“You reminded me of the hero of a dark romance,” I blurt.
He stills, and the grip around my neck softens. “Explain.”
“I went home last week to find my dad had disappeared.”
This is the first time I’ve said the words out loud, and the pain of being abandoned is smothering. My throat thickens, cutting off my air. Blinking, I fight back the onset of tears.
“I was feeling like crap and then I passed the Red Room and saw you…”
“And?”
My jaw clenches, and I swallow. Marius didn’t strike me as the type of man who would fish for compliments or praise. “Come on, do you want me to spell it out?”
“Unless you want me to beat it out of you.” His tone is lighter, and he almost sounds like the man who kept me awake into the early hours of this morning.
The vague reminder of what we did together sends warmth to my cheeks. It picks up speed and heat, traveling down my chest and to the juncture of my thighs.
I conjure up the mental image of me bent over his knees and getting the spanking he promised. Some of the anxiety drains away, but now the pulse behind my clit beats in sync with his heart.
“Speak,” he says.
“I wanted a sexy, rich boyfriend,” I mutter.
“And?”
The warm sensation across my skin prickles with irritation. I twist out of his hold, and to my surprise, Marius allows me to turn around and face him.
Sunlight filters in through the tall window, illuminating one side of his face and turning the ends of his dark brown hair a luscious shade of mahogany. He stares down at me through dilated pupils surrounded by the tiniest ring of blue.
Whatever threat he saw in me has now vanished, replaced with a curiosity that borders on amusement.
That’s it?
No apology for jumping out and frightening me out of my life? No apology for his accusation?
Am I supposed to move on and go straight to the dirty talk?
“If you’ve already forgotten what I want from you, read the texts,” I snap. “Because we have a date on Saturday in your playroom.”
The light in his eyes fades. “That’s not going to happen anymore, Miss…?”
His rejection hits me like a fist to the heart. I step back, the heel of my loafer tangling with a thick rug.
“Why?” I ask before I can stop myself.
“You’re a student,” he says as though it’s obvious. “I’m faculty, the rules of Marina University prohibit—”
“What do the rules say about professors sending dick pics?” I raise my chin.
His face shutters, and the look in his eyes turns deadly.
My stomach plummets to the dark wood floor and down several flights of stairs. What the hell was I thinking? I didn’t just threaten a crusty old academic. This is the man who threw a chair at the nephew of Britain’s most powerful gangster.
Professor Segul advances on me, his features murderous. I stumble back, nearly tripping over the rug again, until my ass hits the corner of the desk.
His hand shoots out and wraps around the base of my neck. Not tight enough to strangle, but to let me know he could crush my windpipe. I’m bent over backward with my spine flush against the hard surface, my head laid beside the open laptop.
Fight or flight kicks in, but I feel the urge to freeze. Professor Segul is dangerous, but he isn’t Dad. The part of me that’s desperate for a thrill surges forward and takes control of my lips.