AMARA POV

The music was too loud, the lights too bright, yet all I felt was him.

His body pressed close enough to remind me of who he was, but not enough to claim me...not yet. His hand that had brushed mine before was now firmer, steadying me as if he could sense I might fall, not just from the alcohol but from the way my knees weakened at his nearness.

I tilted my head back, blinking through my drowsy haze, and whispered, "Professor Sin?" My voice cracked between disbelief and longing.

He leaned closer, his breath fanning my ear, warm and sharp, sending shivers down my neck. "What are you doing here, Amara?" His tone was low, dangerous, like velvet covering a blade.

I should have pulled away. I should have remembered my mother's warnings, Nina's sneers, the way I was already drowning in chaos at home. But instead, I swayed against him, leaning closer, caught between the pulsing bass of the club and the steady thrum of his presence.

"I wanted to forget," I murmured, my words clumsy from drink.

He chuckled, but it wasn't kind. It was dark, edged with disapproval. "And you thought this,his fingers brushed the hem of my tiny dress, making me gasp as fire sparked across my skin, "was the answer?"

I froze, breath caught in my throat. His touch wasn't indecent, not fully, but it was enough to make every nerve in my body scream awake. My thighs clenched, a wetness pooling inside me that I had never felt this strong before.

"I..." My voice failed me.

He tilted my chin upward with two fingers, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were sharper here, away from the classroom, more sinful, more real. "Do you know what you're doing, Amara?"

"I don't care," I whispered, the words falling out before I could stop them.

His jaw tightened, his body towering over me like a wall I couldn't escape from, even if I wanted to. Around us, people danced, laughed, drank, but it was like the world had vanished, leaving only me and him in this corner of shadows.

"You should care," he muttered, and his fingers traced along my jawline, down to the hollow of my throat. My pulse hammered so loud I swore he could feel it beneath his touch. "You don't belong here. You don't belong with them." His eyes flicked to the crowd, then back to me. "But you keep testing me, don't you?"

My lips parted, but no words came. His touch burned through me, restrained yet deliberate, as if he wanted me to remember every inch of where his fingers had been.

When his hand slid from my chin to hover just at the curve of my waist, I shivered. "Professor..."

The way the word fell off my tongue sounded nothing like school. Nothing like innocence.

Something flickered in his eyes, something raw. He leaned closer, his lips so close to mine that if I moved even a fraction, they'd meet. "If you knew the things I think about when you say that..." His whisper trailed off, hot against my mouth.

My breath hitched. Heat swarmed through my body, every inch aching for him to close the distance.

But then, as if he read my mind, he pulled back suddenly. His grip on my waist tightened just enough to steady me, but his gaze turned cold. "You're drunk. This isn't happening."

The rejection stung sharper than I expected. "Why?" The word slipped out, fragile.

"Because," he said, his voice rough, "you have no idea what you're asking for."

And before I could argue, he dragged me away from the dance floor. People glanced at us, but no one stopped him. No one ever stopped him. He had that presence, commanding, untouchable.

Outside, the air was cooler, sobering me a little. He guided me to his car, opening the door with a sigh that sounded more like frustration than pity.

"Get in."

I obeyed, sliding into the leather seat, my heart still racing. He closed the door behind me and went around to the driver's side. When he sat down, the silence was heavier than the music had been inside.

We didn't move. Not at first. He gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from reaching for me again.

"Why are you doing this to yourself?" he finally asked, his voice low but fierce.

"Because nothing makes sense anymore," I said, my throat tight. "At home, I'm the villain. Nina plays the angel, and I'm the monster. My mom believes her. Everyone sees me as the problem. But with you..." I trailed off, unsure if I had gone too far.

His hands tightened on the wheel. "With me?"

I swallowed hard. "With you, I feel... like I can breathe."

The air shifted. I felt his eyes on me, burning, searching. For a moment, I thought he'd reach for me again. My body leaned toward him without permission, desperate for more of his touch, his warmth, his sin.

But he only exhaled sharply, starting the engine. "You shouldn't say things like that, Amara."

"Why not?"

"Because one day," he muttered, pulling onto the road, "I might not be able to stop myself."

The car ride was silent after that, but inside me everything screamed. Every second, I replayed the ghost of his touch, the heat of his breath on my skin, the words he'd left hanging in the air.

When we reached my street, he parked a few houses away. "Go inside quietly. Don't let anyone see you like this."

I nodded, fumbling with the handle, but before I could step out, his hand shot out and caught my wrist.

I froze.

He leaned closer, his eyes dark and unreadable. His voice dropped to a whisper that wrapped around my soul. "You don't know it yet, Amara, but you're playing with fire. And fire always burns."

Then he let go. Just like that.

I stumbled out, my legs weak, sneaking back into my room through the window. My heart was still pounding as I collapsed on the bed, dress still clinging to me, his touch still lingering like a brand on my skin.

Sleep didn't come easy. When it did, it was filled with him..his hands, his voice, his almost-kiss.

And when I finally woke, sunlight streaming into my room, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

A message.

From an unknown number.

I blinked, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, and read the words.

"YOU'RE MINE NOW, MY LITTLE DOVE.

My breath caught. My body shivered. And I knew exactly who it was.

Amara's POV

The morning sun streamed through the curtains, burning against my swollen eyelids. My head still pounded from last night's drinks, and the memory of the club clung to me like perfume I couldn't wash off. His presence. His touch. His breath against my skin.

Professor Black.

I sat up, running shaky fingers through my messy hair, when the door to my room burst open.

"Where were you last night?"

It was my mother. Her voice sharp, slicing through the fog in my head. And behind her, like a shadow attached to my misery, stood Nina. Arms folded, lips pursed in fake concern, but her eyes....oh, her eyes gleamed with delight.

I didn't answer. I just sat there on the bed, staring at her, daring her to keep going.

"Don't you dare ignore me, Amara," my mother snapped, stepping closer. "Do you have any idea what time you came back? Do you know how worried we were?"

I almost laughed. Worried? About me? They had never worried about me a day in my life. Every drop of worry, every ounce of love was poured into Nina, their perfect, sweet angel.

"It's my life," I muttered finally, voice hoarse. "And I'll live it however I want."

I caught Nina's smirk in the corner of my eye. She was enjoying this, thriving in it. She even pressed her hand to her chest as if hurt by my words.

"Amara, why are you like this to your sister?" my mother cried. "Why must you keep being so cruel, so selfish?"

That broke me. I shot to my feet. "Cruel? Selfish? For once...just once,stop acting like she's the only one who matters! I am your daughter too! I bleed too, I hurt too..."

The sharp sting on my cheek silenced me. My head whipped to the side.

My father stood in the doorway now, hand still raised. His eyes burned into me, full of disgust.

"Whore." The word dropped from his tongue like poison. "You think we don't see what you're becoming? Running around like some cheap girl from the streets? Is that what you want to be known as? While Nina sacrifices for this family, while she shines, you disgrace us."

My chest tightened, my fist clensh, but his words kept coming, each one a knife.

"You should be keeping yourself healthy, proper for the sake of your sister! Do you understand what you put at risk with your carelessness?"

I didn't understand. I didn't want to understand. All I knew was the rage boiling inside me, threatening to tear me apart.

Nina stood there with tears shimmering in her eyes, but her lips curled at the corners. She was the saint in their eyes, and I the demon.

I couldn't breathe in that house.

Without a word, I grab the hoodie on my bed shoving past them. My mother's cries followed me, my father's curses chasing after me, but I didn't stop. I ran.

And as if on instinct, my legs carried me to the only place that made sense.

The school.

More specifically.... his office.

I didn't knock. I didn't care. I stormed in, slammed the door shut behind me, and turned the lock with trembling fingers.

Professor Black looked up from his desk, his gaze sharp, curious, dangerous. Those eyes pinned me in place, reading me, stripping me bare without a single word.

I should've felt shame. I should've been afraid. But all I felt was the heat in my veins, the echo of last night, the fire he lit in me that hadn't burned out.

"Amara," he said slowly, rising to his feet. "What are you.."

"Take me."

The words burst from my lips before I could stop them. My voice cracked, but I held his gaze, desperate, broken, daring.

"I'm yours."

The air in the room changed instantly. Heavy. Dangerous. His jaw tightened, his eyes darkened, and for a moment, I swore the ground beneath me tilted.

He didn't move. I didn't breathe.

But in that silence, my heart screamed the truth.. I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't care. All I wanted was him, the only one who could silence the pain, even if it destroyed me.

And then he moved.

Slow. Deliberate.

His steps echoed against the floor until he was right in front of me, hovering over me, so close I could smell the faint trace of mint on his breath. His hand shot out suddenly, ramming against my thigh, the force of it making me gasp. Heat surged up my body, my legs shaking as his grip held me there, unyielding.

My breath seized when he leaned in, lips brushing so close to my ear I swore I felt the heat of a kiss.

"You have no idea what you've just offered," he whispered.

The words slid down my spine like ice. My body trembled, torn between craving and terror.

And then..

PROFESSOR'S BLACK POV

Her voice still echoed in my head.

"I'm yours."

Those words from her lips were not a confession, they were a surrender.

I moved closer, closing the space between us, watching her stiffen against the polished wood of my desk. The room was silent except for the soft hum of the air, but her shallow breaths filled it with something heavier.

Her hands clutched her skirt, knuckles pale, yet her chin lifted just slightly, daring me. Or maybe begging.

"You're mine?" I asked, my tone low, sharp. I wanted to hear her say it again.

Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, but her eyes didn't waver. "Yes... I'm yours."

The corner of my mouth curved. Brave girl.

I leaned down, letting my shadow swallow her, the scent of her shampoo reaching me. My lips hovered close enough to feel the warmth of her cheek. I didn't kiss her. I didn't touch her. My restraint was deliberate, torturous.

"Then prove it," I whispered, letting my words cut through her like a blade.

Her lashes fluttered. "H..how?"

I sat back in my chair, tilting my head as though considering the question. My fingers tapped once on the desk, slow, deliberate. Then I let my gaze fall to her thighs, covered by the edge of her skirt.

"Take off your panties," I said flatly.

The silence that followed was delicious.

Her lips parted, a sharp gasp escaping. Her whole body trembled, and I watched the battle rage across her face. Shock. Embarrassment. A shameful spark of curiosity.

"Professor..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

"Did you not say you're mine?" I asked, voice low, commanding. "Then give me what belongs to me."

Her breathing turned shallow, and her trembling fingers reached for the hem of her skirt. Hesitant. Shy.

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, watching without blinking. The weight of my stare forced her to obey. She shifted, legs pressing tightly together as though trying to shield herself. That small resistance only made me harder inside, though I didn't move.

With trembling hands, she slid her panties down .. Interesting ,black lace, delicate and held them out to me with shaking fingers. Her face burned crimson shy and she couldn't meet my eyes.

"Good girl," I murmured, taking them from her hand, letting my fingers graze her palm just barely.

The fabric was warm. Damp. My jaw clenched.

I twirled the lace around my finger, watching her shift uncomfortably as the realization of her own arousal sank in.

"You're wet," I said, not as an observation but as a verdict.

Her head jerked up, eyes wide, lips parting as though to deny it but I raised a brow. She closed her mouth again, cheeks burning hotter.

I stood, moving around the desk until I was directly in front of her. Slowly, deliberately, I leaned in, my lips near her ear.

"Do you know what that means, little dove?" I whispered, my voice gravelly.

She shivered violently, her knees pressing together.

"It means your body craves me more than your mind dares admit," I continued, dragging the words across her skin like a blade. "Even when I don't touch you... you're already mine."

Her breath caught, a soft whimper escaping her throat before she could stop it.

My smirk deepened.

I could take her now. Bend her over my desk, bury myself inside her trembling body, and make her scream until she forgot her own name. She was ready. Desperate.

But that would be mercy.

I wanted cruelty.

So I leaned back, slipping her panties into my pocket with deliberate calm. Her eyes followed the movement, confusion mixing with desperation.

"You think offering yourself is enough?" I asked coldly, looking down at her trembling figure. "Obedience is only the beginning."

Her lips parted, her voice hoarse. "Please..."

The sound twisted something in me. The plea, the hunger .. and yet, I refused to give her what she begged for.

Instead, I placed a hand under her chin and tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes were wide, glassy, pleading.

"You'll learn something very important about me, Amara," I murmured, my thumb grazing her jaw gently but never her lips. "I don't reward desire. I control it. And I decide when you're worthy."

Her lashes trembled. A soft, involuntary whimper slipped from her throat, breaking the silence like a fragile secret.

I released her chin abruptly, stepping back.

Her body sagged against the desk, like I had stolen the very air from her lungs.

"You may go," I said firmly, smoothing my cuffs as though she was nothing more than a distraction.

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"Leave." My tone cut like a whip.

She froze, as though waiting for me to take it back. Waiting for me to pull her against me, to finally break the tension. But I didn't move. I only stared, my expression unreadable, my body burning inside though I'd never let her see.

Finally, she swallowed hard, her trembling legs carrying her to the door. Each step looked heavy, reluctant, as though she was leaving a piece of herself behind in the room.

Her hand hovered on the doorknob before she looked back at me one last time. Her lips trembled, her eyes glazed with humiliation, with hunger.

I leaned back in my chair, smirking.

"Go," I said again, softer this time, but no less commanding.

Her shoulders dropped in defeat. She opened the door and slipped out, her body quaking.

The silence that followed was intoxicating.

I pulled her panties from my pocket, twirling them slowly between my fingers, and let out a low chuckle.

She would come back. They always did.

But this one... this one was already addicted.