If he doesn’t want me close to him, I’m going to get as close as possible without violating decency and sanitation laws.

Slowly, I sauntered toward him. I stopped a few feet away and untied my white top, letting it fall open, though it still covered my breasts. Bending, I dragged my palms up the inside of my calves to my thighs and farther, my skirt rising and falling with the motion, but my hand placement hid even the brief glimpse of my white panties.

Continuing up my stomach to my chest, I crossed one forearm over my breasts and slid my shirt off the opposite arm. I switched and repeated the movement, keeping my chest covered the whole time.

I kept up the guise of modesty as I moved closer and lifted my knees to the couch. Straddling his thighs, I lowered my ass to sit on his knees. I paused, giving him the chance to back down.

C’mon.

Back down, asshole.

Say chicken.

When he remained impassive, I went up onto my knees and dropped my arms, the motion causing my breasts to bounce.

I was aware that my nudity and a lap dance were hardly a punishment. Even as I moved, following through with my impulsive plan, my mind yelled at me for being a fool.

Yet, I couldn’t stop myself.

He wasn’t there to see me dance. It wasn’t lust or want. Those were hot emotions.

But when Professor Caine looked at me, there was no heat. Not even warmth. His eyes were cold and emotionless.

He came to Sinners to make me uncomfortable. To watch me squirm. To assert his power. I might as well have had strings tied to my limbs, a puppet for my master.

I wanted to push back and force his hand. Maybe make him uncomfortable for once.

My plan had backfired, though.

His expression was as stoic as ever, whereas I could feel my tremors vibrating from the inside out. I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing how he affected me, though. I also wasn’t going to chicken out. Steadying my hands, I made myself unhook the fasteners at the side of my skirt. My knuckles grazed down his abdomen as I went, burning my skin from the barely-there contact.

Pulling my skirt off with one hand, I leaned back and curled the fingers of my other hand around his knee. I arched my back and flung the skirt behind me. I knew the position emphasized my chest and rubbed my barely covered pussy against his abdomen.

When I felt him move as I sat forward, my breath caught.

I won.

He wasn’t ending the dance, though. He’d simply dropped his arms, letting them rest on the cushion.

Moving in time with the tempo, I rocked against him. Feeling him.

Allof him.

And it was an impressive all. The all-iest of all the alls.

Seems the good professor doesn’t need the pointing stick he uses in class.

I’d wanted a reaction, and I got one. His was physical. Mine was soul searing. Body scorching. An empty ache that had me squeezing my thighs together. My nerves sizzled, hyperaware of each spot that touched him. My brain crackled, a white noise hum drowning out reason and common sense.