Under His Skin

Liora’s POV

I stood outside the study for exactly ninety seconds before I made myself open the door.

I had changed out of my wet clothes into the least embarrassing thing I owned.. an oversized gray hoodie and leggings, and I had scraped my damp hair back into a bun so tight it practically gave me a headache but I refused to walk into that room looking like I’d been crying in a hallway for an hour. Which I had. But they didn’t need to know that.

The study was exactly what I expected from three trust-fund criminals. Dark wood shelves, a wall of leather-bound books that had clearly never been opened, and a long mahogany table with three laptops already open and glowing. The floor-to-ceiling window behind them showed the entire city skyline glittering through the rain, like they’d ordered the view custom-made to remind me exactly how small I was.

Jasper sat at the head of the table, sleeves rolled up, a legal pad in front of him like he was about to conduct a hostile takeover instead of learning statistics. Declan was sprawled sideways in his chair, one leg hooked over the armrest, spinning a pen between his fingers like he had somewhere better to be. Silas stood by the window with his back to me, hands in his pockets, not even bothering to turn around when I walked in.

“You’re late,” Jasper said, without looking up from his laptop.

“I’ve been here for two minutes,” I said, dropping my bag onto the table with more force than necessary. “You want a tutor or a hostage who shows up exactly on time?”

Declan snorted. “Feisty. I like it.”

“I don’t care what you like,” I said, pulling out the chair across from Jasper and sitting down like my legs weren’t shaking. “Advanced Microeconomics. Which one of you actually opened the textbook this semester?”

Silence.

“Right,” I muttered. “We’re starting from zero. Wonderful.”

I flipped open my notebook, forcing my hands to stay steady while I wrote the date at the top of the page. I could feel Silas’s eyes on the back of my neck even though I hadn’t heard him move. It made the skin there prickle uncomfortably, like standing too close to a fire.

“So,” I said, keeping my voice as clipped and businesslike as I could manage. “Marginal utility. Can anyone tell me what that actually means, or should I assume none of you have ever had to budget anything in your entire lives?”

“I could tell you what I find utility in,” Declan said, leaning forward onto his elbows, “but it’s not exactly a school-appropriate answer.”

My face went hot instantly. I hated that it did. “Charming. Are you always this insufferable, or is tonight a special occasion?”

“Only for you, sweetheart.”

“Declan.” Jasper’s voice cut through the room, flat and final. “Let her actually do her job.”

“I’m just saying,” Declan said, unbothered, spinning his pen again, “we did read something of hers already. Feels rude not to bring it up.”

The room went very still.

I set my pen down very carefully, because if I didn’t, I was going to snap it in half. “We are not doing this.”

“I don’t know,” Declan said, tilting his head, his gray eyes dancing with that same wicked amusement from the library. “I thought you’d want to know we’ve been reviewing your other homework. The stuff about hands on your thighs. Bruising your skin.” He said it lightly, almost bored, like he was reading off a grocery list, but every word landed like a physical thing against my skin.

“Stop,” I said, and my voice cracked right down the middle, which was so much worse than if I’d just yelled.

“I’m curious about something,” Silas said. He still hadn’t turned around, still watching the skyline, but his voice dropped low enough that I felt it more than heard it. “You wrote about wanting someone to take control. To not let you fight it.” A pause. “Was that a general fantasy, Liora, or does it matter who’s doing the taking?”

I couldn’t breathe properly. My whole face was on fire and I hated it, hated that they could see it, hated that my body was betraying me in real time while my brain screamed at me to say something cutting and instead I just sat there, jaw tight, staring at a page of numbers I could no longer read.

“That’s private,” I finally managed, and it came out smaller than I wanted.

“Not anymore,” Declan said cheerfully. “Because I’m interested in knowing more of the things you like. Maybe I can make one of your little fantasies come true.”

He stood up and came around the desk until he was towering over me.

“I’m not interested, and maybe you should stop saying nonsense, sit down, and let’s get down to business.”

Declan chuckled darkly and leaned in so his face was inches from mine. “How can I concentrate when the only thing I want to do right now is spread your legs and fuck your brains out…”

I swallowed visibly, my pussy throbbing at the image of what he’d just said, and I hated myself for wishing he’d do that to me. I pressed my legs together to ease the ache, holding his gaze, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing me unravel.

“And when I’m done with you, and your pussy’s still leaking from me, my brothers can have their turns with you.”

I shifted in my chair as my pussy flooded, soaking my panties. My entire body was burning up, wishing he’d just stop talking and rip my clothes off. Then he straightened up.

Declan grinned darkly. “Except you’re not my type. I’d never touch someone like you.”

“Could’ve fooled me, considering you were just talking about fucking my brains out two seconds ago. Make up your mind, Declan.”

I didn’t give him the satisfaction of a comeback. I just looked back down at my notebook, tracing a line under a number I’d already written, like his words hadn’t cost me anything at all.

There it is, I thought, watching from the corner of my eye as the smirk on his face faltered, just barely, at the edges. And I knew I wounded his ego a little.

Jasper set his pen down with a small, deliberate click. “Enough.” He didn’t raise his voice, but the room seemed to shrink around the word anyway. “We have twelve days until midterms. You can flirt with her after we’re not failing, Declan.”

“After,” Declan repeated, grinning at me like the word was a promise instead of a dismissal. “Noted.”

I cleared my throat, desperately trying to reclaim some kind of footing. “Marginal utility,” I said again, louder this time, forcing my voice into something resembling authority. “It’s the additional satisfaction you get from consuming one more unit of something. It decreases the more you have. Which, ironically, none of you would understand, because you’ve clearly never had to want for anything in your life.”

Twelve days, I told myself, gripping my pen so hard my knuckles went white. I just had to survive twelve days.

Somehow, looking around that table, I already knew that was going to be the hardest part.