~002

ZIRA POV

I couldn’t breathe properly until I was back in my office with the door locked.

The black business card lay on my desk like evidence of a crime. Shadowed Knight. Tristan Vale. My student. Twenty-two years old. The same young man whose body I had watched with shameless hunger less than twenty-four hours ago.

My green eyes stared at the card until the edges blurred. This was unacceptable. I was twenty-nine, a respected Literature professor at Hawthorne College. I had spent years building a reputation for being sharp, uncompromising, and professional. One reckless obsession could burn everything down.

I refused to let that happen.

When I walked into the lecture hall the next day, my posture was perfect. My long wavy black hair was pinned into a sleek, tight bun. The fitted white blouse hugged my full breasts and curvy waist, while the navy pencil skirt clung to my wide hips and thick thighs. I looked every inch the untouchable professor I needed to be.

Tristan was already seated near the front today. Bold of him.

I began the lecture with calm precision.

“Today we discuss the destruction that follows when individuals lack the self-control to deny their baser urges,” I said, my voice cool and cutting. “Particularly when those urges involve power imbalances and forbidden fruit.”

My gleaming green eyes landed directly on Tristan.

“Mr. Vale,” I called out, tone dripping with polite disdain. “Since you seem so comfortable inserting yourself into advanced spaces you may not belong in, enlighten us. What do you believe happens when someone repeatedly pursues something they know will ruin them?”

The class went silent.

Tristan met my gaze steadily. “Sometimes the pursuit is worth the ruin, Professor.”

A few students murmured. I smiled, cold and sharp.

“How quaint. Spoken like someone who has never had anything to lose.” I tilted my head, voice rising just enough for everyone to hear. “Let me be clearer for you. When a person lacks the discipline to stay in their proper place, they don’t just embarrass themselves. They become a burden on everyone around them. They waste resources. They waste time. And eventually, they are removed.”

I let the words hang in the air like a whip.

Tristan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t look away. The humiliation burned in his dark eyes. Good. He needed to feel it.

I continued the lecture, but I made sure to dissect every answer he attempted. Each time he spoke, I countered with sarcasm laced in academic language.

“Interesting theory, Mr. Vale. Unfortunately, it lacks depth, originality, and basic textual evidence. Perhaps next time you’ll come prepared instead of relying on charm and confidence you haven’t earned.”

By the end of class, the tension in the room was suffocating. Several students avoided looking at Tristan as they packed up. I had publicly stripped him of dignity in front of his peers.

He deserved it, I told myself. This was necessary. Distance. Control.

As the last student left, Tristan remained seated. His dark eyes followed me as I gathered my notes.

“Professor Voss,” he said quietly, voice low and rough. “A word?”

I turned, keeping my expression icy. “If you wish to complain about today’s discussion, save your breath. I don’t tolerate mediocrity in my class.”

He stood slowly, taller than I remembered. “You didn’t just criticize me. You tried to have me removed from this class before I even opened my mouth. Why?”

For a split second, my stomach twisted with guilt. But I pushed it down.

“Because I expect excellence,” I replied smoothly. “And I don’t believe you can provide it. Perhaps you should consider a different elective more suited to your… background.”

Tristan’s eyes darkened. The air between us crackled with anger and something far more volatile.

He stepped closer, voice dropping. “You don’t know anything about my background, Professor. But you seem very determined to make sure I stay in my place.”

I held his gaze, refusing to back down even as heat bloomed low in my belly. “Exactly. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

I walked out without another word, my heart hammering against my ribs.

---

Back in my apartment that night, the weight of the day pressed on me. I had humiliated him. Publicly. Deliberately. Part of me felt justified. The other part felt sick.

I poured myself a glass of wine and tried to read, but my mind kept drifting. The memory of last night’s stream refused to leave.

Before I could stop myself, I opened my laptop and logged into the cam site.

Shadowed Knight was live.

He sat on his bed, shirtless, that lean, toned body on full display. But tonight his expression was tighter, his movements less playful.

I told myself I was only checking. One last time.

My fingers moved on their own.

**Obsidian Queen:** Private session. Now.

The request went through. A moment later, he accepted.

The screen switched to private. Only his torso and lower body were visible, face still carefully hidden. But I knew it was him.

“You’re early tonight, Obsidian Queen,” he said, voice low. The same voice that had answered me so defiantly in class today.

I didn’t reply with text. Instead, I turned on my microphone, something I rarely did.

“Take your pants off,” I commanded, voice controlled and smooth. “Slowly.”

Tristan obeyed, pushing his sweatpants down. His thick cock sprang free, already semi-hard. My thighs clenched as I watched him wrap a hand around himself.

While he stroked, my eyes caught something on his lower abdomen — a small, distinct red patch. An insect bite. I remembered it clearly because earlier today in class, a mosquito had bitten me on the side of my neck during lecture, leaving a bright red mark I had tried to cover with my hair.

He had the exact same fresh red patch.

He knew.

He must have seen the bite on me in class and connected it to Obsidian Queen.

Yet he said nothing. He continued stroking himself, breathing heavier, pretending he had no idea the woman commanding him right now was the same professor who had humiliated him hours earlier.

“Faster,” I ordered, my voice steady even as my pulse raced wildly.

Tristan obeyed, his hand moving quicker over his thick length. A low groan escaped him.

The emotional storm inside me intensified. I had torn him down in public today, and now I was secretly watching him pleasure himself while he pretended not to recognize me.

The power I held was intoxicating.

And terrifying.

Because deep down, I wasn’t sure who was really in control anymore.