“Say it,” I command, my voice a low whisper.
Her lips tremble. “Julian.”
It’s the only permission I need. It’s the only surrender I’ve ever craved.
In two strides, the space between us is gone. My hand slides from her wrist to her jaw, tilting her head back. The books she was clutching tumble to the floor, forgotten as her gasp is swallowed by my mouth.
The kiss is not gentle. It is a claiming. It is hunger. I taste the bitten-red fullness of her mouth, the faint hint of coffee, and the pure, intoxicating pull of her. It’s a conquest. For a second she’s stiff with shock before a low whimper escapes her throat, and she melts against me. Her hands, unsure what to do, fist in the fabric of my jacket.
This is it. This is the break. The beautiful, silent shattering I’ve fantasized about.
I deepen the kiss, pressing her back until she hits the hard spines of the books on the shelves. I want her surrounded by my words, my world as I undo her. I feel the fight drain out of her, replaced by a pliant, desperate heat.
I break the kiss, but I don’t move away. I rest my forehead against hers, my breathing harsh. Her eyes are closed, her lips swollen and wet, her cheeks flushed a deep crimson. She’s dazed. Wrecked. Perfect.
I step back, creating a chasm between us. She sways slightly, her eyes fluttering open. They’re unfocused, lost.
I bend down and pick up the fallen books, my movements calm, precise. I hold them out to her again, and her hands are shaking as she takes them.
“Read the first essay,” I command, my voice regaining its professorial tone, cold and sharp. “Come back Friday. We’ll discuss it.”
She just stares at me, clutching the books, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She gives a single, jerky nod.
“Class dismissed, River,” I announce, the words a cruel, deliberate blade.
She turns without another word and flees my office. I watch her go, my own pulse hammering in my ears. I run a thumb over my lower lip, the taste of her still there.
The line wasn’t just crossed.
I set it on fire.
Chapter Six
River
* * *
I don’t remember leaving his office. I don’t remember the hallway. My first conscious thought is the cold, sterile air of the corridor hitting my flushed cheeks. My legs are moving, carrying me away, but I am not in control of them.
My body is a live wire. Every nerve ending is screaming his name. Julian.
My lips are tingling, swollen. I can still feel the pressure of his mouth, the possessive, bruising force of it. It wasn’t a kiss, it was a brand. He marked me. Claimed me. And then he dismissed me.
The books are a dead weight in my arms. I clutch them to my chest, the sharp corners digging into my ribs. They are the only proof that any of this was real. The books, and the ghost of his touch on my wrist, his thumb on my pulse, his hand on my jaw.
My brain, my traitorous, looping brain, is already replaying it;
The click of the door.
The scent of his office.
The shock of his fingers on my skin.
The fall of the books.
The taste of him.
The cold, final cut of his voice: Class dismissed, River.
