PROLOGUE

LANA

 

 

"Did you do as you were told?"

His mesmerizing green eyes paralyze me. I’m unable to move as he angles his sharp gaze down at me, clenching his jaw to retain control. I can tell that he is holding back. He has had to restrain himself for so long, watching me in the classroom from afar, sitting across the table while we were engaged in our little banter. Taboo was always written all over our intimate relationship, which made it all the more exciting.

His strong jaw is dappled with black stubble, framing the hint of a smirk as he studies the reaction on my face. I know I'm blushing, fighting to maintain eye contact with him, as I try to find the words he's waiting to hear. My lips part as I prepare to speak, but no sound comes out.

"Did you obey my orders?" he asks again.

Even though he hasn’t moved it feels as if he just took a step closer, closing a hand around my throat and choking me. I feel suffocated and elevated at the same time, my insides swirling with deep-seated emotion and completely at his mercy.

"Yes," I finally reply in a hoarse voice.

"What did I tell you to do?"

Oh, please, God, no! Don't make me say it out loud!

My face burns with shameful heat, and I have to suppress the strong urge to close my eyes. I can't look at him when I'm feeling like this. Exposed, vulnerable, confused - and so freaking turned on. I'm ashamed of my heightened arousal, and I know how much he enjoys seeing that vulnerable feeling written all over my face in bright red color.

"Lana, you know we don't have a lot of time," he urges.

This time he actually does take a step closer to me. We're standing in the middle of his temporary office, surrounded by everything that reminds me of how wrong all of this is. The shelves are mostly empty, and so is the desk next to me. I'm familiar with the dark, wooden surface. A lot more familiar than any student should be.

In the background, I can hear the murmuring voices of students walking by outside in the hall. So close, yet so far away.

"You told me to...," I whisper. The weirdly low tone of my voice confuses me. I don't sound like myself. I sound like a distant and faded version of myself. My voice is not only soft, but it’s shaking, as if I was scared.

I'm not scared. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

You don't scare me, Mr. Portland.

But he does.

I clear my throat.

"You told me to...," I begin again, still sighing with that flat voice, but determined to finish the sentence this time. "...Put the toy inside of me."

A dark smile graces his handsome face. "And is that toy inside your delicious cunt right now?"

I nod, pressing my lips together as if I had to keep myself from speaking.

"Say it," he demands. Of course.

I start chewing on my lower lip instead of obeying his command. I've said enough, so why doesn't he just let it go?

Because that's not how it works.

"How does it feel?" He asks now, stepping closer. He places his hands on my shoulders, holding me in a secure grip as if I was about to run away or faint in front of him. His touch feels so familiar, so right. My core shivers at the memory of his marvelous hands between my legs.

I want more. I've been begging for more for weeks, which is why I’m in this predicament. I'm not doing this for him, but for me.

"Tell me, Lana, how does it feel?" He repeats his question, leaning forward and so close that our lips almost touch.

I instinctively stretch and get up on my toes, hoping for a kiss, but he evades me.

"Answer me," he insists. "How does it feel?"

"Good," I reply.

Obviously, that answer is not good enough for him.

"Tell me," he says, letting go of my left shoulder. His right hand travels down to my core, caressing the fabric of my skirt above my mound. "Can you feel it inside of you?"

I nod. "Yes, Sir."

He casts me that dark and up-to-no-good smile I've come to love and fear so much during the past few months we’ve spent together. His hand moves further down the skirt he ordered me to wear today, despite the cold weather.

"Show me what a good girl you are," he whispers, as his hand trails further, lifting my skirt up and traveling along the inside of my thigh.

He pinches my flesh through the pantyhose, signaling for me to spread my legs apart. I obey, widening my stance enough to grant him access to my center.

A moan escapes my quivering lips when he presses against my labia, his palm covering my most sensitive area.

"Can you feel it inside?" he asks, his voice hoarse and husky.

I nod. "Yes."

He called it a vibrating egg, but it looks more like a thick, pink thumb, not more than two inches long and about as wide as two fingers. I know he has a remote control for it, but he didn’t give it to me. When I agreed to do what he wanted me to, he just handed me the little pink toy and told me to place it inside myself for the last class of this semester.

His hand is still at my entrance, applying pressure on it through two layers of fabric. Even this subtle touch is enough for me to tremble with lust. I can't wait for this upcoming class to be over.

"Just imagine what it feels like when I turn it on," he adds.

I blush at the thought and prepare myself to get the first taste of what it feels like. I expect him to turn it on right this moment, to show me. But he doesn't.

Instead, he removes his hand from beneath my skirt and straightens up to his full height, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You will go to class now," he commands. "And you will sit through my last lecture like a good girl, without letting anyone around you know about our little secret. Do you understand?"

I nod. "Yes, Sir."

The smile that charms his handsome face is enough of an acknowledgment, but I eagerly welcome his lips when he leans forward to kiss me.

My last class with Mr. Jackson Portland will prove to be one of a kind - and I intend to end the semester with a bang. Literally.