Reluctantly, I sneaked with him along the seemingly endless hallways, not a soul in sight.
It was dark, only one side of his body illuminated by the candles. I didn’t understand why I couldn’t just go back to my room, and he evaded my questions with cryptic answers.
A night alone with him? Instead of the thrill, fear spread through me, a fear that went deeper, a warning of my primal instinct. So much could happen, and yet I couldn’t let him see my concerns. Who knows what was going on in his head right now, if he was plotting something, lulling me into safety only to break my neck. No, that wasn’t possible. Or was it?
A turn further on, we reached the faculty’s wing, just as badly lit and in a certain way gloomier. It was almost colder than at our place, or was that my freezing blood?
“We’re here. Don’t make a sound,” he whispered, barely audible. Really, Sherlock? I was just alone with a professor in the middle of the night, dressed in his hoodie. I wouldn’t be so brain-dead as to get caught.
Luckily, he didn’t catch me rolling my eyes.
He opened the squeaky door and turned on a small lamp at the entrance. Wide-eyed, I looked around, intimidated by the homeliness.
His large bed was on the right side, with the headboard against the wall. The window gave an incredible view of the woods and the full moon above. In front of the window was a piano, not as elegant as the one in his office, yet perfect. The wood in the fireplace on the left side of the room was barely burning, ember casting a golden glow on the furniture. Books were scattered everywhere, apparently with no system. On the small table next to his bed was a bottle of whiskey and a half-full glass.
It seemed like he hadn’t been sleeping before Leilah had dragged him to me. Why Mr. Preston, of all people? Well, I preferred him to any other professor or, God forbid, the principal.
“You can go take a shower over there.” He pointed his finger at the door that probably led to the bathroom, and I became all too aware of how much I had invaded his private space. “I’ll give you something of mine to sleep in. Go, I’ll pick something out.”
With a nod, I disappeared through the narrow door and ended up in a bathroom that was much more modern than ours. The rain shower was framed by two glass walls so everyone could see in, the sink made of black stone.
I stripped off my clothes, my skin so heated that I didn’t freeze anymore. Even the initially cool water could do nothing about it. I was naked, my professor only a few steps away.
I don’t know how long I just stood there, the glass long since completely fogged. My thoughts swirled only around the incident with Leilah and the terrible pain I had felt just a little while ago.
I looked at my palm, the wound already healing. How was that possible? Such a deep cut could not heal so quickly.
Was I hallucinating? Had he dipped that piece of cloth into some new drugs? I must have gone crazy. So many things just didn’t add up, and I couldn’t find a plausible explanation for at least one strange event.
I put on a last layer of soap that smelled a little like Mr. Preston, washed off the lather, and stepped out.
There was a pile of towels on a dresser, and I grabbed one, almost rubbing myself raw because I wanted to buy time. But what was I running from? I was already trapped.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw fresh clothes, which meant he had been in here while I hadn’t been paying attention to the door.
Had he seen me naked, watched me take a shower? No, impossible. The fogging on the glass had shrouded me from prying eyes.
I put on the long T-shirt and sweatpants. Since there was no hair dryer here, I had no choice but to step out of the bathroom with wet hair.
Mr. Preston sat in an armchair in front of the fireplace, nipping at the whiskey, until his eyes met mine.
“Go to sleep,” he ordered, but I didn’t budge.
“We need to talk about tonight.” He narrowed his eyes.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” I raised my hand, showing him my palm.
“And what’s that?” I said worriedly. If he was taken aback, he didn’t show it.
“What about it?” Did he really want to play this game?
“The wound is almost healed. That’s impossible,” I hissed, getting annoyed with him.
“It wasn’t deep. I put some medicine on it, a family recipe.” My professor shrugged.
Not deep? My sleeve was soaked in blood. I shook my head.
“That’s not true. Besides, what about Leilah? Why couldn’t I go back to her?”
Her eyes came back into my mind, the expression in them. It wasn’t normal. I didn’t have the courage to ask him about that detail yet.
He drank the last sip of the alcohol, put the glass on the floor, and closed the distance between us, his stride more elegant than a cat’s.
“Your friend is not feeling well. She can’t stand the sight of blood. That’s all. You interpret too much into trivial things.” He stood far too close to me, so that our body heat mixed.
“Bullshit. Besides, there’s no blood on me now, so going back wouldn’t be a problem. Tell me what’s going on,” I demanded, my anger slowly boiling up.
“You’re asking too many questions whose answers could cost you your head, little brat.” Irritated, I looked into his eyes, which seemed a little darker than usual.
“And you speak in too many riddles that get on my last nerve. I’m tired of your games.” He snorted.
“You think this is all a game?” He pointed across his room. “Nothing here is a game, remember that. Danger waits around every corner of this fucking school.”
“Does that include you, too?” I asked, crossing my arms.
“Especially me.” That had caught me off guard. So my assumptions were correct or did he mean something different?
“Then why are you putting me in danger?” He took a step closer and grabbed me by the hair, yanking my head back so he could look down at me.
It didn’t hurt, yet my scalp burned under his touch.
“Because you love it.” His grip tightened. “And because I can’t help it.” My lips parted slightly. His face came closer to mine, our mouths only inches apart. “Now go to sleep. The interrogation is over.”
“And where do you sleep?” My eyes wandered to the bed, big enough for two people.
“I’ll be fine.” He made a head movement toward the armchair, and I rolled my eyes.
I wasn’t here to take his place, and since he insisted I couldn’t return to my room tonight, I’d have to share the bed with him, whether or not I liked it.
“Come sleep with me,” was the only thing I replied. The crooked smile I hated so much, yet loved a little, resurfaced.
“You want me to sleep with you, little brat?” I rolled my eyes.
“Next to me.” With those words, I turned around and got into his bed, much cozier than mine.
His sheets smelled like him, and the pillow nestled perfectly against the back of my head. It was almost like it was made for me.
Slowly, he walked to the other side, keeping his eyes on me the whole time. Mr. Preston pulled the blanket aside and lay down at a proper distance. He was so far away and yet I could feel him so close to me.
I couldn’t help but turn on my side and look at him as he did the same. A moment of silence followed in which we just stared at each other, the air electrified.
“Don’t look at me like this, Avery.” His voice was low, menacing, like a predator’s warning.
I blinked.
“How?” I whispered.
“You know exactly what I mean. I’m your professor.”
“I know.” He shook his head.
“No, you don’t.” I moved a little closer, barely a few inches, and yet it felt like much more.
“Then don’t do the same, professor.”
His hand extended, and I flinched, but all he wanted to do was brush a curl out of my face.
“I can’t.” A fire, not of desire but something else I couldn’t describe, burned in his eyes.
“Do you want to kiss me?” I asked, my words barely audible.
“No.” His answer was firm, definitive.
“Why not?” We had already crossed several lines.
“Because I wouldn’t be able to stop.” My lips parted slightly, unable to say anything back. “It’s not a game anymore, Avery.”
No, it wasn’t. Banter and messages were one thing, this was something else, an abyss I couldn’t approach.
I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly.
“Good night.” He didn’t reply. I just felt him shift his weight, but I didn’t dare open my eyes. The warmth of his body was heavier, his scent lulled me to sleep until I drifted off into the infinite darkness.
I was lying on the ground, mud soaking into my clothes. It was cold, so damn cold. The surrounding trees bowed to the unyielding wind that blasted that night.
I looked up—looked into Leilah’s face, her eyes. They were inhuman, black. Dark veins snaked around her eyes, reaching her cheeks.
She licked over her pointed canines, ready to attack me. No, this wasn’t Leilah, my friend. A bloodthirsty monster was rearing up above me.
I tried to push off with my feet, to escape from her —in vain. My hand ran over something hard, and I looked to the right, saw Olivia’s rotten face next to me.
Only then I could scream, could rage and lash out with my hands. Saliva gathered in my mouth, a gag reflex impossible to suppress. She laughed, a diabolical laugh that did not fit her character at all. Then the monster jumped on top of me and….
“Wake up,” someone shouted while shaking me by the shoulders. I opened my eyes and looked into the worried face of my professor, who was kneeling over me.
“Olivia…Leilah,” was all I could get out. He lay down next to me again, close this time, his body pressed against mine, and I felt my heartbeat slowly calm down. It felt good to have him this close next to me. Way too good.
“Just a nightmare,” he assured me. But I couldn’t suppress the images that played out in my mind’s eye. Again and again, I saw Leilah’s eyes, her hungry gaze. Why was my subconscious afraid of her, my only friend?
My breathing was shallow and uneven, my fingers trembling. Was I having a panic attack? No, not here, please, not here, I kept repeating to myself.
He propped himself up so we could look at each other.
“I’m scared,” I whispered.
It was the truth I didn’t want to admit to myself. And I didn’t just mean the night and the nightmare.
No, it was something deeper than that. I was afraid I would never find myself again, never feel pure happiness again. I was afraid of disappointing my father, of disappointing myself. I was afraid of my past, I was afraid of the present and I was afraid of the future, of my failure.
But most of all, I was afraid of him, of the things he could unleash in me, maybe had already unleashed.
His gaze changed, softened, and yet there was a certain hardness in his features that he could never fully shake off.
“I’m scared too.” Something told me those words had taken more out of him than he could ever admit.
I lifted my hand and ran it over his jaw, his cheek, and he did something I hadn’t expected—he closed his eyes and leaned into my touch. Was he as lonely as I was?
Yes, yes, he was.
“Do you want to kiss me now?” He waited, fighting an internal battle that only he could win.
“Yes,” he whispered, his eyes still closed.
“Then kiss me.” Exhaling slowly, he leaned down.
Then his lips met mine.
It wasn’t one of those rushing kisses that cried out for pure desire, but one that laid bare the soul and opened the heart.
His lips were soft, far too soft, considering his appearance. He ran his tongue over my lower lip. A rough, deep growl escaped him, which gave me goose bumps.
Our kisses became wilder, more passionate. He curled one hand in my hair and pulled, making me moan.
I felt his smile before his mouth moved down to my throat, to the sensitive spot between my ear and jaw. I opened myself wider to him, offering him better access, and he let his teeth trail over my heated skin until it almost hurt. But I enjoyed it, enjoyed the pain.
His mouth found mine again, and it was almost as if I was tasting his lips for the first time. The slight aroma of whiskey still stuck to his tongue, and I had tasted nothing sweeter.
Mr. Preston shifted his weight, slipping one arm under my head and grabbing me by the hair again, while his other hand moved under my shirt to one of my breasts.
I shivered under his cold fingers, but arched up to meet him until he massaged my nipple with his thumb. It felt so good, he felt so good.
I reached out and gripped his length, feeling how hard he was just from our kisses. But he pulled my hand away.
Perplexed, I stopped.
“Tonight is not about me,” he whispered in my ear.
Before I could realize it, his hand moved to the waistband of my sweatpants and paused there. His fingers traced the skin beneath.
Fuck, I was drenched from those touches alone, then how would it be if…
“Spread your legs for me, Avie.”
I froze. No one had ever asked that of me before, let alone touched me further down. But I wanted it, wanted him to touch me so badly.
My kisses became more demanding, wilder, and I let it happen, opening up for him.
He wasted no time. Instead his fingers found the exact place I needed them most. His middle finger circled around my most sensitive spot, drawing a hoarsely moan from me, which only motivated him to apply more pressure.
I arched my hips, unable to wait, and he understood. His finger found my entrance, but he didn’t slide in, not yet. First, he wanted to play with me, to tease me.
“So wet for me,” he whispered, his voice as soft as butter.
I opened myself wider to him, my thigh pressed against his dick.
I drew in a sharp breath as I felt his finger inside me. It was so unfamiliar, so intense, and I wanted more.
He let it slide in and out, getting greedier with each thrust. His thumb massaged my clit and drove me crazy. My breathing quickened until climax was approaching like a harbinger of ecstasy.
“Come for me, little brat.” He added his ring finger, tips pressing on a spot that drove my lust beyond measure.
God, he was so good at this. His thrusts quickened, the tingling sensations in my lower belly growing stronger. “Yes,” I breathed.
Alexander
Avery was so fucking tight. She felt perfect, her moans the sweetest melody.
The little monster pressed her thigh against my dick, rubbing it with every move she made. If I had less self-control, I would have come long ago. Actually, I had no self-control at all. She was off-limits and yet I lay there listening to her moans, enjoying her wetness on my fingers and whispering her name.
My other hand clutched her brown curls, and I pulled on them exactly how she liked it. She needed this, needed me, and I needed to feel her. Just once, I told myself, then we’ll stop forever.
I pushed my fingers deeper inside her, pressing on the spot that would drive her insane. Just like I had driven her insane back in the woods when she had awakened the predator in me, made me dive into my primal instincts and hunt her down. And it had felt so good.
Or when I had lured her out of the room to play with her. I could have had her right then and there, and yet I pulled back, afraid even then of her dark green eyes, of their effect on me.
Her fingernails clawed at my biceps as she came so loudly, I was afraid someone had heard us. Her muscles tightened, squeezing my fingers, and I pushed a little harder, letting her ride that wave.
“Good girl,” I said, and pulled my fingers out, my forehead pressed to hers.
She relaxed in my arm, dropping deeper into the pillow, and I looked down at her one last time, memorizing her satisfied expression, for I would see it for the last time. “And now go to sleep.”
Avery
I had never come so hard in my life. It was almost like magic, his touch the strongest spell. And we had to stop, for my sake, for his. It was doomed to fail, and yet I nuzzled closer to him, enjoying this moment of peace.
I was no fool, knowing full well that tomorrow everything would go back to the way it was before between us. He would keep his distance and I would let him, because that’s the way it had to be.
This night had burned its way into my brain, a memory of the most intense moment I had ever felt.
“Good night, Alexander.” This was the first and last time I had ever spoken his first name out loud. He had called me Avie, so I allowed myself to savor the sound of his name one last time in his presence. Alexander.
