Nicole finds me a lot faster than I thought she would.

Across the street from the Cathedral is a grass lawn full of students lounging around. On the side of the lawn, there are some small hybrids between food trucks and restaurants, as well as a large tent that sometimes holds events.

Right now the tent has live jazz, and I’m sipping on a Turkish coffee when Nicole finds me.

I raise an eyebrow at her. “How did you know I was here?”

I gesture toward the empty chair across from me, and she sits down. She slams her hand down onto the table and lets go. I see my tie wadded up on the table. It unfurls slightly as she releases it.

“You forgot this,” she says.

“That was intentional,” I say, licking my lips.

Her face is nearly as red as the tie. As strong the coffee is, I can still taste Nicole Faria on my tongue. When the scent of her perfume hits me, the memory of my tongue and fingers burrowing deep inside her hits me like a tidal wave.

“Obviously,” she says. “Is that how you treat all your TAs? Abandoning them?”

“Just you, Ms. Faria,” I say, sliding the coffee toward her. “Drink.”

She looks angry for a moment, but I see the power of my command subdue her rage. She grasps the cup and brings it to her full lips. “It’s bitter as hell.” She slams the cup back down.

“Turkish coffee,” I say. “It’s meant to be like that.”

She loves to obey me. I saw it in her eyes six years ago, and that desire to submit to me has aged like a fine wine. She’d do anything I asked of her, and just the thought of that power makes my cock tighten. My balls are sore from delaying my gratification so long. I’ll need relief, and soon.

“What you said back there,” she says. “Why…”

“I don’t want to give you any false impressions, Ms. Faria. I told you what I want from you, but I won’t lure you in with some false image of white picket fences and one-point-five children. I’m not that man.”

She bites her lip, and looks up at me with defiance. “Is this some fucking layer of conflict? A test?”

I shake my head. “It’s just truth. I want you to know what you’re getting into before you—”

“You waited until I was—”

I laugh. “I tried to stop you a long time ago, but you just had to persist. I’m not going to ignore what’s there, am I? I’ve told you now, so you have to be the one who decides if our needs are compatible.”

I’ve always done this. I know what I want and what I don’t want, and I won’t pull a bait and switch. Nicole needs to know that she will submit to me fully and completely, albeit temporarily. I will not be tied down, not even by her.

The music is loud, and it helps her silence seem less awkward and indecisive.

“I…” she mumbles. “I didn’t want a white picket fence anyway.”

“Good,” I say, feeling my cock throb and grow. My balls are painfully tight.

“What do you want me to do, Dr. Leeds?” she asks. “Drink your coffee again, or…?”

I feel her bare foot run across my calf beneath the table. It’s not like there’s any form of cloth over the table; anyone looking could clearly see what she is doing.

I force myself to control my breathing, and I close my eyes for a moment, then open them again.

“A lot of English and Northern European legends and folktales talk about a magical sword,” I say, trying not to let her gain the upper hand, even as her foot slides up along my leg.

“Oh,” she says, locking her big green eyes onto mine. “You want to lecture me about literature some more? That, of all things?”

“In many of these stories,” I say, ignoring her, “the sword is created for one specific purpose, to be wielded one single time—or sometimes even swung one time—and the sword might be forged centuries before it needs to be used.”

“Like the Lord of the Rings?” she asks.

“That’s a ring,” I say. “This is a sword.”

“So you’re the sword,” she says, “and I’m the ring.”

“In some tales,” I say, “the sword will be forged from metal and imbued with magic. This can mean a blacksmith or wizard slamming it with a hammer or casting spells onto the sword for decades. Folding the metal and magic back onto itself hundreds of thousands of times, day after day.”

“Maybe not the ring,” she mutters to herself. “Only a very small sword could fit through a ring without breaking it. And you’re not small, I felt it…”

My cock throbs, but I press on. “When the sword is near its intended target, a demon or some other great force of evil—”

Nicole laughs, her giggle sounding like the schoolgirl I first met. “A demon, or a succubus!”

“The sword may glow, or vibrate—”

“Or...grow,” she says, and I feel her toes slide quickly up my thigh, and the heel of her foot presses against my rock-hard cock through my thin trousers.

I lean forward, digging my elbows into the table. “I’ve spent six years making this sword, Ms. Faria, and I’m finally ready to wield it.”