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This woman. This brilliant, dangerous, absolutely insane woman is mine.

She killed for revenge and knelt for pleasure in the same hour, and I've never wanted anything more than I want her right now.

"Enough," I growl, pulling her off me with perhaps more force than necessary. "Stand up."

She rises slowly, gracefully, despite the blood-stiff fabric of her dress. "Did I do something wrong, Professor?"

The innocent tone combined with the knowing smile makes me want to simultaneously throttle her and worship her.

"You did everything right," I tell her, spinning her around so she faces the desk at the front of the classroom—the same desk I've stood behind dozens of times, delivering lectures about ethics and law and justice while this woman sat in the third row driving me slowly insane. "Which is why you're going to bend over this desk while your professor shows you exactly what happens to students who exceed expectations."

Her breath hitches, and I see her hands flatten against the desk's surface, blood leaving faint prints on the wood. "Here? Now? What if someone comes⁠—"

"Then they'll learn an important lesson about knocking before entering a closed classroom." My hands find her hips, pulling her back against me, letting her feel how hard she's made me, how desperately I need this. "Now bend over and be very, very quiet unless you want an audience."

She complies with a soft whimper, folding herself over the desk until her chest presses against wood, her ass raised, the blood-soaked dress riding up to reveal⁠—

Nothing underneath.

No underwear. Just bare skin still flushed from adrenaline, already slick with want.

"Fuck, Pet," I breathe, running my hand up her inner thigh. "Did you plan this? Did you know you'd need me the second you walked out of that maze?"

"I knew," she gasps as my fingers find her, stroking through wet heat. "I knew I'd need you. Need this. Need to feel alive after causing death. Need to be reminded that I'm still human even after doing something monstrous."

The honesty in her voice—the raw vulnerability beneath the bravado—makes my chest tighten with something that goes beyond desire into territory I don't have words for.

"You're not a monster," I tell her, lining myself up, the head of my cock pressing against her entrance. "You're justice. You're vengeance. You're exactly what Brandon needed and what James deserved."

"Then prove it," she challenges, looking back at me over her shoulder, that silver mask still in place, lips curved in a smile that's equal parts angel and demon. "Fuck your killer wife like she's still your innocent student. Make me forget everything except how good you feel inside me."

I thrust forward in one hard motion, burying myself completely, and her resulting cry echoes off the classroom walls—loud enough that anyone passing by would definitely hear, would definitely know exactly what's happening in here.

But I don't stop.

I can't stop.

Not when she feels this perfect, this right, this absolutely made for me.

My hands grip her hips hard enough to bruise, pulling her back to meet each thrust, and somewhere in the back of my mind I'm aware that we're destroying evidence—her dress is getting more rumpled, the blood is smearing between us, we're leaving traces of ourselves all over this classroom that will have to be cleaned.

But I don't care.

All I care about is the woman bent over my desk, covered in her brother's murderer's blood, taking everything I give her and demanding more.

"Harder," she gasps, her hands scrabbling for purchase on the smooth desktop. "Please, Professor, harder⁠—"

I oblige, adjusting my angle, driving deeper, and when she cries out again it's my name mixed with profanity mixed with sounds that are barely human.

"That's it," I growl against her ear, leaning over her so my chest presses against her back, so she can feel the full weight of me. "Let everyone hear what a good student you are. Let them know exactly how thoroughly your professor is teaching you."

"Alexander—" My real name this time, not the roleplay, just desperate and honest. "I'm going to—I can't⁠—"

"Come," I command, one hand sliding around to find her clit, circling with just enough pressure. "Come for me right now. Show me what you learned."

She shatters with a scream that probably carries all the way down the hallway, her body clenching around me rhythmically, perfectly, devastatingly. The sensation combined with the sight of her—blood-soaked angel coming apart on my cock in an empty classroom—pushes me over the edge seconds later.

I bury myself as deep as possible, my own release hitting with enough force that my vision whites out, and for several long moments there's nothing but sensation and satisfaction and the woman I love trembling beneath me.