Page 27

TWENTY-SIX

FREYA

The only part of the night I hated was the morning that came too soon.

We lay next to each other in his bed, my fingers gliding down the scar on his right side, the one that ran from the top of his eyebrow, cutting through the middle of his eye. It was deep, but when he wore his glasses, it was barely noticeable. Now, with nothing hiding his face, it stood out more.

“How did you get this scar?” I whispered.

His hand traced slow patterns along my hip, his touch warm against my skin. His eyes dropped as he said, “My dad used to hit me. My mom wasn’t always there in time to stop him. One night, he took it too far.”

“I get that,” I murmured. “My dad raised a hand to me once, but my mom took me away before he could do anything.”

“Are you close with her?” he asked, meeting my gaze.

I let out a small, nervous chuckle. “Sometimes. She disappears a lot, and when she does, she leaves me with my grandma. But when she’s around, she’s okay, I guess.”

“What about yours?” I asked, threading my fingers through his hair. It was soft, slipping easily through my touch.

“She died,” he said quietly. “Right after she took me to my uncle’s place.” His jaw clenched slightly, and then he pulled me closer, resting his forehead against mine. “My whole family is fucked up,” he muttered. “But now I have you.”

I felt something shift inside me.

I hesitated before asking, “Can I ask you something?”

His lips twitched into a small smile. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you say anything when I asked you about Adeline?” I looked away, afraid of the answer.

He chuckled. “You left before I could say a thing. And besides, I never loved her. It was just a crush or something from a distance.”

I swallowed. “I found a letter before I came here. Someone named ‘L’ wrote it to her. Whoever sent it sounded... in love.“ I studied his face carefully. “I guess I was scared that person was you.”

His brows furrowed. “What letter?” He looked genuinely confused. “I barely even talked to her. I never even dared to approach her until that night...” He trailed off.

“Oh.” I turned onto my back, staring at the ceiling. “What was she like?”

He sighed. “She was kind.” Then he chuckled. “Sometimes too kind. She was smart and helpful.”

I scoffed. “What’s next? She lit up the room when she walked in.”

“Are you jealous?” he teased, his British accent more noticeable as he spoke.

“No,” I muttered, rolling onto my side.

He didn’t buy it. With one quick movement, he pulled me back, rolling me toward him. “You’re adorable,” he murmured.

As I shifted, the bandage on my arm started to come loose. He noticed immediately, sitting up and taking my hand.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, gently peeling the bandage away.

“Not anymore,” I said, biting my lip.

His fingers tightened around mine. “Why did you do it?” His voice was softer now. “Was it because of me?”

I looked away, my gaze dropping to the sheets. “No. It was just... a bit of everything.”

“Talk to me,” he whispered, pulling me closer.

I hesitated at first, but then something inside me broke open.

Tears blurred my vision.

“I was alone for a long time,” I whispered. The words felt heavy, like I was finally releasing something I had been carrying for too long. I had told Ava just pieces the other day but never the full truth. But now, for the first time, I let myself say it. And for the first time, someone listened.

“Moving,” I started, my voice unsteady, “around...” I sighed. “I never had friends. Just my mom.”

I wiped my tears quickly, but they kept coming. “I never had anyone to talk to, and I kept collecting all these thoughts. And when I was twelve, I locked myself in the bathroom.” Another tear slipped down my cheek. “I had this thought—what if I was just gone? Would anyone even care?” My voice started to break. “I knew it was wrong. I knew I shouldn’t feel that way. But I also knew I would do it again.”

I swallowed hard, my throat tightening. “There were all these words in my head, and when I put that razor to my skin and cut...” I sniffed. “All I felt was pain.”

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me in so close I could feel the way his heartbeat picked up against my cheek.

“And for a moment, everything else was gone,” I whispered. “My mind was empty. The only thing I could think about was that burning sensation on my skin. And I screamed...” My voice broke. “So loud. But no one heard.”

I let out a shaky breath. “I guess when you have no words, all you can do is scream.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, holding me like he never wanted to let go. “Now you have me,” he murmured against my hair. “We can scream. We can talk. Anything you need. Just promise me you won’t do it again.”

My fingers tightened in his shirt. “What if I have no choice?” I buried my face in his chest, afraid of the answer.

“Then I’ll make sure you never have to make that choice again,” he said firmly. His grip on me tightened. “Now you have me.”

I had him.

When you’re young and reckless, you do stupid things and call them mistakes. I call them lessons learned.

Even if I didn’t want to leave his bed, I had to get to class, the same one he was teaching. And he didn’t want me to be late.

Somehow, I didn’t want to disappoint him, even though every part of me craved trouble. So, I decided to show up early and leave him with something to think about during the lesson.

The classroom had been turned into a lab for the day. It was empty. He was sitting at his desk, glasses perched on his nose as he read.

The memory of last night sent a shiver through me. The way he had taken me, how his touch still lingered on my skin. It felt like he had possessed me, like he still haunted me.

“Good morning, professor,” I said, walking inside.

I climbed the stairs to the last row and sat at the only single table in the back. I loved that spot for exactly that reason—it was hidden.

He glanced up, raising a brow, but said nothing. His eyes flicked between his book and me as if debating something.

I bit down on the pen resting on the table, then, slowly, I slid my black thong down, slipping it off my legs. My fingers played with the lace for a moment before I placed it on the desk in front of me.

He cleared his throat, shifting in his chair before leaning back, a smirk tugging at his lips. With a slow shake of his head, he lifted a finger, silently calling me forward.

I grabbed the thong, folding it in my hand as I made my way down to his desk.

He placed a hand on the table. “I’ll have to take that from you, Miss Sinclaire.”

“Very well, professor,” I murmured, pressing the fabric into his palm. Then, turning slowly, I walked back up the steps, taking slow, shortened strides, arching my back just enough to let him see beneath my skirt.

As I sat down, he didn’t look away. His eyes stayed locked on me, his smirk still on his lips as he shook his head.

Students started filing in, and I pretended to be lost in the book on my desk, though my heart still pounded in my chest. Once everyone had settled, Lucius stood, turning to face the class.

In front of each table sat rows of chemicals, beakers, and a gas mask with tinted glass eye covers.

“Class,” he began, writing on the board, “today, we’ll be conducting a small experiment.” He turned back toward us. “We will be mixing ammonium chloride (NH?Cl) with hydrochloric acid (HCl).” His eyes flickered briefly toward me before he continued. “This reaction will produce a thick white fog. You’ll have exactly three minutes to measure how quickly the reaction takes place. Those who record accurate results will receive extra credit.”

A murmur spread across the room as students prepared their pens and notebooks.

Lucius picks up the gas mask. “For safety, you’ll need to wear these. The tinted glass will make note-taking more challenging, but you’ll still be able to observe the chemicals. Please remain at your desks at all times.”

He pulled on his gloves as the class stood, donning their masks and preparing the materials. One by one, they began pouring the chemicals together.

Within seconds, a dense white fog curled through the air, swallowing everything in its path. Everyone gasped, commenting on how scary and fascinating it looked.

But I focused on my notes, scribbling quickly, listening to the scratch of pens against paper.

Then, fingers brushed under my skirt, gliding up my thigh, making me freeze.

No one could see through the fog.

But I knew.

It was him.

It had to be him.

I could barely see the edge of the table anymore, let alone him. The smoke thickened, swirling in waves, turning everything into a blind, endless white mist.

Then I felt him. His hands gripped my ass, gently guiding me toward the table. A shiver ran down my spine as his fingers slid between my lower lips, teasing and then finding my clitoris. He rubbed it in slow circles, sending a jolt of heat through my core.

This can’t be happening. Not now. Not here.

“Everyone, you have three minutes to take all your notes,” he shouted from behind me, his voice calm, commanding like he wasn’t burying his fingers inside me.

I spread my legs just slightly, just enough for him to go deeper. My breath hitched as he slid two fingers into me, thrusting, stretching, pushing me toward the edge.

I bit my lip, hard, fighting back a moan.

Leaning against the table, I widen my stance, inviting him in. He moved closer, cupping my dripping heat with his palm before driving in three fingers this time, curling them, working me open.

I tried so damn hard not to scream.

Then, suddenly, he withdrew, his fingers trailing down to my clit. He pressed his thumb against my slick, sensitive flesh, rubbing circles so intense that a strangled squeal escaped my throat before I could swallow it down.

Fuck.

His touch was relentless. He dove back into me, curling his fingers, pressing into the spot. My inner flesh clenched, my orgasm growing with each slow, painful thrust. I spread my legs wider, gripping the edge of the table as he pushed deeper.

My body trembled under his control, shocks of pleasure coursing through me. Just when I was about to lose myself completely, he changed his rhythm, rubbing my clit faster, harder, until my thighs trembled.

I wanted to scream his name.

Instead, I closed my eyes, bit my lip, and swallowed the cry of pleasure that threatened to escape. His fingers slid back inside, deeper this time, and as I tightened around him, I felt pleasure. A soft, shuddering sigh escaped my lips as I freed myself from his grip.

Then, as quickly as he started, he pulled away.

He straightened me up, his fingers trailing across my throbbing heat one last time before he stepped back, walking away like nothing had happened.

I heard his footsteps. The scrape of a chair.

The fog began to clear.

He removed his gas mask. “Good job, everyone,” he said smoothly, as if he hadn’t just shattered me with his fingers.

Around me, students took off their masks, placing their papers on the desk. My legs wobbled as I adjusted my skirt, pressing my thighs together, hoping no one could see just how wrecked I was.

I placed my paper down—blank. Not a single answer.

As I sat back down, his voice rang out again.

“While I check your answers, please read the next paragraph on page twenty-seven.”

What answers? I hadn’t written a damn thing.

How could I?

I wasn’t thinking about the exam. I wasn’t thinking about anything except the fact that I needed him.

Again.