She swears now. And fuck if my dick doesn’t twitch, knowing he’s at least partly—okay, heavily—responsible for her slow, inevitable corruption.
Goddammit, I’ve missed her voice.
Fartoo much.
It’s now day five of Evelina going radio silent. No constant stream of texts with the energy level of a golden retriever puppy. No rambling, relentlessly bubbly voicemails.
No appearances at Syndicate events.
Nothing.
And it’s…bothersome how much that’s fucking with me.
I know it’s because I was a prick the other morning, after the night she mistakenly dosed herself with E—courtesy, I’m guessing, of the tablets Sebastian brought to the party.
A bold choice for a first-time foray into drugs, but after the night that followed, I’m not exactly complaining.
ShouldI feel I was in…I don’t know…amorally gray areabecause I mixed my particular brand of sadism-sprinkled sex with a partner who was high as balls?
Maybe.
Probably.
But I don’t.
And that’s not a general lack of fucks to give about the concept of consent.
It’s that when it comes to Evelina,there is no lineI won’t cross.
That’s potentially a lot more problematic than I might care to admit. Because contrary to how it may appear when I’m with her, my life isbuilton lines.
Rules. Control. An unwavering, black or white view of the world. It's why I was such a dickhead the other morning.
It’s not that I have an aversion to kissingper se. It’s that there are fuckingrulesto this thing between us.
Break one, and the whole fucking thing descends into chaos. I can’t have that.
But Evelina makes me want to break them. So I do.
Take right now, for example. I’m not on the Knightsblood campus today to sit in the shadows and watch Evelina dance. I’m here for my coronation, so to speak.
It’s takenmonthsof clawing, scheming, bribing, and placating, but finally, with Andrés Torvallés out of the way and no objections forthcoming from Cyril, my place on the board has been cemented. Today, that becomes official.
And yet, I’m not sitting in the Chancellor's office, chilling champagne and smugly waiting for my plans to come to fruition. I’m not sharing a cigar with the guy and talking about my plans for the future of the university.
I’mhere, hiding in the fucking shadows, watching Evelina Nikitin float across the stage.
Imagining her dropping obediently to her knees at my feet, her mouth open and a “please, Sir” on her lips.
Picturing her bending over for me and gasping as she counts aloud the spanks of my palm across her pink, brutalized ass.
Running from me, screaming with both fear and excitement.
Writhing and moaning and shattering for me as she takes every inch of my fucking cock in every one of her tight holes, begging for more until my cum is dripping down her thighs and her face.
I frown as I adjust the now-massiveerection tenting my pants.
I’m not even thirty yet. But still. Popping boners while in the audience of college girls in tights and leotards isnevera good look.
