Kiss The Villain: Chapter 25

I stand outside Kayden’s office, the buzz of students and distant chatter from down the hall a dull hum beneath the pounding in my own head. That white silent room I love so much is smudged with swishes of gray, and I want them to come off.

My fingers twitch at my side, reluctant to knock. I can’t shake the thought that I’m about to walk into something I won’t be able to control.

That’s what I’ve always liked and disliked about Kayden. The idea that he can strip my control and give me something is what I like.

But now, it’s going to the side I dislike—where in this case, he might use the power he has over me to hurt me.

The hallway is full of movement, but it feels like I’m the only one here, stuck in this moment, torn between turning away or stepping forward into whatever mess this will become.

Finally, I knock.

“Come in.” His voice, although muffled, is still deep and piercing, and my skin prickles.

When we first started this unorthodox relationship, I was hoping I’d stop being so attuned to him, but it’s kind of getting worse, not better.

I slide the door open and walk inside, feigning nonchalance. “You wanted to see me, Professor?”

Kayden’s office feels colder than it should, the stark, minimalist decor giving it a sharp, impersonal edge. His desk is neat—too neat—papers lined up just so, a sleek pen resting perfectly at the edge. The soft glow of the desk lamp casts long shadows on Kayden’s face. He seems to fill the space with his presence, every inch of the room an extension of his control.

“Close the door,” he says without looking up from a paper he’s highlighting.

“You’re not supposed to do that, Professor.”

“Close the door and lock it, Carson.”

I hate the fucking last name. He only calls me that when he’s being a major prick.

“I’ll be accusing you of sexual harassment,” I say just to annoy him.

He lifts his brow, finally looking at me. “You think I give a fuck?”

Of course he doesn’t. With a sigh, I click the door shut and press the lock, turning the outside noises into mumbles.

He stands up and taps his desk. “Come here.”

“Why?”

“Quit the questions and come here.”

I release an exasperated noise and walk to him. His scent is all I breathe, and he’s so warm, but closed off. I can’t read him.

“Now what?”

“Bend over the desk.”

“You must be out of your mind. We’re on campus.”

“I said. Bend over, Carson.”

My body kind of folds of its own volition when he orders me. But if he calls me Carson one more time…

“What happens now?” I scoff. “You’re going to spank me or something?”

I hear unbuckling and look behind me, and sure enough, he’s undoing his belt.

Ah, fuck me.

He tried that before and I couldn’t sit properly for days. I came like crazy, too, so there’s that.

The first slap comes and I jerk against the desk, holding on to the edges with white knuckles. Even though it’s over my jeans, I feel it on my skin, and my dick is swelling. Fast.

No surprise there. I’m apparently a masochist, as V—the Reddit version—calls me.

“You need to watch that mouth.” Thwack. “You can’t run it however you please.” Thwack. “Next time I tell you to sit down. You.” Thwack. “Sit.” Thwack. “The fuck.” Thwack. “Down.”

I’m groaning and grunting. The pain is so great, I think my cock will burst, the sense of pleasure is surging through me despite all my attempts to remain unaffected. My groin is pushing against the desk, trying to get any form of friction.

“Quiet.” He shoves two fingers in my mouth, making me choke on them. “Unless you want them to come and see you being punished for being a fucking brat.”

He slaps me again and I grunt, my teeth grazing his fingers as I deep-throat them.

“But then again, you’re a little slut, so you might be into that.” He drops the belt on the table and reaches beneath me, his hand brushing against my engorged cock before he unzips my jeans. “You’re already hard with a little belting. What a fucking mess.”

He lowers my jeans and boxers just enough and then slaps my ass over the burning welts. I gag on his fingers, my eyes blurry, and I realize moisture is gathering there.

“Even if you’re into that, there will never be an audience.” He kneads the skin, and I release a choked sound. “No one gets to see this. No one but me. You’re only mine.”

He removes his fingers from my mouth. “Say it.”

I remain quiet, motionless, and he spins me around so that my back is on the desk. My ass burns when it meets the cool surface, but that’s the least of my concerns, because his eyes widen upon seeing my face.

Apparently, I’m fucking crying. So, yeah, I do cry during his punishments sometimes because I enjoy the pleasure mixed with pain.

But there’s something else this time.

And, of course, he notices it.

Fuck my life.

“What’s wrong?” He reaches out a hand, and I look the other way at an ugly floor lamp.

He pulls my pants up, covering my still raging erection because my cock is refusing to read the room.

His large palm grips my nape, stroking the skin as he speaks in a low tone, “If you don’t like me touching you on campus, I won’t.”

“It’s not that.” I’m still speaking to the lamp. “Idiot. Asshole. God, I fucking hate you.”

“Stop saying that.”

“Idiot. Asshole.”

“The ‘I hate you’ part. Don’t say it. I don’t like it.”

I stare at him through blurry vision. “I hate you, hate you, hate you⁠—”

He grabs my jaw, leaning down, so that his face is a breath from mine. “I said. Stop it. Enough with the tantrum.”

My lips wobble and I try to pull away, but he keeps me locked in place. His demeanor feels all-encompassing, like I couldn’t escape him even if I tried.

“What on earth is your problem today, Carson?”

“What the hell is your problem?” I headbutt him for the first time in months. “And stop calling me by my last goddamn name.”

He flinches a bit, touching his forehead. Good. Hope it cracked so he’ll be in pain for a while.

“I wouldn’t if you hadn’t been a brat from the moment you walked into my class. Flirting with students in the jury, texting and smiling at God knows who, and challenging my authority.”

“That’s because you humiliated me.” I grab him by the collar of his shirt. “You’ve been an asshole since the case started, when I know I’m doing a good job. It’s not perfect, but I was trying my best, aiming for approval you never gave me! You’re only using me, just like him! All of you are fucking bastards!”

His fingers tighten around my jaw. “Who is him, Gareth?”

My stomach falls.

Well, at least he’s saying my name, even if his voice sounds the deepest I’ve ever heard.

“No one important.” I try to stand, but he shoves me back down on the desk so that he’s looming over me.

“Tell me and I’ll decide whether or not it’s important.”

“Fuck. Can I sit down first?”

He lets me, then steps between my legs, his hand still on my jaw, not allowing me to look anywhere but at him.

“I’m waiting,” he says when I don’t speak, his eyes looking more intense than a fucking nuke. Jeez.

I let out a long sigh. “I had a teacher who came into our house, Mr. Laurent. He taught me and Killian French. I was around ten at the time and was already beginning to realize that my brother and I were different from other kids. But Kill still managed to make all the teachers like him, while I was always alone, feeling suffocated by humans. Laurent saw it differently. He always praised me in front of my parents and told me I was smart and brighter than Kill. It was the first time a teacher had done that, and I got intoxicated by the feeling.”

Kayden’s other hand falls to my waist, tightening slightly. “Did he…groom you?”

“Not really? I don’t think so.”

“Fuck, Gareth. Did he assault you?”

“No. But he used me.” I snort out a laugh. “Apparently Mr. Laurent’s sister was taken by the New York Russian mafia, so he’d pay his debt, and since I’m related to them on my mom’s side, he took me to his house, saying it was for a lesson, and then locked me up in the basement. The fucking weakling was crying while he did it, saying he didn’t want to, but it was my fault for being born into a rotten family.”

“And then what happened?” His voice is soft, so soft, and he’s holding my cheek in his palm now, and I’m leaning into it, because, apparently, I really love it when he shows me this side.

“It didn’t last long, maybe a day. He called my aunt saying he’d release me if they let his sister go and erase his debt. My aunt kind of blew his house down.” I chuckle. “She and her husband came with an army and shot him to death. She tried to shield me, but I saw his corpse. His head was blown up and his intestines were on the floor. But I was mostly fascinated by his dead eyes and wanted to see more of that. Dead people. Especially if they fucking lied to me or used me. I wanted them all dead.

“Ever since then, I don’t trust teachers or people in general. It made my already existing trust issues so bad.” I grip the desk tighter so I don’t touch him. “Which is why I never stayed with anyone like I’ve stayed with you.”

“Because you trust me?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. But when you…”

“When I what? Talk to me.”

I gulp the ball in my drying throat. I don’t know why he always has the ability to ground me and wrench the words out of me.

“When you say things like I disappointed you over a meaningless case, it hurts. When you call me by my last name like we’re strangers, it hurts. I didn’t know I was capable of being hurt, but apparently, I am.”

“I’m sorry, baby.” He wipes beneath my eyes. “Won’t happen again. I promise.”

“I don’t want you to treat me like I’m special, but don’t say shit like being disappointed in me.”

“Is it important to you? That I’m not disappointed in you?”

“Yeah. So, like, don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.”

“If you do, I’ll stab you.”

He chuckles. “My worst fear.”

“Better be.” I smile and he kisses the corners of my mouth.

The dimples, I realize.

And my chest squeezes again. Fuck, I don’t think it’s a disease anymore.

His hand slides down to my erection. “Do you want to continue with the punishment?”

“Mmm. Are you threatening me with a good time, Professor?”

He laughs as he seals his lips to mine, sucking the tears off of them, sort of kissing me through it as I shudder and moan.

Then he does punish me by making me come on his cock and using my cum as lube to jerk off—which is hot as fuck. Then he chokes me with his cock and comes down my throat.

I’m delirious as he puts me back together again. My clothes. My hair. My jeans. But he doesn’t hide the hickeys he left on my collarbone, wanting the whole world to know I’m taken.

I leave some of my own, too, which will make all those crushing on him lose their minds trying to pin down Professor Lockwood’s wild partner.

Lately, I’ve been wanting to shout, That would be me, bitches!

The other day, I posted a picture of myself on IG, pulling my collar to the side to reveal a few hickeys he left there, with the caption: My favorite dirty little secret.

The others gave me a hard time, thinking they’re from some new girl I’m into, but I just smiled and brushed it off. It’s not for them anyway. It’s so for me—and him if he stalks my social media.

As Kayden drops a kiss to my forehead, all I can think about is the disease in my chest—or the lack thereof.

V was right.

A chilling epiphany settles over me: I might have deep, unsettling feelings for my professor.