As her orgasm continued, she finally relinquished to me body and soul, her moans louder than all the growls and guttural sounds I’d made. I was pushed to my very edge, uncertain how long I could hold back. When I lifted her off the desk, wrapping one hand around her soft thigh, she lolled her head. Every moan she made was sweeter than the one before.

  I couldn’t resist swirling my finger around her tiny nub while I rocked onto the balls of my feet, even bending my knees so the angle was entirely different. I was surprised when she grasped my hand with hers, as if trying to guide me into providing what she needed.

  Grinning, I pressed my face against the side of her neck, savoring her tiny mews and the way her body reacted. She wasn’t faking her reaction, something else I adored about her. She might be a true professional, but she allowed me to feel as if I’d captured my forever prey.

  After getting blood on my hands for the first time in months, I needed an entirely different release.

  “So tight. So perfect.”

  “Oh. You’re so… big.” She laughed nervously, issuing a ragged yelp when I pinched her clit between my fingers.

  I continued teasing her as I fucked her brutally, her body likely to be bruised tomorrow from my savagery. But what good was taking what I wanted without leaving something in return?

  She was taking every savage thrust, now pushing her hands on the desk to keep the friction high as she moaned her sentiment of pleasure. But it was the moment she issued a scream as she was driven into another foray of ecstasy that finally allowed me to release.

  My balls were so tight, my heart skipping beats and as I thrust even harder, I sensed more than just a slight hint of satisfaction.

  I erupted deep inside, covering her tight walls with my seed, feeling more alive than I had in years.

  And all I could think about was that she belonged to me.

  I was forced to remind myself she was merely a high price escort and nothing else, which was already an irritant. She wasn’t mine and mine alone. I pulled out, immediately raking my hands through my hair before jerking my jeans back into position.

  Backing away, I noticed her body was still shaking. I spun her around, longing to taste her sweet lips one last time, surprised at myself for initiating the action in the first place.

  Romance was highly overrated, the primal act of sexual bonding the only thing two consenting adults needed to fulfill their every fantasy. Yet I found myself crushing my mouth over hers, immediately shoving my tongue between her pursed lips.

  She was back to fighting me, shoving her palms against my chest, whimpering into the kiss entirely different than before. I was drawn to the taste of her, the way she struggled to keep me from dominating every inch of her.

  When I backed away, she hissed and acted like she was going to slap me. I caught her hand in mid-action, lifting my eyebrows. “I would caution you to remember who I am and what I’m capable of, my good girl. I might have enjoyed playing the game you started, and I am very much pleased with your playful innocence, but when I’m finished, the game is over. Do I make myself clear?”

  She said nothing, glaring at me as if hatred was building. I was somewhat surprised she was carrying the ruse so far, but given she was new to the organization, I’d allow her a break.

  Right now, I needed a stiff drink to combat the oddity of my desires, padding to the bar to fix a gin and tonic. I was still able to gather the strong scent of her raging desire, which was almost as strong as mine.

  As I poured, I noticed she was cursing under her breath, her entire face pinched as she jerked her clothes from the floor. A part of me wanted to scold her for daring to act out on her own, but the arduous week had taken a toll on me.

  I had papers to grade, a quarterly corporate meeting with my brothers at the main offices, and an intern to hire all in the next few days.

  However, while I would never be called a good guy, I wasn’t going to allow her to walk out without at least offering her a drink.

  I did have some decency left inside of me.

  She didn’t bother looking me in the eyes as I stood in front of her once again, holding out the drink I’d prepared. She continued her act, her cheeks redder than they’d been before.

  “Drink this,” I told her.

  “I don’t want anything but to get the hell out of here. I was so wrong about you.”

  Wrong? What did she believe she was so wrong about? I remained amused. “You’re very good at playing the game. I’ll let your madame know I was very pleased.”

  My good girl snapped her head in my direction. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re coming off like some crazed ax murderer though.”

  Chuckling, I scrunched my eyebrows together. “I assure you that no one is dying here today. Maybe later.”

  “So reassuring,” she taunted. “Look, I came here for an interview. Yes, I was late and I tried to apologize for that. I never expected to… To…” She jerked the glass out of my hand, tossing back the entire contents.

  Interview.

  My open assistant position.

  Fuck me. There was no way. None.

  Only then did another hint of recognition rush into my mind’s eye. Holy shit. She was in my class. She tried to walk away from me, but I grabbed her arm, jerking her close to me once again. “What’s your name?”

  She acted as if she wasn’t going to give it to me, the fire in her huge doe eyes able to light up half of Chicago.

  “Tell me now.”

  “My name is Sara Adams. I’m one of your straight-A students and the girl interviewing for a position as your assistant, Professor Saint. No matter what you think, I’m not a call girl.”

  Her admittance rang in my ears to the point I was dumbfounded. Her rebellious nature was also not what I’d expected.

  However, I’d just crossed a line I’d promised myself years before than I would never allow. I could tell she was waiting for me to say something, anything like I was sorry I’d confused her with someone else, but it wasn’t the kind of man I was or ever would be.

  In fact, as I studied her now, coming to grips with the change in the scenario, I realized that I wanted her more now than I had before.

  I’d noticed her in class, although she appeared entirely different inside the lecture hall, even more innocent than the girl standing in front of me. I was riding a fine line with the rules imposed on every professor, but with graduation days away, perhaps I could keep my job.

  Not that I really gave a shit at this point.

  Yes, no wonder Marcus and I were buddies.

  I’d used the job as an excuse to get the fuck away from my family’s dark legacy, only to be lured back time and time again. The ugly truth that I couldn’t deny any longer was that I craved the violence, the bloodshed, and the power that came with being a member of the dangerous mafia empire.

  And if the girl had listened to any of the rumors floating around about me, she’d know her desire to work with me was extremely risky.

  However, I had to give her props. She was defiant, refusing to back down, acting as if I owed her something.

  Perhaps I did, but not anything like what she was thinking.

  I wanted to own her. Every. Single. Inch. I wanted her to surrender to my darkest needs, becoming the perfect woman like I’d always dreamed of but had never found.

  Yes, perhaps she was the perfect subject.

  Now, what the hell was I going to do about it?

  CHAPTER 7

  Sara

  How long did it take a woman to get over being fucked like an animal by a man she’d fantasized about for far too long?

  And for all the wrong reasons?

  I wasn’t certain but other than taking the second to last exam of the semester, I’d remained locked inside my room. Thankfully, I’d already taken off from work for a few days so I could concentrate on studying.

  Not that I’d done a lot of that.

  I’d hidden under the covers, which wasn’t like me in the least. But I wasn’t certain how to handle the situation. I’d ignored phone calls and even a knock at my dorm room door. I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with anyone.

  Worst of all was that my sinful thoughts about the man lingered long after I’d left his house. Maybe I was nuts, but it had appeared he’d truly had no clue who I was. None. That made the situation that much more surreal.

  Or maybe fragile.

  Since I blew the interview, at least all I needed to do was to hold my head high when I walked into the lecture hall, writing a story about whatever subject the good professor wanted. If I could even find anything to write about at all. I had a sick feeling all I’d be doing would be leering at him, envisioning just how thick his cock was.

  And how amazing of a kisser he was.

  And how much I craved the feel of having him deep inside.

  “Get a fucking clue, girl,” I whispered out loud as I fought my nerves, which I’d been doing all morning. One last test and I could effectively disappear from the man’s life, never to see him again.

  Oddly enough, I’d had the feeling he’d been standing outside my dorm room watching me, although every time I’d looked out the window, I’d seen nothing but cheerful students preparing to graduate or leave for the summer.

  Shuddering, I finally finished dressing, moving a little too quickly. The ache remaining on my buttocks was real, so much so I’d been forced to sleep on my stomach.

  But I had to fake it or Josie and Taylor would know something was wrong, grilling me to death until I confessed my sins.

  And boy, did I have a lot of them.

  For all the times we’d giggled over our raunchy fantasies, nothing could compare to what had actually occurred. If only I could slide into a box and stay there for a while.

  I returned to the cup of coffee I’d been nursing, noticing a report on the news. I turned it up, curious as to why the reporter had such a gloomy face.

  “And in breaking news, it appears the Angel of Death has struck again, this time ending the life of a graduating senior at the University of Chicago.”

  Angel of Death. You couldn’t be an angel and kill someone at the same time. As I listened to the reporter, another shiver tore through me. Murders weren’t unusual, but the poor kid had had his throat slit in a bad part of town. Was the reporter actually serious about a serial killer striking again? I’d heard nothing about it, although watching the news wasn’t something I usually did.

  I glanced at my watch, realizing I barely had enough time to make it across campus. I needed to get my butt—my aching butt—in gear.

  Grabbing my bookbag and a bottle of water, I headed out the door, doing my best to stay focused and preventing another round of hyperventilating. That’s what had occurred the moment I’d slunk into my dorm room two nights before, furious with myself for enjoying the horrid event.

  I waved to a couple of girls who noticed me but otherwise kept my head down as I took long strides. By the time I walked in, I was almost the last one to arrive. I dared not look at the man’s desk or toward him for fear I’d lose my nerve. And I certainly couldn’t blow my final. I needed to find another decent paying job, which had me completely befuddled at this point.

  “There you are,” Josie hissed. “I tried calling you like six times. What happened?”

  “Nothing. I was studying.”

  Taylor rolled her eyes. “We don’t even know what Professor Saint wants. How could you study? We wanted you to go to a hot club with us last night.”

  I glanced from one to the other, feeling another pulsing sensation as heat rose across my jaw. And I knew the reason why.

  He’d found my location inside the oversized classroom. I didn’t need to be any closer to know he was staring straight at me.

  Or that he appeared even more handsome than when I’d been up close and personal to him.

  “I think she has a boyfriend,” Josie said in a slightly loud and far too singsong of a voice.

  “I do not!” My retort was equally loud, which forced the professor to rap his knuckles on the desk.

  “Ladies and gentlemen. Can we all settle down?” He barked the words out even more harshly than usual.

  It still took a few minutes and I could swear the man never took his eyes off me.

  I was obviously right when Taylor leaned over. “Is he staring at you?”

  Shrugging, I had no clue what to say.

  “Confess,” Josie whispered hoarsely.

  Something told me I wasn’t getting out of telling them something. “I fucked up a job interview with him. Okay?” Once again, my exasperation was overheard, a couple of students laughing.

  “Ladies. Is there something you’d like to share with the entire class?”

  I could barely think of him as a professor any longer since we’d been… intimate. Easton sounded better to my mind, less forbidden.

  “No, sir,” I said defiantly.

  He kept his hard, cold stare on me before glancing around the room. “For the test this morning, you will need to write a three-thousand-word story. The subject? A dark fictional take on what it would feel like to be a serial killer.”

  The majority of the class groaned, including Taylor and Josie. I was elated and would have been more so if I was better able to wrap my mind around the lust that continued to fester with a life of its own.

  “Is he crazy?” Josie asked under her breath. “I can’t type that fast.”

  “Yes, you can if you put your mind to it,” I told her, already formulating a story that would knock his socks off. Maybe it would fit my odd mood perfectly.

  One that held very dark urges.

  I smiled at the thought, thankful I was able to type very fast. As I pulled out my laptop, Easton still allowing the information to sink in, I did what I could to avoid looking at him altogether.

  “You have one point five hours to complete the assignment. I will not grade you down for spelling mistakes, but the story needs to be dark and gritty, a depiction of being in the mind of a madman.”

  “Just like Poe,” Taylor whispered as she pulled up a new Word document.

  It was funny how my thoughts were centered on the broadcast I’d heard only minutes before. What would it be like to be the Angel of Death and more important, why had the man found it necessary to kill a young man who held such promise? If he said anything else, I wasn’t paying any attention, becoming absorbed in the piece with ease.

  I’d always felt there was a sense of darkness inside me, a moment where I could easily cross the thin and fragile line of right versus wrong.

  Even if I’d been a very good girl all my life.

  The twenty-fifth shiver of the day tore through me.

  Maybe there was just a little evil in me after all.

  The time flew by I was so absorbed in the story, able to develop a contrasting voice in the piece, where by day the killer was a kind, gentle man with a heart of gold, but by night he avenged atrocities done to the kind of people he called innocent and deserving. Of course, I couldn’t paint him out to be a hero, but more of an antihero that readers could relate to, even gravitating toward given something that had occurred in their lives.

  A tragedy.

  A crime scene observed firsthand.

  An untimely death.

  I could have easily written about my uncle, enough of the stories I’d been told by my older brother returning to my mind. But that could force Easton to ask questions I couldn’t answer. I’d met the man twice, had been forced to sit by his side during a family gathering as he’d leered at me, asking way too personal questions about my life. If I had a boyfriend. Even if I enjoyed older men. It had seemed creepy at the time, not that I’d told my mother. She and her brother had been estranged for years, only coming together when my other aunt had begged my mama to bring us to the family reunion.

  Only six months later, accusations were made, my uncle arrested for the horrific murders of nine people, dismembered body parts found on the same property where we’d had a barbeque. All of us had been sick, my mother cutting every tie to her side of the family. The humiliation had been terrible, our entire family crucified in the press. My mother had come close to having a nervous breakdown.

  They’d also lost the ranch because no one had wanted to buy any product from them. The nightmare had been traumatic, something I’d tried hard to forget. But I had to admit, being told far too many of the gruesome details was helping me paint a better picture of my antihero.

  As I reminisced about what I’d heard regarding the investigation, I wondered if the Angel of Death also took trophies as my uncle had done. No one had talked about that with regard to my uncle. It was a piece of evidence they didn’t want let out to the public.

  Sighing, I shut down that part of my life as my mother had insisted all her children do. This was my story. My little foray into something dark and ominous. Just because I wanted to be a horror author didn’t mean I had any of the same psychotic tendencies as my uncle. I was just… creative.

  Plus, I wanted the man standing like some godlike figure to realize what he’d fucked up. As I read it over one last time, skimming over half of it, I gave myself a mental high-five.

  I was thrilled with my work, so much so my heart continued to race as I prepared to hit send to Easton’s email. I’d written five thousand words in the time allotted. When I lifted my head, I realized I’d taken a little bit longer, no other student left in the lecture hall.

  However, Professor Easton Saint was, his eyes pinned on where I was sitting. I felt as if he was doing more than just undressing me with his eyes. He was dressing me up to be his plaything, including a ball gag and a pair of handcuffs.

  Clothing not allowed.

  I closed the lid on my laptop, doing my best to act nonchalant. Of course the man had to make it all but impossible for me to slip out unnoticed. God. What if he issued a failing grade?

  I knew where he lived. I’d break into his house and rip out his eyeballs.

  At least I could almost smile even thought my teeth were chattering as I shoved my computer into my bag. I was determined not to highlight the shame running through me like wildfire, so I walked slowly, almost believing he was going to allow me to walk out without speaking to me.