My Dom Is my Alpha Professor

Lila’s POV

In a month I would turn eighteen, and my pack would decide what to do with a girl who never got her wolf.

I'd heard the word exile since I was fourteen. At first in whispers, the older wolves outside my father's office, their voices dropping when I walked past. Then louder, because nobody bothered to hide it anymore. My mother was a gamma warrior who shifted before she turned ten. My father was the pack's second-in-command, the strongest beta anyone had seen in a generation. And their daughter was the girl who brought nothing to the bloodline.

But none of this matters — because I have a boyfriend who loves me dearly.

You know, as a paid writer who specializes in BDSM content, I'm still a virgin, but my boyfriend Derek has never taken things further out of respect for me.

Three years I'd been with him. Three years of bringing his coffee every morning, saving his seat in the cafeteria, doing his English Lit homework when he was too tired from practice. His father was our Alpha King, and mine served under him. We'd grown up side by side, our futures tied together before either of us could choose.

He never cared that I was wolfless. At least that's what he told me.

Tonight I had a plan. A black silk robe I'd bought two months ago and never had the nerve to wear. Red lace underneath with the tag still on it. A small purple mask that hid the top half of my face, leaving just my glasses and my mouth.

I like her better than me.

Derek had won the pack championship this afternoon. His team destroyed three rival packs, and the whole academy was buzzing about the celebration at the hotel. He said he would celebrate the victory with his teammates and told me to come later. To give him a surprise, I got his room number from the front desk and planned to sneak in.

The sixth-floor hallway smelled like air freshener and ironed sheets. I swiped the key card and stepped inside.

The room was dark. Curtains drawn. No one.

Maybe he's in the bathroom. I stepped inside and pulled out my phone.

I frowned, reaching for my phone to text him, and a hand caught my wrist from behind.

A black strip of silk slid over my eyes. My breath hitched. Another hand gathered both wrists and guided them above my head, pressing them against the headboard. Something soft bound them — firm enough to hold, not enough to bruise.

"Wait—"

His mouth found mine before I could finish.

The kiss was nothing like what I was used to. Derek kissed me the way he did everything — quick, a little impatient, already thinking about the next thing. This was slow. Deep. His lips parted mine like he had all the time in the world and I was the only thing in it.

My stomach tightened.

His fingers traced the curve of my jaw, down the side of my neck, along my collarbone. Every touch was precise. Not fumbling, not guessing. He was reading my skin like a sentence he wanted to get exactly right.

My back arched off the mattress without permission.

I'd written scenes like this. Hundreds of them, late at night, hunched over my laptop with my door locked and my heart hammering. The heroine blindfolded, wrists bound, surrendering to a dom who knew exactly where to put his hands.

Fiction was safe. Fiction was a screen between me and wanting.

This was my body shaking under a man's touch and not wanting him to stop.

His thumb brushed my lower lip. "Don't hold back."

The voice was low. Textured. Not quite what I expected — but I was already too far gone to question it. Maybe the adrenaline from the game had changed him. Maybe this was who he'd always been behind closed doors.

His hand slid down my side, fingers tracing where the dress met my thigh. He didn't rush. He let each touch burn a trail until I was the one shifting toward him, chasing contact I hadn't asked for.

His mouth pressed against my neck, just below my ear. The heat of his breath made my skin prickle.

"You're doing so well."

My boyfriend had never praised me during anything. Not once.

His palm flattened against my inner thigh, and I sucked in a breath. His fingers moved higher, slow circles through the thin fabric of my underwear. My hips tilted off the bed. A sound escaped my throat — small, startled, nothing I recognized as mine.

His grip on my hip tightened. He pulled me closer.

His fingers hooked under the fabric and pushed it aside. I gasped — not from pain, but from the shock of skin against skin, the precision of it, the way he found the exact rhythm my body wanted before I even knew I wanted it.

Every stroke wound something tighter inside me. My wrists strained against the silk. My teeth sank into my bottom lip until I tasted metal.

"Say it."

"Don't stop."

I didn't recognize my own voice. Thin. Honest. He hooked two fingers under the lace and pulled it down my thigh, past my knee, off. His hand came back up the inside of my leg, ankle to knee, and stopped just short.

"Please," I said into the dark.

His fingers found me and I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. He worked me with patience, building, pulling back, building higher. The knot pulled tighter and my thighs started to shake.

"Almost," I gasped. "I'm —"

A moan. From the other side of the wall.

A woman's voice — high, breathless, riding a rhythm I recognized.

My best friend.

And then a man's. Low. Rough. Grunting through his teeth in hoarse, ragged bursts.

My boyfriend.

"Harder," Brielle whined. The headboard on the other side thumped against the wall.

Through the wall, my best friend cried out again. My boyfriend groaned — guttural, satisfied, unmistakable.

Every cell in my body went cold. My face burned. The two sensations collided like ice water thrown over a live flame.

I yanked at the bindings. Tore my wrists free. Ripped the blindfold off.

My boyfriend and my best friend are in the next room? Did I walk into the wrong room? !

I scrambled off the bed. Grabbed my bag. Ran.

In the hallway, the fluorescent lights hit me like a slap. I looked down at the key card in my shaking hand.

Through the wall, Derek said something I couldn't hear because the blood in my ears was too loud. I was sitting on the wrong bed, in the wrong room, with the taste of copper on my lip and a stranger's fingerprints still on my skin.

In the hallway, my hands were shaking.

Room 619

616.

I had gone to the wrong room.

My boyfriend was in 616. With my best friend.

I stared at the door I'd just fled from.

Then who the hell had just been touching me?