Page 17

Back in Control

"M iss Queen." Professor Austin's voice carries a note of surprise as he looks up from his grading. The wire-rimmed glasses slip slightly down his nose, giving him that unintentionally vulnerable look that makes him appear younger than he is. "I don't have a class until this afternoon. Did you need something?"

I close the door behind me, the soft click echoing in the empty room. "Actually, Professor, I think we need to talk."

His eyes track me as I move across the room, each step deliberately measured. I can already see the memories flashing behind his eyes—our last encounter, the party with Dougie, Belle's little stunt with the video. His throat bobs as he swallows nervously.

"I have office hours tomorrow if you'd like to discuss your grades," he offers weakly, already knowing this isn't about classwork.

"We've already made sure that my grades are fine." I perch on the edge of his desk, letting my uniform skirt ride up just enough to be distracting without being obvious. "I'm more concerned about a… personal matter."

He shifts uncomfortably in his chair, putting a few more inches of distance between us. Smart man. But not smart enough. "Miss Queen, if this is about what happened the other day, I assure you, I won't let?—"

"It's not about that. At least not completely." I wave his words away like annoying flies. "It's about something much more important."

I lean forward slightly, watching his eyes dart briefly to the V of my shirt before he forces them back to my face. The power in this subtle dance is intoxicating. If he just gives in and follows my lead, we could both win.

"I need your help, Professor Austin," I say, my voice low and intimate. "And I think you're going to want to help me."

His brow furrows deeper. "I don't understand."

"I think, by now, you know I can reciprocate," I hint. His dark eyes widen, finally realizing my point. I reach out and trail my fingers along the line of his jaw, catching his chin and guiding him back to look at me. "But I can give you more. So much more."

His jaw tightens under my palm. "Miss Queen, I think you misunderstand?—"

"Oh, I don't think I do." I meet his gaze squarely. "I think you're trying to be strong, and I respect that. But how about we skip all that, and I give you the pleasure you so much crave? In fact, since the favor I need from you is of a personal nature, I'm willing to make this encounter particularly memorable."

His breath hitches at the invitation, and the flush in his cheeks deepens.

"I know you want to. I can see it every time you look at me, every time I sway my hips in your direction. You think I can't feel the tension between us, but I do. It's electricity, this thing between us. Hot enough to light up the fucking sky."

For a moment, his mask of dignity threatens to crumble. I know I have him. It's only a matter of going in for the kill.

Before he can change his mind, I straddle him, my legs framing his narrow hips. I brace my hands on his shoulders, my lips inches from his, and whisper, "Come on, Professor Austin. All I want is one kiss. A taste, a sample. Nothing major. Then, if you think you can control yourself, we can go back to ignoring this throbbing tension."

His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, his body betraying his need even as he tries to push it down. "Miss Queen…"

"Do you feel this?" I roll my hips, gasping a little as the friction sends fire through my veins. "I'm not hiding it. I'm willing to show you everything. I'm offering myself on a silver fucking platter. And what do I get in return? A single kiss. That's it."

"Luna." He meets my eyes for a brief moment, and the aching, swirling depths of longing nearly steal my breath away. "I can't."

"Can't or won't?" I press against him, feeling the evidence of his desire. "Because last time you didn't say no to a blow job."

He shakes his head, a movement I match until our lips are practically touching.

"Just give in," I say with a sultry voice. "It's easy. No one will ever know."

His resolve seems to crack. "Just a kiss."

"A kiss. A taste. Then you'll leave it up to me."

He nods—agreement, encouragement, capitulation. With a pleased smile, I lean in, capturing his mouth with mine. The way he kisses back is anything but professional, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands coming to rest on my hips with a surety that leaves me breathless. This isn't about control; this is a gift freely given. It thrills me like nothing has in a long time.

When I finally pull away, the hunger in his eyes almost makes me shiver.

"Miss Queen…"

"Do we have a deal, Professor?"

His grip on me tightens, just for a moment. "God help me, yes."

"Don't worry." I move off him and lean against the desk once more. "By the time I'm done, no one will blame you."

Aware of him watching me with a mixture of lust and trepidation, I unbutton my shirt, letting it fall open to reveal the barely-there bralette beneath. My skin tingles with anticipation, responding to the shift of power. This is what I do—seduce people, tempt them, use them. No one can resist me. Not even him.

I let him drink in the sight for a long, tortuous moment before pressing my lips to his. He kisses me back, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. I nip at his lower lip, swallowing his gasp of surprise and encouraging him to devour me. Every one of his touches burns, a brand against the vulnerable flesh of my soul. A reminder of who I am and what I can do to men. For one brief moment, the darkness that's constantly roiling in my head fades away.

"Please," he murmurs against my mouth, his body trembling with need. "I want?—"

"Shhh." I cover his mouth with my hand, stifling his request. He tenses, but doesn't stop me. I lift off his lap, pulling him up with me, then drop gracefully to my knees between his spread legs.

"Let me give you a head start." I smile sweetly as I release his cock from his pants. "Don't finish too soon, though. I have a bonus round for you afterward."

He watches me as I take him into my mouth. I can tell that his resistance is crumbling by the desperate way his fingers weave into my hair. The bitter flavor of his leaking precum explodes on my tongue. I struggle not to gag when he nudges the back of my throat. I slowly work his cock, using all of my tricks to make him feel as good as possible. I could finish him with my hands in a matter of seconds, but I wouldn't have enough material to get a constant stream of favors I might need from him.

I back off a bit so that I can take a full breath. Teasing him further, I flick my tongue across the tip and enjoy the effect it has on him. A groan rumbles through him. For a long moment, I wonder if he might finish before we really started.

Just in case, I stop with my mouth over him and meet his gaze. That moment never came, as he continues staring at me.

I open my throat, slowly pushing his thick shaft down. His tip rubs the back of my throat, eliciting a delicious rush of anticipation. This is my favorite part of my performance.

Before I can think about what will happen next, I force myself to breathe. The stuttering motions cause me to lose my concentration and my face reddens. I close my eyes, tilt my head, and his manhood thrusts deeper, nearly touching my tonsils.

He grasps my face, holding it steady and guiding me. My lips clasp around the base of his shaft, and I nuzzle against the soft skin of his torso. My nostrils flare in concentration and satisfaction as the scent of his arousal stokes the fire inside me.

Without warning, he pulls my face back, withdrawing his cock from my throat. I almost whimper, afraid that he's going to finish without me getting to impress him again. But then I notice that the tempo of his heart has quickened. The pulse in the side of his neck has become frantic.

His brows dip in an intense expression, and I realize that he must be controlling himself. So considerate. He doesn't want to come too soon. Time to go to the second part of this encounter.

I climb on his desk and spread my legs, pushing my panties to the side so my pussy glistens in the sunlight streaming through the open windows. He lets out an aroused breath, and I smile.

"Put it in, Professor," I say playfully.

If there's any remaining doubt in him as to whether or not I want this, he ignores it. He pushes me back onto the desk as he climbs on top. A moment later, his cock is pressing into me. A soft groan escapes his lips.

That's when the game starts. First, I am still on the desk, getting fucked. Then, I get comfortable enough to sit up, both of us gazing into each other's eyes. He tries to capture my mouth, which I push away until he kisses me gently on my lips. It becomes a dance then, a ritualistic song of being lovers. His thrusts become more passionate, and I throw my head back to enjoy him driving himself deep inside me.

But I'm not done with my move yet. I don't have it as rehearsed as the others, but the power I hold here, naked in his arms, spurs me on. His movements slow, and he searches my face for a hint of the pleasure he wants me to feel. No, he doesn't care about my pleasure. He wants it to be his name I'm crying. My cries of delight.

And how can I deny such a well-meaning and innocent man, even though I'm a thousand miles away? I moan his name and whisper the dirty words a part of him craves to hear. Things become clearer and more intense.

To finish his fantasy, I wrap my legs around his waist, encouraging him deeper. "That's it, baby. Right there. Harder. Yes."

I kiss him, this time allowing him to linger as I roll my hips to create the perfect amount of friction. He breaks the kiss as he comes, my own orgasm rippling through me. I bury my face against his neck and bite to keep from crying out.

Moments later, I pull away and smile dreamily at him. "Oh, Professor, your cock is the best." I lean into his ear and whisper, "Look toward the desk nearest to the door and smile for the camera."

The color drains from his face as he looks at the desk. My phone is nestled behind a book, a tiny video icon blinking. He spins back to look at me as I step back. "Good boy," I purr. "Now I have limitless amounts of favor."

"You… You made me?—"

"Give you a blow job, and then have you come inside my pussy? Indeed, I did. Couldn't have done it without you being a willing participant."

He shakes his head. "No one would?—"

"Hear me out, Professor. Your career and your reputation are everything to you. It can remain intact as long as you do exactly as I tell you to do."

"You won't get away with?—"

"Your reaction pretty much tells me I will." I get dressed and then pick up my phone to show him that I recorded the entire thing. I tap a few places on the screen. "There. You can listen later."

He tucks his now softening cock back into his pants, doing up the zipper and button at a staggering pace. His entire body seems to deflate as he sinks back into his chair. "What do you want?"

I stop the recording and slip my phone back into my pocket. The threat is clear without being explicitly stated. "I told you. I need your help."

"With what?" There's defeat in his voice now, mixed with something else—resignation maybe or recognition of a game he's seen played before.

"I need access to some files. Emails, specifically."

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't this. "Whose emails?"

"My parents'."

A humorless laugh escapes him. "You want me to hack into private email accounts? That's not just unethical—it's illegal."

"So is what happened between us." I maintain eye contact, letting the false accusation hang in the air between us. "At least that's how administration will see it when they get my recording."

"This is blackmail," he whispers, the words barely audible.

"I prefer to think of it as leverage." I go around his desk, circling behind him to look at his computer screen. "You're good with computers. The best, according to your profile on the school website. Stanford grad, a former software engineer for a major tech company before turning to academia." I lean down, my breath warm against his ear. "This should be easy for you."

He doesn't move, doesn't even seem to breathe. "Why do you need access to your parents' emails?"

It's the first sensible question he's asked, and it catches me slightly off guard. For a moment, I consider telling him the truth—about Belle's investigation, the threats against Alex and Erik, the photos that my parents use like weapons. But the truth is a luxury I can't afford, not when I'm already risking so much.

"Let's just say they're keeping secrets from me. Important ones." I straighten up, moving back into his line of sight. "Secrets that could hurt people I care about."

Something shifts in his expression—a flicker of understanding, perhaps even sympathy. "Even if I wanted to help you, I'd need credentials, security information?—"

"I have that." I pull a small notebook from my bag, flipping to a page where I've written down what little I remember of my father's login information. "[email protected]. Password is likely some variation of 'LunaQ0517'—my name plus my birthday."

He stares at the notebook, then at me, reassessing. "You've been planning this."

"I'm improvising," I correct him. "But when you grow up with parents like mine, you learn to notice the details. Like how my father uses the same password for everything, despite my mother's constant warnings."

Professor Austin turns to his keyboard, fingers hovering uncertainly. "I can't promise anything."

"Just try."

He takes a deep breath, then turns back to his computer. He enters the information quickly, muttering to himself about "VPNs" and "proxy servers." I watch over his shoulder as windows of code and text flash across the screen, each meaningless to me but apparently significant to him.

"Your father isn't as careless as you think," he says after several failed attempts. "These are enterprise-level security protocols."

Frustration threatens to crack my carefully maintained composure. "Keep trying."

He works in silence for a few more minutes, his focus intense. I pace behind him, anxiety building with each passing second. If this doesn't work, I'll have exposed myself for nothing and risked everything on a desperate gamble. What was I thinking, believing I could pull this off?

"Wait." He pauses, eyes narrowing at something on the screen. "There's a satellite account linked to the main server. Some kind of backup or archive system."

My heart rate quickens. "Can you get into that?"

"Maybe." His typing grows more focused, more purposeful. "It's using an older security protocol. If the password follows the same pattern…"

The next few minutes stretch into an eternity as I watch him work, each keystroke potentially bringing me closer to the information I need or to complete failure. Finally, a new window appears, filled with folders and file names.

"I'm in," he says, sounding almost as surprised as I feel. "It looks like an automated backup system for your father's main email account. Everything gets archived here."

Relief floods through me, so powerful it almost makes my knees buckle. "Show me."

He moves aside, allowing me to take his place at the keyboard. The folders are organized by date, with the most recent at the top. My hands tremble slightly as I click on it, revealing hundreds of emails—business correspondence, meeting requests, and there—communications with names I recognize as regular guests at my parents' parties. I search the names of the most recent houses—New York, Austin, Venice. Thousands of emails, every last detail preserved, scanned, cataloged.

"I don't think you should be looking at this." Professor Austin's voice is soft but laced with uncertainty.

I don't reply. As I read, a chill settles over me, turning my bones to ice. Most of the emails reference deals, meetings, and auctions I don't understand, but a few stand out among the rest, their language making my blood run cold.

One subject line catches my eye: "Re: Stone Situation." I click it open, heart pounding.

The email loads, revealing a conversation between my father and a name I don't recognize but that sounds vaguely familiar from whispered conversations at midnight galas.

Sebastian,

The Stone boy continues to be a concern. Our surveillance indicates developing attachment to L. Recommend immediate extraction and recalibration before the situation deteriorates further. Standard protocols apply.

Awaiting authorization,

D.G.

My father's response is brief:

Authorized. Preparation for Munich is underway. Will require a full team once the planning stage is complete.

S.Q.

The blood in my veins turns to ice. Munich. That's where they took me after I got too close to Alex, where they "recalibrated" me with a combination of drugs and threats until I was compliant again. And now they're planning the same for Erik. Or is it for me?

"Luna?" Professor Austin's voice seems to come from far away. "What is it?"

I can't speak, can't even breathe properly. The room seems to spin around me as the full implications of what I'm reading sink in. They know about Erik. They're planning to take him, to do to him what they did to me, to break him until he's no longer a threat to their control.

"I need to download these," I manage finally, my voice barely above a whisper. "All of them."

Professor Austin hesitates. "That might trigger security alerts?—"

"I don't care." I turn to face him, letting him see the desperation in my eyes. "Please. This is life or death."

Something in my expression must convince him because he nods, taking control of the keyboard again. "I'll set up a secure transfer to an encrypted drive. It'll take a few minutes."

As he works, I continue scrolling through the emails, each one more damning than the last. Correspondence with Munich doctors discussing "treatment protocols" for "resistant subjects." Messages to private security firms authorizing surveillance of Shark Bay. Reports on Erik's movements, his background, and his weaknesses.

And worst of all, a message from Belle's father to mine:

Sebastian,

My daughter has been most cooperative in providing information about your situation at SBU. As agreed, we expect the Munich facility to be available for our use next quarter. Regarding our other subjects, James has become increasingly difficult to manage, and Isabelle’s methods have proven insufficient.

Regards,

Richard Gallagher

Belle. She hasn't been working to bring my family down. The only person she wants to ruin is me. She's been working with them all along, feeding them information about me, about Erik, about everything happening at Shark Bay. Not because she hates me, but because her own family is using her just like mine uses me.

It's almost too much to process, too many betrayals and threats layered on top of each other like a poisonous cake.

"It's done," Professor Austin says, pulling a small USB drive from his computer. "Everything from the last six months is on here."

I take the drive from him, clutching it like a lifeline. "Thank you."

He studies my face, concern evident in his expression. "Luna, whatever you're involved in… it seems dangerous."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "You have no idea."

"Maybe I can help?—"

"You've done enough." I cut him off, not unkindly. "The less you know, the safer you'll be." I tuck the drive securely into my bra, where no one will dare look for it. "We never had this conversation, understand? If anyone asks, I was never here."

He nods slowly. "What about the recording?"

"I won't delete it, but no one will ever see it," I promise. "Not as long as I get what I want."

Somehow, those words are the most terrifying of all. With the drive now heavy against my chest, I exit his classroom without looking back. I have the data. But what good will it do me when my problems have grown beyond any chance at containment?

What am I going to do now?

That's the question, isn't it? What can I possibly do against an organization with the resources and ruthlessness of my parents? How can I protect Erik when they've already begun planning his destruction?

The hallway outside is still empty as I slip out of the classroom, the USB drive a comforting weight against my skin. My mind races with everything I've learned, possibilities and dangers multiplying with each step I take.

They're coming for Erik. They've been watching us all along, tracking our movements, monitoring our growing connection. And now they're preparing to tear it all apart, to break him like they broke me.

But this time, I have something I didn't have before: advance warning. Information. A chance to fight back.

As I walk across campus, I feel something shift inside me. The fear and panic recede, replaced by a cold, focused rage. They think they can control me and take away anyone who matters to me, keep me trapped in their web of manipulation and threats.

They're wrong.

I'm finding ways to fight back. I'll bide my time to gather my strength. Once I do, I'll hit them strong enough so they'll never ever get up again.

I've played the perfect daughter, the obedient doll, the willing sacrifice for too long. I've let them use me, drug me, pass me around like property. But no more.

It's time to show my parents exactly what they've created—a queen who knows how to use every weapon at her disposal. A survivor who's learned from the best manipulators in the business. A predator who won't hesitate to destroy anyone who threatens what little she has left.

The USB drive pulses against my skin like a second heartbeat, full of secrets, leverage, and power. By the time I reach my dorm, a plan is already forming in my mind—dangerous and desperate, but possibly our only chance.

For the first time since coming to Shark Bay, I feel truly in control. And I'm going to use that control to burn my parents' world to the ground.