Page 69 of Pink Ink

He watches me like a man who’s been forced into a prison of his own making, and he’s done nothing but try to shake the bars for the last century. The muscle in his jaw ticks, chest expanding with every heaved breath.

“I imagined stripping you until you’re in nothing but those tiny bloody skirts of yours. Then I’d fuck you against the window so anyone could see.” My breath hitches as he continues. “I’d put you in a hundred different positions so they’ll know everything I could do to you.”

I’m not sure what’s more shocking: the fact that he’s saying these things, or that he thinks about me. A voice at the back of my head tries to tell me that he’s only saying it because of the circumstances we’ve gotten ourselves into, but I tamp it down.

“I thought about blindfolding you and letting you roam around my studio, and fucking you against whichever art piece you have your hands on.” He shakes his head. “The reality of you is better than any dream I could conjure. Your pussy is a goddamn fucking masterpiece.”

My core spasms, and I increase my speed. My hips buck, and my pulse runs rampant. If he touches me—even so much as a caress—I’m done for.

He groans. “You shouldn’t have let yourself be alone with me. I’ll destroy you. I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk. I’ll make you lose the ability to speak with how loud you’ll scream. And you know what?”

I can barely keep my eyes open, much less string together a sentence.

“I asked you a question, Miss Sinaga.” It comes out close to a growl.

“What?” I snap. I’m on the precipice.

“You’re going to be a good girl and look at me while you come on your professor’s couch, and you’re going to fucking love it.”

That does it.

Lightning explodes through every cell in my body. White heat bursts across my vision. I’m falling. Crying out with no lifeboat to catch me. It keeps going and going until I can’t take anymore. Green eyes morph to black and brown and gold as the world spins.

It’s not the words I wanted to finish to, but the switch flipped. Maddox took back the reins and got under my skin. I’m in his grasp as much as he’s in mine. Whatever tumble we’re taking, we’re doing it together. Falling on the same sword. Though camaraderie isn’t what I’m feeling. It’s a mutual connection that is far more dangerous. Potent enough to get sick off of.

A shudder rips through me when I withdraw my fingers and ease my shaking legs to the ground. Before I can move to get myself cleaned up and fix the mess we got ourselves into, he grabs my hand, and his mouth closes around the same fingers I came on.

Maddox’s tongue flicks out, lapping at the remnants of my desire. He keeps his attention trained on me. A low sound rumbles at the back of his throat and makes me gasp.

“You were sent to destroy me,” he whispers when he finally releases me.

A knock at the door startles me up onto my feet, and I don’t think twice about darting away from him with my boots and tights in hand. A blush blazes across my cheeks. Oh God. What if someone heard me?

The only thing worse than a man sleeping with his student is a woman sleeping with her professor.

Maddox mutters profanities I don’t catch; I’m too busy frantically shoving my clothes back on to make myself look like I didn’t just finger fuck myself in front of my professor. I don’t get the chance to go back to grab the panties I left on the couch before Maddox rips the door open and growls,“What?”

I don’t care to listen to the exchange. I don’t dare look at Maddox either. I shoulder my satchel, grab my coat, and spare a quick glance at the student at the door. I recognize him from one of my classes. Alex or Andrew or something.

Somehow, I muster the willpower to act like everything is okay, saying “Thanks” and “See ya” to Maddox before hightailing it out of there.

My thighs are sticky, I’m panting, and I can still feel the warmth of his lips around my fingers.

Dear fucking God. I just fingered myself in front of my professor.

MADDOX

I shouldn’t be here.

I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, but this is by far the dumbest of them all. And I’ve done it three times now. This has the potential to be a giant cock-up.

My eyes dart away from her sleeping form long enough to put pencil to paper and crosshatch the shadows beneath her jaw.

Reyna has a cute little room. An exposed-brick feature wall decorated with old movie posters and art prints, filming equipment everywhere, photos of her mother and friends, a couple of packets of Hello Panda and Kusuka, a bookshelf with four different editions of Mary Shelley’sFrankenstein, and six special editions of H. P. Lovecraft’s works. It’s the type of room I pictured her having.

The part that pleases me to no end is the switchblade on her bedside table. It seems she has survival instincts after all. Terrible ones if she hasn’t sensed my presence.

Like the other two times, I wait until she falls asleep before letting myself into her apartment. I’m half tempted to throw her over my shoulder and bring her home since I can’t seem to find a moment of peace unless she’s around.