“You forced me,” she whispered, voice cracking.
“I took what already belonged to me,” he corrected calmly, as if explaining a simple fact. “And you came apart so prettily for me. Again and again. Even after I marked every inch of you with my mouth and filled you until you were leaking. Tell me again how you didn’t want it, when your cunt was still fluttering around my cock hours later.”
She was trembling now, flushed and angry, the oversized shirt doing nothing to shield her from his gaze or from the humiliating truth of her body’s responses. She turned sharply toward the door.
It was locked.
Caelum’s voice cut through the silence, cold and final. “The conversation is over. Sit down and eat. You have no power here, Lyra. You cannot complain to anyone. No one will listen. You are mine now, and the Collegium has already adjusted its records to reflect that.”
She stood there for a long, tense moment, breathing hard, the potion still softening the edges of her panic while rage and hunger warred inside her. Her stomach growled audibly, loud in the quietroom. She had not eaten since yesterday’s midday meal. Hunger, humiliatingly, won.
She walked to the table.
There was only one chair. Caelum occupied it.
“Sit,” he said.
She hesitated, jaw tight.
“On my lap.”
Frustration burned through her, hot and helpless. She lowered herself onto his thighs, the hard, unmistakable length of his cock pressing firmly against her bare ass through the thin fabric of his trousers. She stiffened instantly, a fresh wave of shame and awareness washing over her.
Caelum picked up the fork and began feeding her with calm efficiency—alternating bites for her and for himself. A piece of buttered bread, a spoonful of glistening berries, a sliver of soft egg with runny yolk. Every time his free hand was not holding cutlery, it slid beneath the hem of the borrowed shirt to grope her breast, thumb brushing and circling her nipple until it tightened traitorously beneath his touch.
“Stop,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying to shift away.
He refused, pinching the sensitive peak lightly, deliberately. “No.”
She glared at him over her shoulder, green eyes blazing with fury. He smirked back, gray eyes cool and satisfied, as if her anger only entertained him.
The tension stretched taut between them with every bite. The luxurious food tasted like ash and victory at the same time—the sweetness of the berries clashing with the bitterness in her chest. His cock remained hard beneath her, a constant, humiliating reminder. His hand continued its lazy, possessive exploration of her breast, squeezing, stroking, teasing the nipple until she was flushed and breathing unevenly, caught between rage and the unwanted echoesof last night’s pleasure.
Finally, his attention moved to the crystal vial of red potion. He picked it up and held it out to her between two fingers.
“Drink.”
She eyed it with open suspicion, the tension in the room thickening further. “I’m not letting you drug me again.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, voice mild but edged with dark amusement. “I don’t mind if little versions of us start running around the dorm room.”
Her eyes widened in horror. “What?”
He laughed—low, genuinely amused, the sound vibrating against her back. “It’s a birth control potion. Normal students don’t have access to the apothecary’s stronger formulations. Only those at the top do.” His free hand continued lazily stroking and groping her breast through the shirt, thumb flicking her nipple. “I have no intention of stopping fucking you, Lyra. With or without your enthusiastic consent. Unless you want to be carrying my child at eighteen—swollen tits heavy with milk, my seed growing in your womb—you will drink it. Though I must admit… the thought of you pregnant is appealing. You would look exquisite. Even better to fuck when you’re full of me, belly round, breasts aching and sensitive.”
She snatched the vial from his hand with shaking fingers and drank it in one swallow, the red liquid warm and faintly sweet sliding down her throat. He laughed again, soft and satisfied, his hand giving her breast one final possessive squeeze before he returned to feeding her the last few bites.
The tension between them remained thick and unresolved, her body rigid on his lap, his cock still hard beneath her, the luxurious breakfast now tasting like surrender.
A knock sounded at the door.
Caelum rose, lifting her easily off his lap. He opened the door.
A student stood outside, flushed and avoiding eye contact, carrying her trunk and a smaller bag of belongings. The boy’s gaze flicked once to Lyra—standing there in nothing but Caelum’s oversized black shirt, dark red hair disheveled, visible hickeys covering her throat and collarbone, looking thoroughly, unmistakably freshly fucked—then dropped immediately to the floor. He set the trunk down quickly inside the room, muttered something inaudible, and practically fled, the door clicking shut behind him.
Lyra shrank back, mortified, pulling the hem of the shirt lower as heat flooded her face.
Caelum closed the door and looked down at her with quiet satisfaction. “Your things have arrived. We’ll discuss the rest later.”
