Kiss The Villain: Chapter 4

Kayden Lockwood.

That’s the name of the motherfucker who used my mouth to get off last night.

The man who held me at gunpoint, grazed my hand with a bullet, and called me grotesque, a whore, and a useful hole, among other things.

The asshole who humiliated me like no one else has.

I woke up today dead set on revenge, on finding him and making him bleed. I considered striking a deal with Yulian, where I provide him with an invitation to the initiation and he gives me the identity of this motherfucker.

But that’s no longer necessary.

Because the bastard is looking at me.

And I’m finally putting a face to the voice of the man I’ve been fantasizing about stabbing a thousand times.

A sharp jaw, features carved with subtle authority, and jet-black hair that’s cropped tight on the sides but long enough on top to be styled back with ruthless precision. His full, defined lips are set in a cold, impassive line as if he finds this entire ordeal bland. Faint stubble brushes his cheeks, enhancing the rough edge of his quiet confidence.

But what truly gave him away the second I saw him?

The eyes. Still dead and empty, like they’ve seen too much, felt too little. The deepest shade of a storm, rolling, brewing, and heightening with no intention of ever calming down.

His tailored slacks match the color of his eyes, and his white shirt stretches across his chest, clinging to the hard lines of muscle, every inch of it pulling across his body. The fabric strains around his biceps that tighten and flex with every movement like when he fucked my mouth.

When he grabbed my hair, shoved my head against his groin, and came down my throat. He’s now standing in front of me as my professor of criminal law.

Professor. Not a bodyguard as I suspected.

A damn professor.

Why was a goddamn professor in the Serpents’ mansion? Holding a gun, wearing Yulian’s mask, and forcing a student to his knees?

The class seems to hold their collective breath at his introduction, the air thick with the weight of his presence. Everyone seems frozen, drawn in by the sheer force of him—his domineering, magnetic energy filling every corner of the hall.

Even I feel it, and I’m usually immune to the pull of other people’s auras.

“Welcome to criminal law.” He speaks in that same deep, calm voice that makes my skin prickle. “This is not a course about theory or abstract principles; this is about understanding the very foundation of justice in society. Through this course, we will examine how the law distinguishes between right and wrong, but more importantly, how it punishes the wrongs.”

Is this bastard hearing a word he’s saying? How can he talk about punishing wrongs with a straight face after what he’s done?

“Gosh, he sounds so hot.” Morgan trails her red nails over my arm as she whispers in my ear, and this time, I’m about to scoot away.

Or I’ll bang her head on the desk for continuing to fucking touch me.

The prof’s eyes flit to me for a brief second, and I glare back.

“You, over there.” He juts his chin in my direction. “It appears you’ve mistaken this classroom for a social gathering. While I’m sure your companion finds your attention flattering, I suggest you remember where you are. This is a place for rigorous intellectual engagement, not an opportunity to parade your schoolboy charms.”

The whole class falls into oppressive silence.

Morgan’s face turns all shades of red.

I grab a pen in my hand to stop myself from jumping down there and throttling him on the spot.

He’s humiliating me on purpose. In front of the whole class.

A class that only knows me as a golden boy.

I let my lips curl into a smile. “Of course, Professor. I’ll be sure to keep my charms in check. Wouldn’t want to disrupt your perfect class with any distractions.”

I think I see a gleam amid the gray, but he directs his attention to the rest of the lecture hall. “You will be expected to think critically, analyze evidence, and confront uncomfortable truths. There is no room for leniency or weakness in this field. You are not here to make excuses for criminals. You are here to understand the system that holds them accountable. If you cannot accept that, then this course is not for you. Now, let’s get to work.”

The PowerPoint slides turn on and he starts the lecture, his voice making my headache pound harder, more persistently that my vision blurs. My wound pulses in annoying frequency, and I suppress the urge to rip the fucking stitches out and dig my knife into it.

The longer he talks in that smooth, slightly austere tone, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world, the more murderous I turn.

How dare he show up in front of me?

How can he be so damn…detached?

I slide my pen on the paper back and forth, back and forth.

As if I’m summoning a demon.

The whole class hangs on his every word, falling over each other to answer any questions he asks.

Bunch of fucking fools.

They’re all charmed by his looks, his eloquent manner of speaking, and the commanding way he carries himself. But none of them seems to see the monster lurking within.

Then again, I do use my looks as well, so I’m in no position to judge, but come on. The fucker is a literal criminal who’s teaching criminal law.

Usually, I’d answer all questions and impress the professor, but I’ve just been sliding the pen on my notebook while keeping him in my sight the entire time.

There’s this unfathomable itch beneath my skin, a nonsensical thought, that if I don’t pay attention, he might jump me again.

Even if we’re in a class full of people.

My head hurts worse the more I watch him moving effortlessly, speaking confidently.

Being all put together.

I want to ruin that.

Ruin him.

Break him the fuck up.

“Now, when we talk about actus reus, the physical act of committing a crime, it’s important to remember that it’s not just about the action itself, but the context in which it happens.” He walks the length of the podium, speaking in a monotone voice. “Was there intent? Did the defendant have the necessary mens rea, the guilty mind? Without both elements, you don’t have a crime. Let’s take rape, for example.”

My pen screeches to a halt on the notebook as he continues to address the class.

“The act of sexual penetration is clearly the physical component, but it’s the mental state that determines the severity and nature of the charge. Consent—or lack thereof—is crucial here. If the accused knew, or should have known, that consent was absent, the question becomes: was there willful disregard for the victim’s autonomy? Was there an intent to dominate, to exert power?

“Rape as a crime isn’t just about physical violence; it’s about the control, the manipulation, and the disregard for the victim’s agency. And this is where it becomes complex, because consent, and whether it was freely given, is often a matter of perception, a gray area that must be examined carefully. We need to ask ourselves: did the defendant act in a way that violates the very essence of someone else’s bodily autonomy?”

The pen breaks in my hand, and I let it fall on the notebook as his eyes flash toward me, deep mockery lying within.

He’s enjoying this.

The prick is having the best time of his life reminding me of the only humiliation I’ve ever experienced.

He’s rubbing it in, ripping open the stitches Kill sutured and thrusting his fingers inside the wound, toying and making me feel every move.

The lecture is a damn hassle. My head feels like it’ll explode even after he moves on to another subject.

So when it ends, I’m ready to leave.

To gather information, form a bulletproof plan, and come back to face him in better physical and mental capacity.

Notebook in hand, I trail after my other classmates, listening to the girls giggling and whispering amongst each other about the ‘hot-as-fuck’ professor.

And I want to bash their heads in.

Stupid fucking idiots with no sense of recognizing danger or predators⁠—

“Stay behind, Carson.”

My spine prickles at the disturbingly calm voice. He’s not even looking at me, his attention on his laptop, and I consider ignoring him.

I’m not in the mood for a face-off, and I’m certainly having more murderous urges this fine morning.

But then again, Gareth Carson would never ignore a professor. And I never pull away from a challenge.

With a sigh, I step to the side, letting the others filter past me.

Some of my classmates give me a fleeting look, many of them smiling inside at seeing the resident golden boy being hated by the hotshot new professor. People don’t really like it when you hog the attention, especially if they’re incompetent fools who could’ve never reached that height.

So they wish for your downfall—they fantasize about it.

As the last of the students leave, silence fills the vast lecture hall, along with the pounding in my head.

A constant fucking pressure that’s clouding my vision.

Kayden doesn’t move to close the door—protocol for sure. He wouldn’t do anything that would get him fucked all the way to Sunday at such a prestigious university.

He sits at the edge of his desk, his hands gripping the frame with an ease that suggests control, his legs casually crossed at the ankles. I’d say he looks relaxed if I didn’t know exactly what the sick fuck is capable of.

His long, lean fingers tighten on the desk, and I catch a glimpse of the veins at the back, prominent, pulsing with every flex, extending to beneath the cuff of his shirt. Those veins that tightened and tensed when he held my jaw, my cheeks⁠—

No.

Not going there.

“You need to stop looking at me like that.” His slightly rough voice is low enough that none of the students passing by can hear it.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re thinking about last night. It’s making me hard, and this is not the appropriate place to come down that throat again.”

My fingers tighten around my notebook and the wound tingles beneath the bandage. There’s nothing I want to do more than grab his fucking head and smash it against that desk.

Spill his blood.

Cut his dick off.

But then, that would be impulsive. And I don’t do that.

Or didn’t—past tense. Because, really, since last night, I’ve been the personification of a ticking time bomb.

I let my lips curve in a smile. “That won’t be happening.”

“Let’s disagree agreeably.”

“What’s the definition of agreeably to you? A gun to my head?”

“If you want.”

“I want nothing from you. Oh wait, I want you to rot in jail.”

A twitch touches the corner of his lips. “Not a chance.”

“Because you can manipulate the justice you preach?”

“No. Because you’d be rotting right there beside me.” He rises to his full height. “I don’t have to tell you what I’d do to you in that cell, do I?”

Fucking creep.

I keep my smile in place, adopting a mocking tone. “Wow. I’m surprised you don’t have a PhD in psychotic behavior. Do you often prey on your students?”

“Only little monsters like yourself.” He approaches me and I remain still, refusing to give in to the authoritativeness he exudes with every step.

Like a robot—or a tank—that will smash everything in its wake.

Well, I’m the fortress facing the tank.

There will be no smashing. At least, not from his side.

He stops a few inches away, but I can still smell him. The faintest hint of wood and amber floods my nostrils and a string of memories follow.

Thrusting, gagging, choking, groaning, writhing for something, anything.

Stop.

“Tell me, Carson.” His voice is close now and so are his eyes that are peering into my soul. “How did you manage to hide that revolting personality until now?”

I look at him but say nothing. If he believes he can ruffle my feathers, he truly doesn’t know who he’s dealing with. Punching down has never affected me.

And despite the massive headache and the constant screech of my demons for blood, I maintain my calm.

He cocks his head to the side, giving me a mechanical once-over, as if I’m a piece of art he finds unsightly. “The other professors can’t stop singing your praises. They said you’re so hardworking and loveable. The best student any professor could have. Either they’re excruciatingly blind or you’re just so staggeringly charming.”

“You don’t find me charming?” I let my lips form a mock pout.

His gaze slides down, zeroing in on the motion, and something flashes there before he meets my eyes again. “I think we’ve established that you have a magnificent ability to be grotesque.”

My lips lift into a snarl, but I force them into a smile. “I didn’t seem grotesque when you came all over my mouth. You enjoyed it so much, you kept coming on and on, I thought it’d never stop.”

“Your hole is the only useful thing about you.” I think I see a change of expression, but it’s so fleeting, I can’t read it as he continues, “But enough about that.”

“And here I was dying to keep broaching the subject.”

“Watch the way you speak to me. I’m your professor and will not tolerate any disrespect.” The firm edge in his voice sets my skin ablaze. It’s uncomfortable, this feeling that’s making me grip the notebook tighter.

“I have no respect for you whatsoever, Professor.”

“I’ll tell you this once, so listen carefully, Carson.” He stands taller, forcing me to crane my head back to look up at him. “I have zero tolerance for spoiled, rich little brats like you who believe they can rule the world through their daddies’ trust funds. If you don’t drop the attitude and watch your mouth, I will fuck it into submission. Are we clear?”

My teeth grind, chomping down on the demons that are trying to rush through and strangle the fuck out of him.

I’m thinking of an appropriate insult when he says, “Now that we have that out of the way. I have a proposition for you.”

“As a witness to your crimes? Sure.”

He narrows his eyes the slightest bit, like an authoritarian bastard who hates being talked back to, but that makes me want to do it even more.

Usually, I like meeting societal expectations of me, being on my best behavior and charming those around me into believing I am my public image.

But I don’t give a fuck with this asshole. He’s going to see me unfiltered and raw. And my true self loves antagonizing others and getting on their last goddamn nerve, especially when they antagonize me first.

“You believe that was funny?” he asks with that damn firm voice.

“Only slightly?”

“It wasn’t, and you’re just being a brat who’s begging to be shoved to his knees for proper discipline your parents clearly didn’t give you. Is that what you truly want, Carson? My cock in your hot little mouth again?”

“I’ll never let you touch me again, you damn bastard.”

That gleam appears again, like lightning in a dark night. “Never is a stretch. Besides, you obviously enjoyed yourself so much last night, you were practically begging to come.”

“I was not!”

“My, getting agitated, are we?” He steps forward and I go still, my jaw locked so tight, I can’t breathe properly.

This close, I can see the planes of his muscles peeking from the first few buttons of his shirt, his collarbone, the coiled muscles of his neck and that pulse point.

The one I want to bite the fuck off.

He leans close to my ear, his rough whisper setting my skin on edge. “Did you jerk off to the memory of me fucking your hot, wet mouth, little monster? Or did you get so scared you’d have your best orgasm and refuse to touch your throbbing cock?”

I step back, his breaths burning the shell of my ear. It takes everything in me to smile. “You seem to be under the misconception that I remember anything from last night. Lackluster performances don’t really stay in the memory, you know.”

“So it was the second option. Hmm. Interesting.” His little smile pisses me off, but before I can say anything, he continues, “On to business, the position I have for you is legal aid.”

“What?”

“Apologies. I forgot you come from a legal empire and don’t know what legal aid is. It’s offering legal help to those who can’t afford it.”

“Don’t insult my intelligence. I know what legal aid is. I also know I can’t be a legal aid since I’m a first-year law student.”

“You’ll intern under me.”

“No, thanks. I intern under my father or grandfather during the summer.”

“Very typical.” He returns to his desk. “You’re free to go.”

The complete dismissal leaves a sour taste at the back of my throat, and my head starts pounding harder. My wound feels hotter, pulsing with discomfort, and the bandage feels suffocating.

Maybe that’s why I snap, “You expected me to work under you after you assaulted me?”

He doesn’t look up as he closes his laptop and gathers his files. “I don’t mix business with pleasure.”

“There was no fucking pleasure.”

“Language.”

“I had no goddamn pleasure whatsoever.”

He lifts his head, pinning me with stern dark-gray eyes. “If you keep indulging in vulgar language, I’ll terminate this conversation, Carson.”

“I said.” I release an exasperated breath. “I enjoyed nothing of what happened last night.”

“Your hard-on testified otherwise.”

“That was a physical reaction.”

“If you say so.” A smirk tilts his mouth, and I want to stab it and watch his blood spill at my feet.

But I just smile back. “Just so you know. Yulian, that you have the hots for, is crushing on someone else. So sad. For a prestigious professor, you sure don’t have much luck.”

My smile remains in place as I wait for the anger, the disturbance, but nothing rattles that look in his eyes.

The empty, dead look.

Hell, he showed more emotions taunting me than when I brought up Yulian.

It can’t be. He must be masking his reaction somehow.

He has to care.

Last night, he was fucking enraged at the thought of me touching Yulian.

But, at any rate, since I know his identity now, that gives me a lot of options to trap him like he trapped me.

Humiliate him.

Shatter him on my edges.

“If you’re done wasting my time and polluting my air with your revolting face.” He clutches his briefcase and starts to walk past me.

I don’t think about it as I grab him by the back of his collar. His smell overpowers my senses as I whisper in his ear, “Watch your back, Professor. You have no clue who the fuck you messed with.”