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When I woke up this morning, I thought I knew what I was walking into. But that didn’t stop the nerves from tangling in my stomach like a tight, twisting knot. The first-day jitters hit me harder than expected, like a gust of wind whipping wild beneath my skin, cold and anxious and electric.
I wasn’t even sure I was in the right room. The paper in my hand filled with instructions and classroom numbers, said I was. But no one else had arrived yet. The lecture hall stood empty and echoing, giving me too much time to overthink. I slid into a seat at the very back, hoping to stay out of sight. If I didn’t make eye contact, or didn’t speak to anyone, maybe I could just observe, learn how things worked before being noticed. The silence wrapped around me like a blanket… but not a warm one. More like the hush before a storm. Still, beneath the nerves, something else stirred. Something darker and Hungrier. Maybe it was the tightness between my thighs, the pulse already drumming low in my body before the day had even started. Maybe it was the way I had barely slept last night, too wired, too restless. Whatever it was, I needed a release. A sharp, fast escape. Just one little fantasy to get me through the morning. I clenched my thighs together and waited. The day will be over soon.. The door burst open. A swarm of students poured in like they’d all been waiting for some invisible bell. Laughter, voices, bags hitting desks, chaos filled the air. And then, a voice low, confident, a little too close. “Are you new?” A blonde boy leaned in, his piercing blue eyes flicking across my face like he already knew I was flustered. He was cute objectively but far too young. Too. . . boyish. Not what I craved. “Yes,” I replied. “CSC class.” His grin spread, cocky and playful. “You’re in the wrong room, baby girl. CSC is next door.” My heart dropped. Shit. Now I had to stand up, interrupt everything, and walk out while everyone watched. Regret burned hot across my chest. Why had I chosen the back row? “Maybe I’ll just sit this one out,” I mumbled. He laughed. “I wouldn’t want a beautiful girl like you slipping through my fingers, but I don’t think you want to miss Professor Collins’ class. Especially not on your first day.” He winked. I barely heard the rest. Professor Collins. That name echoed in my head like a warning, or a promise. I muttered a quick thank you and practically fled. The next lecture hall looked nearly identical. Not my fault, I told myself. Anyone could’ve made the mistake. But as soon as I opened the door, all eyes turned to me. And just like that, I froze. Too many faces. Too much attention. Without thinking, I shut the door again. Breathed. Reopened it slower. And stepped in. This time, I was painfully aware of everything: the way my short black skirt clung to my thighs, how bare my legs were, how the tan top under my ripped jacket dipped just a little too low. I’d dressed to feel confident, but now, I felt exposed. Stripped bare. “I’m sorry, sir,” I whispered to the man at the front of the room. “I walked into the wrong classroom.” He didn’t look at me right away, but when he spoke, his voice rippled through the room. Deep. Authoritative. Smooth like whiskey. “Find a seat, Miss…?” “Lily,” I replied, barely louder than a breath. “Miss Lily. Sit and see me in my office after class.” That made me look up, really look up at him. And sweet God. Nothing could’ve prepared me for Professor Collins. He was tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in a dark, fitted lumberjack shirt tucked into slacks that hugged his hips and thighs too well for a man who had no business being that sexy. His hair was a thick golden blonde, cropped close, and his jaw, sharp, unshaven, carved from stone, tightened when he spoke. Even from across the room, I could see the veins in his forearms as he adjusted a folder on the desk. He looked like he belonged in a fantasy. My fantasy. And based on the heat in my cheeks and the flutter in my core, he already was. I sat quickly, heart hammering. The seat I chose placed me directly across from him, close enough to watch, far enough not to draw attention again. I tried not to stare, but it was impossible. As he started lecturing, my eyes locked on his lips. My thoughts… slipped. In my head, I imagined them moving down my neck, over my chest, sucking one nipple into his mouth while his hand teased the other. My thighs clenched. My core pulsed. I tried to focus, but all I could think about was how his hands would feel tangled in my hair, how he might growl my name while pulling me tighter against his chest. God, I was getting wet. In the middle of class. On my first day. My fingers twitched in my lap. I rubbed my thighs together, subtle but desperate. The desk shielded me, but not enough. If I moved too much, someone would notice. If he noticed… Shit. That thought made it worse. I bit my lip, tried to breathe evenly. Tried to stay sane. But every time he turned, every time his shirt stretched across his back or those slacks tightened around his ass, I wanted to slide my hand under my skirt and give myself the relief I was aching for. Then, thank God! A distraction. A girl beside me leaned in with a smile. “Nice to meet you, Lily. Don’t mind Professor Collins, he’s always that grumpy.” Grumpy? I nearly laughed. If she only knew. “Thanks,” I murmured. “I guess I made a bad impression.” “Just grovel a bit in his office. Trust me, you don’t want to be on his bad side.” Her words made my stomach clench, but not with fear. What did she think he would do in that office? What did I want him to do? I packed up quickly after the class, my heartbeat pounding, but before I could ask her name, she’d already disappeared into the crowd. And now, I had to face him. Alone. Behind a closed door. Just me… and the man I couldn’t stop thinking about. My skin tingled as I headed down the hall. The warm, wicked ache between my legs hadn’t faded. If anything, it was worse. Professor Collins was waiting and I was ready to be taught.Moh’s POV The morning light the next blasted me while making it feel like a physical weight. It was too bright, too honest for a house built on shadows. I had dressed with trembling fingers, putting on a thin, white cotton dress that felt like a shroud over my body. Around my neck, the silver locket, the secret-keeper clinked against my skin. It was a heavy, cold reminder of the previous night in the attic. I felt different, my body is different. My body was a map of Julian’s possession. My inner thighs were tender, my skin was sensitive, and there was a deep, dull ache in my core that felt like a permanent mark. I was no longer the girl who had arrived here a few weeks ago. That girl was gone, buried under the weight of Julian’s body. When I walked into the breakfast room, the air was surrounded by the scent of fresh coffee and expensive flowers, which my mother must have made sure were provided. My mother was already there, looking perfect in a silk robe. Julian was at the head o
Moh’s POV The attic was not like the rest of the manor. While the lower floors were a testament to Julian’s public-facing power, all marble, mahogany, and vast, open spaces, the attic was cramped, sweltering, and smelled of dust, old cedar, and the sharp tang of linseed oil. It was a graveyard for the things the Thorne family had outgrown, a labyrinth of draped furniture and stacked crates. But it was neat! As much as it could be. And at the very end of the narrow hallway sat the "secondary study." It was a small, circular room at the base of the manor’s north turret. There were no grand bookshelves here, only a single, heavy drafting table and a low, velvet chaise longue that looked like it belonged in a nineteenth-century brothel. The windows were small, diamond-paned, and currently glowing with the bruised purple of twilight. I stood in the doorway, my pulse a frantic drumbeat in my ears. The silence up here was absolute. The rest of the house felt like it was miles away. "You
Moh’s POV The porcelain of the bathtub felt like ice against my skin, but I didn't turn on the hot water. I needed the chill. I needed to scrub the scent of Julian, that intoxicating mix of expensive sandalwood and raw, spent lust, off my body before my mother walked through the front door. Every movement was a struggle. My inner thighs were tender, the skin chafed from the friction of his trousers, and there was a heavy, persistent ache deep in my pelvis that made my legs tremble. I looked at myself in the mirror, horrified to find my lips weren't just swollen, they were bitten, a dark, bruised red that no amount of lip balm could hide. I heard the crunch of gravel outside. The Mercedes. My heart leapt into my throat, like a frantic and a trapped bird. "Moh! Julian! I'm home!" My mother’s voice drifted up the stairs, bright and buoyant, slicing through the thick, illicit atmosphere of the house like a sharp tool. I threw on a high-necked sweater, even though the morning was warm
Moh’s POV The smell of old leather and Julian’s sharp, masculine musk swirled around me as he pinned me against the bookshelf. The spines of the ancient books dug into my shoulder blades, a hard, unyielding reminder of where we were, and who he was. My breath was coming in short, panicked hitches, but my body was screaming for him to fill the void he had created. "Look at me, Moh," he commanded, his voice a low vibration that seemed to rattle my very bones. I looked. His face was a mask of dark, concentrated hunger. He didn't look like my mother’s husband, he looked like a man who had finally dropped the burden of civility. He reached down, his large hand cupping my heat, and then his fingers slid through the slickness between my folds that my pussy had produced while under his desk. "You are fucking shaking," he murmured as his thumb found my clitoris and applying a crushing, rhythmic pressure that made my knees give way. He caught me, his other arm hooking under my thigh and
Moh’s POV The shadows beneath the mahogany desk felt like a confessional, cramped and smelling of expensive leather and the faint, sharp scent of wood polish. I curled into the small space, my heart hammering so hard I feared he could hear it through the floorboards. From this vantage point, all I could see were his legs, long, powerful pillars clad in dark trousers, and the polished gleam of his shoes. The heavy thud of his leather chair settling above me signaled the start of my ordeal. Then came the click of the speakerphone on the desk's surface, followed by the sterile, professional chime of the dialing tone. "This is Julian," he said. His voice was different now, crystalline, cold, and utterly authoritative. It was the voice that moved markets and crushed competitors. It was impossible to reconcile this man with the one who had just told me I tasted like honey. "Good morning, Mr. Thorne," a chorus of voices responded from the speaker. "We have the Hong Kong representativ
Moh’s POV The early morning sunlight that filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of my bedroom felt like an intruder. I had spent the night in a fever dream, my skin still humming with the ghost of Julian’s touch. Every time I drifted off, I felt the phantom weight of his fingers in my sensitive parts, the rough silk of his voice against my ears, and the crushing realization of what I had become. I was a predator’s prize. And the worst part. . . the part that made me pull the duvet over my head in a fit of self-loathing, was how much I wanted to be caught again, so i could experience my punishment all over again. I dressed slowly, my body aching in places I had never felt before. There was a dull, throbbing heat between my thighs, a constant reminder of the way he had opened me up on that desk. I chose a simple sundress, something light and innocent, as if cotton and floral prints could mask the corruption blooming beneath my skin. As I walked down the grand staircase, the







