CHAPTER 11
MAYA
Three daysof submission training have left me feeling like I'm living in someone else's skin. Everything Thorian taught me about finding satisfaction in service, about channeling magical energy through obedience—it's working too well. I wake up thinking about how to anticipate his needs. I fall asleep remembering the way his voice sounds when he praises my precision.
I've never felt this connected to another person, this desperate to please someone. And it scares me almost as much as it thrills me.
Today's session goes like all the others have since he introduced the new training methods. I arrange his materials exactly as he's taught me, prepare the magical specimens in patterns that enhance their potency, anticipate every instruction before he voices it. By now, I know how he likes his workspace organized, how he prefers samples to be handled, what makes him smile with that warm approval that's become my addiction.
"Beautifully done, Maya," he says when I complete the setup perfectly. "Your attention to detail is remarkable."
The praise hits me like molten honey, making my chest tight and something clench low between my legs. Heat spreadsthrough my entire body, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound. When did earning his approval become more important than breathing? When did his voice alone make me wet?
"Thank you," I whisper, my voice breathier than intended. There's that slickness building between my thighs again, the wetness I still don't understand but can't ignore.
We work through the morning's magical exercises in perfect harmony. I follow his guidance without question, channel energy exactly as he instructs, find deep satisfaction in being useful to him. The academic pretense is still there, but it feels thinner now. What we're doing doesn't feel like research anymore—it feels like something much more personal.
"Your magical sensitivity has increased dramatically," he observes, his massive hands settling on my shoulders. Even through my dress, I can feel how huge he is compared to me—his palms completely covering my shoulder blades, his fingers so long they could probably wrap around my entire upper arm. The size difference makes me feel delicate, protected, utterly feminine. "The improvement in just three days is extraordinary."
"Because of your training," I say, having to tilt my head way back to meet his eyes. He towers over me, so tall and broad I feel like a child next to him. The thought should be unsettling, but instead it makes heat pool between my legs. "Everything you've taught me about submission, about finding my role—it's changed everything."
The scent of him wraps around me—something woodsy and male and utterly addictive that makes my body respond in ways I'm starting to recognize. My nipples tighten against my dress, and that mysterious slickness increases until I'm worried he might be able to smell it.
Something flickers across his expression—too quick for me to interpret. "You're a remarkable student, Maya. Eager, obedient, naturally gifted at surrender."
Naturally gifted at surrender. The words make something warm unfurl in my chest. I've spent my whole life feeling ordinary, inadequate, like I'm never quite enough for anything. But here, under his guidance, I'm finally discovering what I'm good at.
"Am I..." I hesitate, suddenly shy. "Am I doing well? In my preparations, I mean. Am I succeeding at what you need from me?"
The question comes out smaller than I intended, carrying all my old fears about being second-best, replaceable, not worth the effort someone's investing in me.
Thorian goes very still, his golden-green eyes searching my face like he's trying to read something written there.
"Maya," he says softly, and there's something in his voice I've never heard before. "You're asking if you're good enough."
It's not a question. He can see right through me to the wound that drives everything—my desperate need to matter to someone, to be chosen first instead of settled for.
"I just... I know this is important work," I whisper. "I want to be worthy of the chance you've given me. I don't want to disappoint you."
The vulnerability in my own voice shocks me. When did I become so completely dependent on his opinion? When did his approval become the thing that determines my worth?
"Maya." His enormous hands frame my face, making me feel impossibly small and delicate. My entire head fits between his palms like I'm made of porcelain. "Look at me."
I meet his eyes, and the hunger in them makes my breath catch. Not just want—possession. Like he's already decided I belong to him.
"Perfect," he murmurs, his voice rough with something that might be barely controlled need. "You're absolutely perfect."
Before I can process what he means, his mouth crashes down on mine.
The kiss is nothing like the gentle romance I imagined my first kiss would be. It's claiming, conquering, like he's marking territory that's always been his. His lips are firm and demanding, his mouth so much larger than mine that he completely overwhelms me. When his tongue pushes past my lips, I whimper and open for him instinctively, my body knowing what to do even if my mind doesn't understand.
He tastes like power and possession and something uniquely alpha that makes my omega biology sing with recognition. Yes, my body seems to scream. This. Him. Finally.
I make desperate little sounds against his mouth, my small hands fisting in his shirt as sensation floods through me. Heat races through my veins, the wetness between my legs becoming impossible to ignore, my entire body coming alive with need I've never felt before.
When he pulls back, I'm breathless and aching and so aroused I can barely think straight. The slickness between my legs has become impossible to ignore, soaking through my underwear in ways that should embarrass me but instead make me desperate for more.
"That was..." I start, then trail off because I don't have words for the way my body is screaming for him to continue.
