Page 4 of Teach Me (Deviant Players #1)

Deep down, I knew he was right. It was wrong of me to dismiss female participants, but I honestly couldn’t think of any woman who would willingly admit to enjoying degradation. I wouldn’t even admit to reading books that explored such kinks.

Dr Braithwaite pushed off his desk. ‘Ophelia…’ He grasped my chin, lifting my gaze to his. ‘You appear to have decided that respect, consent, and trust cannot be a part of degradation. Isn’t giving someone what they want and doing so in a safe environment one of the most caring acts you can do?’

I looked between his face and his hand, momentarily so stunned by his move that I couldn’t speak. He always kept a respectable distance, but now I was overwhelmed by his warmth and scent. And he smelt so damn good – a subtle blend of cedar and spice I couldn’t stop breathing in.

‘You’ve dismissed consensual power exchanges, the care-giving role of Dominants, and that there are women – and men – who enjoy degradation, even humiliation and pain.

It does not correlate with early exposure to hardcore pornography.

’ His voice dropped to a low, husky tone.

‘You’ve also confused BDSM with abuse, and that’s a misconception I cannot allow. ’

‘Allow?’

‘Someone has neglected your needs, perhaps even shamed you for?—’

‘I don’t have past trauma.’

‘Whoever it was,’ he continued, ‘it’s a reflection of them, not BDSM. People in the scene know the female body is uniquely created for a level of pleasure unachievable for men. Only women can experience multiple types of orgasm, some lasting as long as an hour?—’

‘An hour?’ I whispered.

‘Mhmm.’ The corner of his mouth curved into a devious smile. ‘You’ve also ignored the declassification of sadomasochism as a mental disorder, a curious oversight by someone who wants to be a clinical sexologist.’

‘I…’ I swallowed hard. ‘I turned down that offer to study abnormal psychology.’

‘You still found a way to study sexuality, proving my point that this runs deeper than you want to admit. It’s an itch you can’t help but scratch.

’ Dark amusement glittered in his eyes. ‘You’re the first student in ten years to surprise me with your research question.

But I’m disappointed in your lack of self-reflection.

Your hypothesis is based on an opinion you’ve formed because of a bad experience caused by someone who didn’t know what they were doing. ’

‘Pornography has negatively influenced male sexuality.’ I gestured. ‘Joshua called me a slut earlier.’

He leaned in. ‘What else did you expect from a boy his age?’ His heated gaze flicked between my eyes and my mouth. ‘Even Freud, whom you like to quote so often, struggled to understand female sexuality.’

I pulled in my bottom lip and moistened it. If he kissed me now, I would agree to any change he demanded for my dissertation. But he wouldn’t kiss me. He was my lecturer. There were rules, and I scrambled for an argument to distract myself from the temptation of crossing that line.

‘My focus is on hardcore pornography, of which men are the largest consumers. I don’t have a hypothesis if I include women, and I won’t get data on female sexual deviancy if I can’t find participants.’

His fingertips travelled along my jawline before sweeping across my cheek, a light caress to brush away a strand of my hair. My breath hitched as his touch sent goosebumps rushing down my arms.

‘Would you like a challenge, Ophelia?’ he murmured as he traced the shell of my ear.

‘A-a challenge?’

‘I believe if a woman is under the right man’s control, in the right environment, she can embrace all aspects of her sexuality.’

‘All aspects?’

‘She can become the deviant you deny exists, and I’m willing to prove it to you with an in vivo experiment.’

‘H-how?’ My voice trembled as his fingertips travelled down the side of my neck, sending a shock to my core. ‘In vivo?’ A few working brain cells sought the meaning. ‘Is this about visiting a BDSM club? I’ve told you I’m not interested in that scene.’

‘I believe you are, but you’re unwilling to admit it. Give me a month, after which you’ll have no problem finding the right participants for your dissertation.’ He planted his hands on the table on either side of me, boxing me in. ‘Because you’ll be in your own pilot study.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know what I mean.’ The unabashed hunger in his eyes resonated in every cell in my body.

‘We both know why I made sure I’d be your dissertation supervisor.

It’s the same reason you didn’t ask for someone else.

It’s also why you’re in the library every evening, working in a room directly across from my office. ’

There was no point in refuting his accusation, but his admissions stunned me.

He tilted his head. ‘Unless there’s more between you and Joshua than I’m aware of? A history, perhaps?’

‘God, no.’

‘Good.’ His gaze left mine to sweep over my exposed cleavage. ‘And there’s no one else in your life that would object?’

It was a moot question. He knew I was single, as our debates often veered into personal admissions I later regretted.

He had a habit of knocking down my walls, but what else could he bring out in me?

When his eyes lifted to mine, they teemed with endless possibilities, and I sucked in a breath as my mind filled with delicious images.

Dr Braithwaite with his hand on my head as I licked his cock from base to tip.

Dr Braithwaite bending me over his desk while he?—

I shook my head to dispel those thoughts. ‘Whatever you’re suggesting won’t be valid without proper data. How would I measure the effect of this experiment?’

‘Good question.’ I breathed a slight sigh of relief when he stepped back to collect a paper from his desk.

‘These questionnaires are used to track arousal and changes in sexual preferences based on exposure to different stimuli,’ he said, passing it to me.

‘I want you to complete them now and after the study.’

My jaw slacked. He’d planned this.

‘It would also be prudent for you to make a list of specific degrading acts you consider deviant,’ he continued. ‘Five items should be sufficient.’

‘Why?’

He folded his arms, assuming his role as my teacher, and gave me a stern look.

‘As you should know by now, the only way to test someone’s response to new stimuli is to encourage them to embrace it.

It’s like sampling new food, Ophelia. You may think you don’t like shrimp, but how do you know unless you’ve tried it? ’

My lips flattened. BDSM and fussy eating were hardly comparable.

‘We’ll meet in my office every week until your exams at the end of January, after which you’ll resubmit your ethics application with a less biased hypothesis.

’ He gestured to the paper clenched in my hand.

‘There’s also a link to an online diary where you can log your emotional state and rate your level of arousal every morning and evening?—’

‘A diary?’

‘It’s safe. All data you provide will be anonymised and kept confidential. I also want you to report any sexual dreams, fantasies, masturbation, and use of pornographic material.’

I almost dropped the paper. He wanted to know whether I masturbated? Hell, no. I wouldn’t put that in writing. ‘I don’t watch porn.’

‘You will if I ask you to.’

My whole body tingled, right down to my toes.

He tucked his hands into his pockets, resting back on his heels. ‘I require your obedience and honesty for the duration of this experiment. If you provide false data or withhold anything from me, the study will be invalid.’

‘No fake orgasms then,’ I blurted in a half-hearted attempt to pretend the only thing I cared about was the research data.

It earned me another smile. ‘Do you accept my conditions?’

Part of me wanted to run out the door and pretend we’d never had this conversation, but I was floating on a cloud from the prospect of having him all to myself for a month and had to pinch myself to check I wasn’t dreaming.

‘Ophelia?’ he prompted when I only stared at him, my mind swirling with images of us playing out fantasies I’d had since the first time I saw him. ‘Do you accept?’

‘Okay.’

‘Excellent.’ He smiled. ‘I’ll see you Monday morning. Consider your choices carefully over the weekend.’

Oh, I would – with my vibrator.

Dr Braithwaite returned to his satchel as if nothing unusual had happened, so I pushed off the table and headed for the door, wobbling a bit on my heels.

‘And Ophelia,’ he said before I could escape the room. ‘Wear the boots.’