“Luther! Oh my God, Luther. Yes!” My entire body seized, black spots raced across my vision, and a wet flood of arousal gushed from my cunt. His name mingled with the sporadic moans and whimpers that accompanied my orgasm. The pressure of my climax squeezing his cock made his hips come to a shuddered halt as he came inside of me with an extended groan. Such a masculine, enthralling sound. I knew I’d never forget it for the rest of my life.
With Luther resting on my back and my body squished into the desk, I relished the weight and heat of him, wishing that I really, truly could be his.
19
The first moments after pulling out were excruciating. I wanted nothing more than to keep Ophelia pinned while locked together. There was no better feeling in the world than her perfect cunt coming around my cock, and no better sight than my release leaking from where we were joined.
Until her body stiffened, and her lips parted on a sharp exhale. The sudden wiggle of her hips separated us completely, and I hissed at the loss of sensation. But she looked at me with wide doe-eyes, mouth failing to form words.
Ophelia collected herself, readjusting her clothes with her gaze dropped to the floor. Internally, I wanted to rage, to beg her to look at me. It took effort to rein in my willpower and return to the land of logic.
I was still her professor. She was my student. And I was much older than her. The dynamics of our relationship would be frowned upon if discovered. Though that hadn’t stopped me from fucking her in my office on campus. She was more tempting than any drug, but that excuse wouldn’t save either of us from consequence.
She crossed her arms, gnawing on her bottom lip while avoiding my gaze. “It’s… it’s rather late. I should probably get home.”
The beast in me bellowed and roared in defiance of such a blasphemous statement.Don’t go. Stay. You’re mine.
Instead, I clenched my jaw and nodded in concession.
“Right, and I should, er… I should apologize for—”
“No,” she said emphatically. “No, it was both of us. And I… liked it.” Her face burned red, and my stomach swooped.
How adorable and sweet she was. I could eat her up.
Apologies didn’t come easily, so it was a relief not to finish that sentence. Especially for something I had no remorse for. She was tantalizing and perfect and mine. If I wanted to fuck her—I would.
She rocked on her heels, more nervous than the other times. Her eyes trailed from the floor to the wall, slowly turning away from me.
As much as it tore at the feral thing slavering and baying for her in my chest, I stepped back and gave her room to leave. With the distance, her shoulders dropped, and she immediately angled away from me to collect her belongings. I clenched my jaw to wrestle down the rising need to ask her to stay.
She slipped her coat over her shoulders and scurried for the exit. With one hand on the door, she paused and looked back. “Goodnight, professor.”
The office door shut between us before I could respond.
No matter.
I would be seeing her later, anyway.
Hunter Ashcroft told me countless times about the hidden sanctum under the school. He even detailed the location on a map now saved in my journal—a near exact copy of his. But no matter how many times I scoured the area and searched for the secret entrance, I never found anything.
Night darkened the sky, and a blanket of mist shrouded the campus, skirting over wet cobblestones and tumbling brown leaves. I stayed as still as stone, with my back to a crumblingarchway, waiting for any sign of movement. Watching and waiting. Only a monster could lead me to their den.
The Apostles of Moloch had a special sight that Hunter had told me about. When they were granted the gift of transforming into a stolas, certain powers came with that transition. They could see the mystical trail leading them to their occult society’s meeting place; a nest burrowed deep under the university’s foundation. And despite having been shown the way by his father, who learned from his father before him, Hunter lost those gifts when he renounced the cult. The memories were smoke and mirrors, slipping out of his grasp for the remaining decades of his life.
He only stayed at the school as the language professor to collect data on how to stop them.
I held the answer in my hand.
A dagger forged in holy fire and blessed by a priest. Hunter spent the last few years of his life alongside me, uncovering the runes and methods that would kill a demonic entity. So much exhausting work, and a task I’d only completed after his death. While his worthless son went on to inherit the house and family name, I bore the true inheritance of Hunter’s life work.
I would finish what he started—I would end Moloch’s reign of terror.
And I would keep Ophelia Ashcroft as my reward.
20
The feeling of being watched day and night never abated. Not even when I was sequestered in the comforting arms of books.
