Page 54

“Look at me.”

I forced my head up. Leander’s pupils dilated until there was almost no color left in his eyes.

“Touch your cock,” he said.

I wrapped my hand around myself. The skin was hot, slick with pre-cum.

It was jerky at first. Efficient. I tried to treat it like a medical procedure. Friction equals release. Release equals dopamine.

“Slower,” Leander ordered.

I forced my hand to obey the command even though every nerve ending was screaming for speed. The slowness changed the chemistry of it. Slow meant feeling every inch of the drag, and there was no way to log it as upkeep with his eyes moving over me like that.

“That’s it,” he murmured. His voice was lower now, rougher, vibrating through the soles of his shoes and into the floor where I knelt. “Look at the mess you are. The King of the Academy, on his knees in front of a Section 9 rat.”

The degradation hit me like a drug. My hips bucked forward, chasing the friction, desperate to close the distance between my need and his approval.

“I hate you,” I gasped, the words broken by a sob of pleasure.

“Good. Use it.”

I stroked faster, losing the rhythm he set. The pressure built, a burning coil in my gut that demanded release. I was drowning in it. The shame, the overwhelming relief of surrendering control to someone strong enough to take it.

“Leander,” I moaned, my head falling back against the desk. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Let me... let me finish.”

“Are the levels going down?”

“Yes. Yes, please.”

Leander loomed over me, blocking out the light, a dark silhouette of judgment and desire.

He reached out and grabbed the bio-monitor on my other wrist, twisting my arm so he could see the screen.

HEART RATE: 160.

“Liar,” he murmured. “You aren’t calm yet.”

He brushed his thumb over the sensitive skin of my inner wrist. The touch was feather-light, a mockery of tenderness, but it sent a shockwave through my system that nearly shattered me.

“You want it so bad,” he whispered. “Look at you. Leaking. Waiting for permission.”

He leaned down, his face inches from mine.

“Good boy.”

The words shattered the last of my composure. My knees buckled, driving me harder into the floor tiles as a hot flush burned up my neck. I should have hated the condescension in his voice, but the sound of his approval was instantly addicting.

“Such a good boy,” he crooned, his eyes dark with triumph. “Ruining yourself because I told you to. Show me.”

“I can’t hold it,” I begged.

“Then don’t,” he said, but he didn’t let go of my wrist. He tightened his grip, anchoring me to the floor while he leaned in, his voice dropping to a filthy growl. “Spill it, Felix. Show me what a mess you really are.”

“Please...”