Because I could still feel it, the sharp weight of Hayden’s gaze. It pressed against me, sharp and relentless, cutting through the air with a focus that left me pinned to my chair. My stomach knotted when I caught the subtle arch of his brow above the rim of his glasses, a gesture so slight yet searing, as if he were daring me to explain, daring me to deny what he had just witnessed.And in that instant, I knew, the storm between us was far from over.
Hayden’s gaze lingered a moment longer, sharp enough to leave the air heavy in my lungs, before he adjusted his glasses with practiced ease and turned toward the front. The scrape of his shoes across the floor was unhurried, composed, a quiet reminder of authority reclaiming the room.
By the time he reached the lectern, the hum of idle chatter had died entirely. Students straightened in their seats, notebooks open, pens poised, as if the brief disruption had never happened.
“Settle down,” he said, his tone even, clipped, stripped of any trace of the silence that had just fractured the air. “We’re in March. That means term projects should be progressing. If you haven’t begun gathering sources, you’re already behind.”
Pens scratched against paper. A few students exchanged uneasy glances.
“And as a reminder,” he continued, his gaze sweeping across the hall though never lingering long enough to be called a stare, “midterm exams are in three weeks. I suggest you review the material regularly rather than attempt to cram the night before. I assure you, that will not end well.”
His voice was calm, his expression unreadable, yet every time his eyes brushed past me, however briefly, it felt intentional and restrained, the slow spark of a match he refused to ignite here, in front of everyone. The lecture continued, but my focus was fractured, every word half-drowned beneath the pulse of awareness that surged each time he adjusted his glasses, each time his gaze cut across the hall and lingered a fraction too long. When at last the hour ended, chairs scraped back, notebooks shut, the murmur of voices rose again as students gathered their things. Hayden stacked his papers neatly on the desk, his composure unshaken, his presence still filling the room even as it emptied.
And then—
“Miss Carter,” he said, his voice calm, deep, but cutting through the noise with ease. “Stay a bit, please.”
A few heads turned briefly, curious, before deciding against it. The assumption was obvious, post-symposium feedback, perhaps, or an academic follow-up, an interaction wrapped in the quiet guise of normalcy, devoid of anything that might hint at the truth beneath. But as Aster shot me a pointed look and slipped toward the door, I knew better.
““Miss Carter,” he said again, the title falling from his lips with venom, sharp, mocking, dangerous. His voice was deep, composed, vibrating with something vicious and tightly coiled.
He stepped closer, close enough that the edge of the desk pressed into the back of my thighs. His eyes burned through me, the glint of his glasses catching the light, severe and merciless, a reflection of the storm gathering behind them.
“Noah,” he spat the name, his mouth twisting around it like it was poison. “That what you want now? Some fucking boy who thinks a wink and a smile make him a man? Fresh little boys who don’t know how to fucking touch you?” His jaw flexed, the words coming rough, broken, raw. “You want him touching you, huh? You want his soft hands in your hair, his pathetic mouth on you?”
He leaned in, his breath hitting my ear, voice dark and shaking with fury. “You want to spread your legs for a boy who wouldn’t even know how to make you come if you begged him to?”
My chest rose and fell in shallow, betraying breaths, my body trembling under the weight of his words. His fury coiled around me, a volatile mix of jealousy, hunger, and possession, and beneath it all lay a terrifying, undeniable truth, I didn’t want him to stop.
“After letting me fuck you, after moaning my name like it was the only word you knew, you sit there and let him put his filthyhands on you?” He leaned down, his mouth grazing my ear, his breath scorching against my skin. “You let him play with what’s mine?”
The storm outside cracked louder, rain slamming against the glass, but his voice was the only thing I heard.
“I should remind you,” he growled, his lips brushing the corner of my jaw, “whose cock you came on. Who had you shaking, dripping, begging for more. You think Noah could give you that? You think he’d know how to ruin you the way I fucking do?”
His words sliced through me, filthy and merciless, and oh my God, why did they make my thighs clench, my body betraying me when I should have pushed him away?
He pressed closer, caging me in. “Don’t you dare forget, Edwina. Your mouth, your throat, your tight little cunt, every part of you belongs to me. And if I ever see you letting another man’s hands on you again, I swear I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t remember anyone else exists.” His teeth caught his lower lip, restraint trembling, about to break. “No, my Little Flare. You’ll learn. I don’t share. Not with Noah. Not with anyone.”
Hayden’s gaze narrowed, his jaw taut, every muscle in his body drawn tight as if he were holding back from tearing me apart right there. He leaned down, his voice a low rasp at my ear.
“How should I punish you, Edwina?”
The question was anything but idle; it carried the weight of a promise, the edge of a threat, a cruel tease crafted to undo me piece by piece. My breath faltered, my throat went dry, and my body, traitorous, unrelenting, answered with a pulse so sharp and shameful it left me trembling.
“You let another man touch what’s mine,” he continued, his words venomous, dripping filth. “You sat there and let him play with you while I watched. And you think I’ll just let that go?” He tilted his head, his glasses flashing as lightning split thesky outside. His mouth brushed the shell of my ear, his tone dropping to a growl.
“Get on your knees.”
The command hit me harder than the thunder rolling above us, harder than the rain hammering against the glass. My breath stuttered, my hands gripping the edge of the desk until my knuckles whitened. Shame flooded me, but beneath it, hotter, more damning, was want. God, why did he have this power over me? Why did the word leave me shaking, my body screaming to obey when my mind knew it’s wrong?
“What are you going to do to me?”
His hand closed around my jaw, tilting my face up until my eyes met his through the glint of his glasses.
“What am I going to do to you?” he repeated, his voice dangerous, laced with filth. “I’m going to remind you who the fuck you belong to.”
His grip tightened, not cruel but unyielding, forcing me to hold his gaze. “You let him put his hands in your hair while you sat there and did nothing, Edwina. And now you’re shaking for me. Wet for me. Knees ready to give out just because I told you to get down.”
