It had been two days since I knelt on Adrian’s Lewis office floor. Two days since he slid my panties into a folder like it was just part of my midterm. Two days since he whispered a proposition that shattered every part of me I thought I’d locked away.
Since then, I have been… floating. No, adrift, trapped in a storm of arousal, confusion, and something dangerously close to full blow surrender.
Every class with him was unbearable. He acted normal—cold, professional, barely looking in my direction.
But I knew better now, I felt it. The way his eyes followed me when I shifted in my seat, when my fingers curled too tightly around my pen, when I crossed and uncrossed my legs just a little too slowly.
He was waiting for me to decide. But how could I?
The idea of submission was as intoxicating as it was terrifying. To give someone control—not just of my body, but my thoughts, my breath, my boundaries. It sounded like freedom and death at the same fucking time.
And I didn’t know the difference anymore.
My past didn’t exactly encourage trust. Not in people. Not in power. Not in letting go. Because once, I did let go. Just once and I lost everything.
It was in middle school. After mom had left, my little sisters were too little and my dad was barely functional for far more than one year. And I got close to someone—my guidance counselor, of all people.
I let him see the cracks, the ones I hid from everyone else. He saw and used them.
His concern turned possessive, compliments got dark and before I knew it, I was trapped under someone else’s idea of “care.” It wasn’t until he tried to kiss me in his office that I ran.
So, yeah. The idea of surrender? It still made me want to bolt.
But with Lewis, it felt different. Dangerous, yes, but also deliberate, like he wanted to break me… in a way that made me whole.
I was halfway to the café, mentally debating whether I could survive another dining hall sandwich that tasted like cardboard and regret, when I nearly collided with someone coming around the corner.
"Sorry, I—" I started, then stopped dead.
The woman standing in front of me looked like she'd stepped out of a magazine spread for "Professors Who Could Ruin Your Life and Look Fabulous Doing It."
Tall, elegant, with striking red hair pulled back in a chignon so perfect it probably required architectural engineering. Her pale gray eyes studied me through thin-rimmed glasses, and she wore a cream silk blouse that screamed expensive sophistication.
"No harm done," she said, her voice smooth as aged whiskey. "You're Sophie Hale, aren't you?"
I blinked, completely thrown off balance. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"
"Dr. Lisette Vaughn," she replied, extending a manicured hand. "Professor of Feminist Literature. I've heard quite a bit about you."
My stomach did this weird flip thing. "You have?"
"Academic circles are smaller than you might think." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I was actually heading to the café myself. Mind if I walk with you?"
I wanted to say yes, I minded very much, because something about this woman made every nerve ending in my body go on high alert. But refusing felt rude, and I was already awkward enough without adding social disaster to my resume.
"Sure," I said, falling into step beside her.
Her heels clicked against the floor with metronomic precision, and I found myself studying her out of the corner of my eye. She was beautiful in that intimidating, untouchable way that made me feel like a bargain-bin knockoff walking next to designer original.
"So," she said conversationally, "how are you finding your literature courses this semester?"
"Fine," I replied, then realized how lame that sounded. "I mean, challenging. Professor Lewis keeps everyone on their toes."
Something flickered across her face at the mention of his name, so quick I almost missed it. But her voice remained perfectly controlled.
"Professor Lewis. Yes, he certainly has a... distinctive teaching style." She paused, studying me with those pale eyes. "Tell me, Sophie, what is it about authority that you find so compelling?"
The question hit like a slap. "Excuse me?"
"Academic authority, of course. Some students thrive under strict guidance, while others rebel against it. You strike me as someone who responds well to... firm direction."
Heat crawled up my neck. There was something in her tone, something that suggested she wasn't talking about homework assignments and discussion participation.
"I just like structure," I said carefully.
"Structure." She repeated the word like she was tasting it. "Yes, I suppose that's one way to put it."
We'd reached the café, and she held the door open for me with exaggerated courtesy. As I passed her, she leaned slightly closer.
"You know, Sophie, I've always found it fascinating how some young women seek out older men in positions of power. The psychology behind it is quite complex."
My heart hammered against my ribs. "That's a pretty specific observation."
"Is it?" Dr. Vaughn selected a small table by the window, gesturing for me to join her. "I've been teaching for over a decade. Patterns become... evident."
I sat down because my legs felt unsteady, and because running away would basically confirm whatever suspicions she clearly had.
But the truth was, her words had hit something deep inside me. Something I'd been trying not to examine too closely.
Why did I want someone else to take control? Why did the idea of surrendering to Adrian's commands make my entire body come alive in ways I'd never experienced?
Maybe it was growing up as the responsible one, always making decisions, always holding everything together. Maybe I was tired of being strong, tired of carrying the weight of everyone else's needs.
Or maybe there was something fundamentally broken in me that craved the kind of dominance that stripped away choice, that reduced everything to sensation and obedience.
The thought should have terrified me. Instead, it made me wet.
"Sophie?" Dr. Vaughn's voice cut through my spiraling thoughts. "You seem distracted."
"Just thinking about coursework," I lied, my phone buzzing against my thigh.
I glanced down at the screen and felt my breath catch.
Private Room Service: You have time until the end of the week to decide. If you want to be mine, mind and body, I expect a yes. Or nothing.
My pulse spiked, heat flooding between my legs despite Dr. Vaughn sitting across from me with those knowing eyes.
Another message appeared almost immediately.
Private Room Service: I've been thinking about you bent over my desk, skirt pushed up, taking everything I give you while you beg for more. I want to hear you scream my name until your voice breaks.
I set the phone face-down on the table, hoping my face didn't look as flushed as it felt.
"Important message?" Dr. Vaughn asked, and I could swear there was something predatory in her smile.
"Just... scheduling stuff."
"Of course." She leaned back, studying me like I was a particularly interesting specimen. "You know, Sophie, I think we should have a proper conversation soon. About your academic future. Your... choices."
The way she said 'choices' made my skin crawl.
"I should actually get going," I said, standing abruptly. "I have a class to prepare for."
"With Professor Lewis, I assume?"
The question stopped me cold. "How did you know that?"
Her smile turned razor-sharp. "Lucky guess."
I grabbed my bag with shaking hands. "Right. Well, thanks for the... conversation."
"Anytime, my dear." Dr. Vaughn picked up her coffee cup with deliberate precision. "And Sophie? Do be careful with your choices. Not all forms of surrender lead to freedom."
I practically fled the café, her words echoing in my head like a warning I couldn't decode.
But as I walked toward Lewis's classroom, my phone still warm with his messages, I realized something that terrified and thrilled me in equal measure:
I didn't want freedom. I wanted to belong to him.