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TWENTY

LUCIUS

I had her wrapped around my finger. I knew it. She would do everything I said now, play along with the little game I had carefully laid out for her.

She wandered through the library, her fingertips grazing the spines of every book on the shelf as if each one held a secret she could unlock. The way she failed to connect the dots—that I had been there from the beginning—started to gnaw at me. I needed her to fall for me, to want me entirely.

To love every scar, every twisted reminder of my past. To embrace my demons as if they were her own. And patience was running thin.

She was pulling me apart, thread by thread, making me forget why any of this should feel wrong. But when I saw her, nothing mattered.

Not right. Not wrong. Only her.

I had done this before—woven myself into the lives of women, made them crave me, obsess over me. I needed them to cling to me so tightly that they couldn’t imagine a life without me. But when the routine dulled, when their presence became predictable, I disappeared. Erased myself from their world as if I had never existed.

But with her? It was different.

I was making her feel what she made me feel, teaching her the lessons she needed before she could truly love me. I showed her how she stole my breath, how she made the air feel scarce. How I had to mask myself, afraid that if she saw too much, she’d turn away. I made her understand that when she was near, my world narrowed to just her—that she blinded me to everything else. That the way I left her, helpless, scared, and desperate, was exactly how I felt when she was too far away. When she cried, when I couldn’t be there to hold her, to tell her I wasn’t going anywhere.

She made me feel out of control, like some reckless fool sneaking into her world just to be near her. She consumed every thought, every second. She was a drug I couldn’t detox from, an addiction that tightened its grip with every breath she took.

And then, she found me.

I leaned against the corner between two shelves, watching her hands tap along the books, searching. Blindly reaching. Until her fingertips brushed against mine. She trailed her hands from my fingers to my wrist, then to my neck, my chest.

“Too close, Little Star,” I murmured, my voice dipping into something darker, something possessive. My hands found her hips, pulling her toward me until her palms pressed against my chest.

I ached to tear that mask from her face, to claim her lips, to taste the air she breathed and make sure she never strayed from me.

But I couldn’t risk it.

She wasn’t ready yet.

I took her hand, guiding her palm from my chest down to my crotch, letting her fingers trace the side of my pants, feeling how hard she made me.

My hands found her hips, pulling her closer until she fell onto me.

“I want you, Little Star. Tell me you want me to.”

Her body shivered, every movement telling me she did—she wanted all of it. But she didn’t say a word.

I spun her around. She gasped as her ass pressed against my hard cock.

“Tell me,” I whispered in her ear. “Are you mine?”

Still, no words. Just a soft moan as my hands slid from her hips to her ass. I lifted her skirt, unzipped the small zipper on the left side, and tugged it down to her knees. She let it fall completely, stepping out of it, spreading her legs as she leaned into me.

She still didn’t say a word.

But her body said a thousand more.

“Fine,” I growled. “I will make you mine.”

I pulled her closer, my back pressing against the wall as I let her body sink into mine. My hand glided down her thigh, lifting her leg and placing it on the bookshelf.

Then I moved my hand back up, trailing from her thigh to her hips, from her stomach to her inner lips, spreading my fingers as I cupped her pussy, making her moan.

I spanked her clit, then pressed three fingers against it, rubbing slowly as her hands worked to unbutton her shirt.

She pressed her ass harder against me as my fingers slid from her clit to her inner flesh, pushing in and out until she arched her back, leaving only her ass resting against me. Taunting me.

“You like this, don’t you?” I chuckled, leaning closer to her ear, licking it before whispering, “Show me.”

Her hands squeezed over the white lace of her bra as she rocked her hips, thrusting herself onto my fingers.

“Good girl,” I whispered, my free hand trailing up her back, from the base to the top, releasing her breast from the bra. I pulled her closer, pressing my palm against her soft skin, twisting her nipple just enough to make her twitch.

I moved my fingers away, guiding her onto me.

Unzipping my pants, I reached for the condom in my back pocket, bringing it to my mouth. I bit the top of the plastic, tearing it open, then rolled it over my cock, already hard for her.

My hands found her hips again, pulling her in, teasing her as I held myself against her entrance. Spreading her ass cheeks, I guided her onto me, letting her body find me—and when she did, I thrust inside.

She arched her back, taking it in slowly, her tightness resisting at first. My grip tightened on her hips, and I pulled her down onto me, thrusting deeper until she cried out.

Now buried inside her, I thrust faster, her muffled cries swallowed by the mask. My hand slid down to her clit, rubbing slow, deliberate circles until she twitched, her knees giving way.

I pulled out.

Flipping her around, I lifted her onto me, her thighs locking around my waist. Spinning, I pressed her back against the wall, thrusting into her again—this time in one deep stroke.

“I love how tight you are, Little Star,” I murmured, lips brushing against her neck as I bit down, teasing her skin between my teeth.

My hands gripped under her ass, spreading her wider as I kept thrusting.

I wanted her to feel every inch of me.

Moving away from the wall, I slowly crouched, keeping myself inside her, lowering us both until I lay back, letting her take control.

She pulled off her shirt completely, leaving only the black ribbon around her neck. Her hips moved, circling, grinding, dancing on me.

The gas mask hid her face, but I could hear every moan inside.

She arched her back, leaning backward, taking me deeper—until there wasn’t an inch of me left untouched.

“Fuck,” I heard her mutter, a strangled cry as she tightened around me.

I took my chance—my hand finding her clit, spanking and rubbing it until she twitched, her body trembling under my touch.

She moaned so hard, I knew she was on the edge—ready to surrender any minute.

Her thighs began to shake, and she couldn’t keep thrusting as she grew numb inside. So I pulled her forward, her body feeling every shock I sent through her. Her thighs hovered above me, and I thrust into her again—faster, harder—filling every inch of her.

At any moment, someone could walk in and see her—spread naked for me, moving on top of me, taking every single touch. But I didn’t give a fuck. The only thing that mattered was fucking her.

“Little Star,” I moaned between my lips, losing myself inside her.

I could feel it building—I was going to come. I pulled her closer, thrusting deeper, letting my cock pulse inside her until the condom barely held it in.

Gently, I lifted her off me. She reached for me, hands already preparing to wrap around my body, but I pushed her aside. Slowly, I pulled out, standing up.

“Are you leaving?” she whispered, breathless, sitting with her knees hugged to her chest, still wearing the mask.

Something inside me cracked. I wanted to take her to my office, to care for her the way she deserved. But I couldn’t. If she saw my face, this game would end. And she would win.

And I was the one who always won.

So I let my ego win, even as my heart told me to stay.

“Wait five minutes before taking off the mask,” I said, masking my voice with a deep growl. “Then leave.”

“But…” she started.

But I said nothing.

I pulled off the condom, tossing it into the nearby trash. Zipping my pants, I turned and walked out.

I knew this library by heart. I knew the exits. I knew the way out, but it wasn’t easy to follow. By the time she removed her mask and got dressed, I’d already be in my next class.

Without her in it.

The point is—I’m not a good guy.

And I never tried to be.

I am a flawed man.

And I just wanted her to fall for me—to fall deep into all my flaws—so that one day, she wouldn’t be able to leave.

After class, I returned to the office. It was my last class of the day, and I had promised myself I wouldn’t see her again today. I couldn’t face her.

The moment I stepped inside, something felt off, like someone had been here before me. I scanned the room, searching for anything out of place, but nothing had been moved. No disturbed papers, no shifted objects. And yet, the feeling gnawed at me, refusing to let go.

I stepped closer to my desk. A chair was slightly pulled out. Resting on the seat—a disk wrapped in a red ribbon, a note attached. My stomach twisted.

I picked it up, untied the ribbon, and unfolded the note. The words inside sent a chill down my spine:

“Fuck.” The word shot out, sharp and raw. “How the fuck did they find out about her?”

I flipped open my laptop, my fingers unsteady as I slid the disk into the drive. The screen flickered. A video loaded. The timestamp: 2007.

Someone had recorded me.

The footage played. Me, walking through the square, heading to Adeline’s room. Then a cut. A jump. My hands and shirt were smeared in blood, my body moving fast, running toward the dorms. The screen went black. White letters popped on the screen:

“I know your secret.”

The video restarted—this time, capturing me heading toward Freya’s room. A gas mask in my hands. Breaking in. Another cut to black. More words:

“Sin tastes sweeter once forbidden. What are you going to do, professor?”

My blood roared in my ears. I took the disk, shoved it back into its plastic case, and locked it in the drawer. My hands went to my head, fingers digging into my scalp as I paced.

Then I saw it.

Carved into the wall beside the bookshelf is a game of tic-tac-toe. The letters A and O were written into the squares.

“Fuck!” I bellowed, rage surging. My arm swept across the desk, sending everything crashing to the floor.

My mind spun. I couldn’t tell anyone about Freya. Couldn’t tell Luna about the threat—she’d figure out who she was. Couldn’t tell Cass either—he didn’t know about Luna and me in Adeline’s room. And I couldn’t warn Freya because then she’d know who I was.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

My fist slammed into the wall, cracking through the center of the carved tic-tac-toe.

Game on. Whoever you are, I will hunt you down. And if you touch my star, I will burn this place to the ground.