All Chapters of Submissive Academy: Chapter 91 - Chapter 95

Aiden is leaning against the side of the orange car, hands in his pockets, eyes widening when he sees me. Mark is on the other side, eyeing everything carefully, hand on his back like he's also carrying a gun. Am I dreaming? What the fuck is happening? No one speaks. The silence is deafening, the tension thick enough to choke on. I’m frozen in place, unable to move, barely able to breathe. My gaze stays locked on Aiden. He looks like he’s aged five years in the single night we’ve been apart—his face sharper, colder, more haunted. “What…” My voice trembles, confused and uncertain. “What is going on?” Still, I don’t move. I can't. Every nerve in my body screams caution. It’s like a standoff, and I don’t know who’s holding who at gunpoint. One wrong move, and someone could get shot. Aiden’s eyes never leave me. His posture is relaxed, too relaxed—but I see through it. The tension coils under his skin like a snake ready to strike, his muscles straining beneath his white button-down s

He guides me to the bed with a slow, reverent grace, each movement measured and deliberate. There’s no rush, no frantic need to claim me quickly—just a powerful patience that makes every second feel like a sacrament. He wants me fully, but on his terms, savoring the mounting tension that coils between us like a live wire. He positions me standing at the edge of the bed, the back of my knees sinking into the soft, pristine white sheets. The coolness of the fabric contrasts sharply with the heat pooling low in my belly, setting my nerves alight. His hands begin to explore my body with the tender reverence of a master tracing the curves of his most treasured possession. Each touch is slow, deliberate—like he’s memorizing every inch of me, as if I might disappear without this moment etched into his memory. He rolls my nipple between his expert fingers, sending a sharp gasp tearing from my throat. My skin burns beneath his touch as his eyes lock onto mine, searching, questioning—almost

“Oh, dummy,” I laugh, a soft, mocking sound as I wave my hand dismissively through the air. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t visit you? After everything you’ve done to me? To the other girls?” The amusement drains from his face like a sink unplugged. The brief flicker of admiration, of lust—gone. Replaced by something far less attractive: confusion. Shock. The crushing weight of realization settling behind his eyes. I watch as he glances toward the door behind him.He takes one step towards it. “That’ll be locked,” I say casually, turning away from him. My voice is light, breezy, almost sweet as I stroll toward the wall and adjust a picture slightly askew. A photograph—one I remember from long ago—of Henry and his father standing shoulder to shoulder, both looking straight into the camera like kings surveying their kingdom. Arrogance practically radiating off the frame. Behind me, I hear it. The sharp, sudden cough. Then another. I don’t even turn around yet. Instead, I run my