Page 9 of Crown of Thorns (The Initiation #3)

He will want more and more, higher grades, or approval of absence, or whatever else. Both will ruin my career. If he thinks that he can push me out of balance, he’s wrong. I’ve got extensive experience teaching at a shit university in Paris, I can deal with bullies.

A plan, that’s what I need. Something that will stop Louis from using my mistake against me. I can’t risk my career, can’t risk being back on the streets.

I glare outside the windows at the forest, absentmindedly slapping against the punching bag to feel its resistance.

Who says I can’t use this unfortunate event against him as well? Does his father know that his son is into men? Jean-Luc seems like a decent man, but if he’s anything like my father was…

Bile rises in my throat. Just thinking it makes me sick. I know what it feels like to be cast out for who you are. To be made a pariah in your own home. I can’t do that to someone else— won’t —even if he’s trying to destroy me. That kind of cruelty made me. I won’t become it.

I head over to the canteen and order my usual flat white and a croissant, then make my way to class. For once, everyone’s already ready to begin.

“Good morning, everyone.” I hand out packets for the next module. “We’ll work on this for the remainder of December, then execute a group assignment in January.” Over the next hour, I give them famous examples of breaking results in group behaviour.

“Louis—” I stop him when the bell rings. He turns my way, his clean-shaven face handsome and arrogant and damn irresistible. “Meet me in my office at four.”

He lifts a brow in surprise. “Is this still about that photo? I received your email. Or, did you want to discuss the other thing?” A slow smile spreads across his face. He looks like a dog who’s been told he’s a good boy. Smug, spoiled, and ready to beg.

I clear my dry throat, then nod toward the door. “You may leave now. We’ll talk later.” My hands are fisted, my chest tight. I haven’t decided if that was a good move or whether I just dug my own grave. I don’t recall having made the decision with my brain at all.

When I get back to my office later in the afternoon, I barely have time to finish my work and throw in a few much-needed punches before there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in.”

In walks Louis, a piece of art straight out of a painting.

His uniform sits like a glove around his strong limbs.

No longer wearing the navy-blue blazer, the top buttons of his shirt are open, revealing smooth, tanned skin.

His earthy scent takes over the air, and the room becomes too small when he gets comfortable in the leather chair.

He looks at me with that haughty air, that sly curve on his lips a silent challenge. “You wanted me, Professor?”

I ignore the double meaning of his words. “I want this to stop, Louis.”

Louis raises a dark eyebrow and takes in my office. “You don’t like the new look? We can change things, you know.”

“Don’t play stupid.” I get out of my chair. “That’s not what this is about, and you know it.”

“Yeah? And what if I refuse?” he murmurs, dark eyes daring me. “What if I want more?”

“You have no option. None whatsoever.” The more I speak, the more I get riled up. This is war. My job is on the line. “I’ve been reasonable with you. I’ve been professional with you. But you keep on provoking me, keep on backing me into a corner. I’m not having it. Who do you think you are?”

“I’m Louis?—”

“Don’t give me that! Don’t—” Rounding my desk, he watches me approach with large, pupil-blown eyes. “You like this, don’t you? To know that you’ve got me caught in your little game. Well, I’m not having it.”

“You already said that, Professor.” He gets up too, and I don’t need to look to see that his dick is hard. My eyes slide down anyway, because I can’t ignore it. What’s worse, my own dick’s also straining in my pants. “That doesn’t mean I agree.”

“What?” I shout. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me. I don’t agree.”

“You…” Rage fills my mind, fogging my words.

I reach out blindly, clearly not thinking, and grab his throat.

Clenching my hand around it, I feel the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

I clear my throat, eyes zooming in on my hand.

My brain screams for me to stop. Stop . What am I doing? My dick throbs in my pants.

“Feeling better, Professor?” Louis rasps.

“Shut up.” Pushing him against the wall, I kick his thighs apart with my leg. His hand touches my hip, and I jolt. “I don’t know what you want to gain from your pathetic, little game, but I won’t give you better grades if that’s what you’re after. I’m a professional.”

“I can tell.” His eyes twinkle with glee. Blood rushes through my head. He’s right, I know he is. But I can’t stop myself.

It’s not just Louis’s provocation. It’s everything. Years of clawing my way into respectability, the fear of losing it all, the memories of being left behind. Every barb he throws feels like echoes from a life I thought I’d outrun.

And today, I crack. Not because of him alone, but because I’m so fucking tired of holding it all together.

“I…” I apologize for my behaviour. The words don’t come out. There’s something about the way he provokes me that brings out the worst. I hate him for seeing through me. For dragging out the parts I’ve buried under degrees, books, respectability. I hate him most for making me feel.

“I, yes?”

“You brat.” I’m fuming, breath ragged. Shame crashes over me. How the hell can I be this hard for someone I’m supposed to protect? He’s a student. This is wrong.

I want to shut him up. To stop his smirking, his pushing, his unrelenting need to get under my skin. But more than that, I want to take control. To silence him with something he can’t twist.

The way his lips part, the way he watches me, it’s too much. I want to pull him close, press him against the desk, feel him surrender. I want to own the sounds he makes.

And God help me, part of me wants to see how far he’d let me go.

“Is that all you’ve got, Professor?” Leaning forward, his tongue darts out, tracing the shape of my lips. I recoil with a snarl.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I already have. And I will again.” Louis looks victorious, even with my hand squeezed around his neck. Like the smug little shit he is.

I want to disgrace him as I take him. For him to know what it feels like to be pestered and dishonoured, to be kicked out of your home and be left in the shit. That’s how much I hate to want the damn kid.

“No. This is what’s going to happen,” I snap. “You will leave me alone. No more attending my classes. No more text messages. In exchange, I will never mention anything to your family. We will forget this ever happened and both move on like adults.”

He nods, face flushing from the lack of oxygen. Relief washes over me.

“Good.” My voice is hoarse, shaking with adrenaline. “Had I known it was that easy to convince you this way, I’d have used my fists before.”

I release him, breath ragged. For a beat, he just stares at me, then his eyes flash, not with fear, but fury. Power. Something wild that dares me to do it again.

And then, without warning, I’m pushed back, spine colliding with the wall so hard the frame rattles and a picture crashes to the floor. His hands are on me, mouth close, breath ragged with something feral.

I gasp, stunned. Too late.

I’ve just handed the devil his invitation.

Somewhere beyond the stone walls, a crow calls once. A sharp, echoing caw. Or maybe I imagine it.