Stalked by my Professor Novel

Chapter 54 Haven's wet hair wraps easily around my fist, the perfect grip for me to jerk her away from the broken window with. There's glass scattered all over the floor here, and I feel at least two pieces slice into my feet, but that's a problem for later. She yells when I shove her away, and again when her legs tangle and send her sprawling to the wooden floor. "That's two," I chuckle darkly. There's a clatter as something hits the floorboards and spins away.

She rolls onto her back, reaching desperately for it, but I'm already towering over her, grabbing her throat, dragging her to her feet. Not a lot of furniture in the cabin. Two end tables, a three-seater sofa, and the bed on the other side of the room. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ finḑnovel.net The bed would have been nice, but the sofa's closer. The wall beside the window, even closer still. Haven's fighting back. I need to restrain her. Subdue her. Strip her. I want-need-to see the whole shivering mess of her laid out beneath me. But that's not how this game begins. It's how it ends.

She yelps in pain when I shove her up against the wall, my hand twisted in her silky, skimpy little top. "Three. You forgotten how the Quiet Game works, Miss H?" I give her a lingering, disdainful once-over. The tight black top, the too-short skirt. Thick makeup smeared by the rain. "Cute outfit," I spit out. "Sluts around here sure dress posh, don't they?" "I'm not playing this game." Her voice is hard, but it shakes ever so slightly. Scared, but determined. Of course, either could be fake. I hold up four fingers. She knows what happens when we get to ten, but she doesn't seem to care.

Perfectly on-brand for Haven. "How'd your hair get so messy?" I croon. "Almost looks like someone had their hands in it." "Kai, stop!" Five fingers, now. She glances at my hand, face scrunching up with annoyance. "Does he like it when you wear this much makeup? Because I sure as fuck don't." She glares at me, but says nothing. If I hadn't seen that look a million times, I'd have considered backing off. If I hadn't been able to so easily shove down the part of my brain screaming at me to stop before I go too far, I might have been able to.

But me and Haven have been playing iterations of this game most of our lives. Crafting it, honing it, perfecting it. Either I have a penchant for violence, or I've played the part of monster so many times, breaking her has simply become a habit. I crowd closer, ducking my head just long enough to sniff the air beside her ear. Loud enough that I feel her cringing away. "Don't recognize this perfume," I mutter. "He buy it for you?" No need to fake the hardness in my voice. She still smells like Rooke. I do, too. Unless I'm losing my mind.

"I don't want to play this game," she blurts out, her voice trembling. "Should have thought about that before you snuck out to meet him." "Enough!" She pushes at my shoulders, trying to shove me off of her, but I'm far too heavy. Far too invested in this twisted little game. When we were just kids playing the Quiet Game, I'd pinch her, slap her, drag sharp sticks over her skin. Anything I could to make her gasp or yell in pain. She got better and better at keeping her mouth shut. So I had to be inventive. Started taunting her with whatever shit came into my head.

Slut shaming her is far too real, but it's the first thing I latch on to. "Melissa called," I lie. "Thought you were with me. But you weren't, were you?" A sick thrill flashes through me when unease flickers over her face. "You were with him, weren't you? Think I wouldn't notice the way he looks at you? How you smile back at him?" Fuck, how she struggles as I drag her over the back of the sofa. But she has her lips clamped shut, and she doesn't make a sound when her back hits the cushions.

I walk around the sofa, catching hold of her black top as she tries to vault over the back to get away from me. The fabric is wet, silky, tight as I jerk her onto her back again. A wild light flashes in her eyes, her lips trembling. She stops struggling, her chest rising and falling as she tries to catch her breath. "Where were you tonight, huh? Because you sure as fuck weren't at home!" I bellow at her. Baring my teeth, I aim a hand for her throat again. She knocks my hand away. Once. Twice.

On the third attempt, I latch onto her throat again, pushing her into the cushions so hard she chokes. Her legs drum behind me as I straddle her, and even a hard slap to her thigh doesn't subdue her. My cock does the trick though, when I roll my hips just the right way, and its hard length grinds against her pubic bone. She goes still under me, only her chest hitching. Those blue eyes flicker over my face, and I bet she finds exactly the confirmation she's looking for. Some parts of me noticed back when she first started class.

But the wiser, protective part of my psyche must have hid it from me, because it's only now, now that I have her pinned, alone, vulnerable, at my mercy that I realize what I'd seen. Everyone stares at Rooke when he's presenting a lecture. But not everyone looks at him like she does. And I've had to watch her salivate over him this entire semester already. The vein under my thumb pulses, and I feel her throat move as she tries to swallow. "Can't...breathe..." she puffs out, grabbing my wrist and trying to pull my hand away from her neck. "Nine," I murmur. Her eyes widen with incredulity.

Like she can't believe I'll try choking her out just to get her to ten. Jesus, has she forgotten what happens then? I get to punish her however I want. I called it ten minutes in heaven, but it was always hell for her. I laugh as a heady, sickening feeling coils in my lower stomach, burying itself deeper, working its way to the base of my spine. My cock is so fucking hard it hurts. Haven's face slowly darkens with anger and trapped blood, but those lips are fucking sealed. "I saw your bed," I whisper. "All that blood on your mattress.

Never knew you liked it so rough." Her fingernails dig into my wrists, then she slaps my arm, eyes begging me to let up so she can breathe. "Think I don't want to put this all behind us, baby? Start fresh? Have you forgotten how I've always been there for you?" I lean down, one hand still on her throat, the other smoothing damp hair away from her face. "Who cheered you up when your dad was all strung out?

Who bought you your first bra after you lied and told me you didn't need one?" She flinches when I pick a half-crushed leaf out of her tangled hair, and again when I stroke her tensed bottom lip. "Have you forgotten who you belong to, Miss H?" She whimpers when I duck down and catch her lip between my teeth, her hands grabbing at my hair to pull me away. But when I apply more pressure, she goes still. I suck that pillowy flesh into my mouth, nip it, let it pop free. Lick her, despite how she struggles.

There's a hint of copper on my tongue when I whisper, "Game over." Her skin is cold and damp under my fingers, but I can feel the heat underneath, the way her pulse flutters like a trapped bird. The sound of her breathing, harsh and ragged through her constricted throat, drowns out everything else. I chuckle, holding out my hand. "Hand 'em over." Her chest hitches as I release her throat, then she's sucking a greedy breath into her lungs hard enough to push against my torso. We stare at each other, only her eyelids flickering when rainwater drips from my hair onto her face.

Slowly, her mouth trembling harder and harder, she reaches down and takes off her underwear. "Look at you, playing by the rules," I murmur, dragging hair off her cheek with a knuckle. Her hand is shaking as she passes me her panties, and we spend a second or two in a tug of war as she refuses to let the damp fabric go. I bundle her underwear in a fist, tilting my head when she just stares furiously up at me. Slowly, even more fucking reluctantly than before, she opens her mouth and lets me push her underwear between her lips.

There really wasn't anything else to gag her with back in the woods. I hardly ever wore shoes, and she'd do anything not to have to take off her shirt back then. I slowly lay my full weight over her body, wrenching open her thighs and slipping my body between her legs before she can close them. I ease my cock out of my sweatpants, fist the base, and drag the crown over her cunt. "Still owe me ten minutes in Heavenly." She spits out her underwear. "Like hell I do." A tremor goes through me at the flash of defiance in her blue eyes. I loved it when she fought me.

Seems that kink has only grown stronger. Her clawed hands go for my face, and I have to let go of my cock so I can fend her off. Maybe that was her plan, because as I'm going for her hands, she slips her leg free and almost knees me in the fucking balls. I twist aside just in time, but that gives her just enough of a gap to wriggle out from under me. She throws herself over the back of the sofa, trying to escape again. She might have made it if I hadn't slung an arm around her throat, locking her in place. Now her hips are flush with the back cushions.

Her knees sink into the seam between the backrest and the seat, and her silly little skirt rides so high up her ass, it's rendered useless. She grabs the top of the sofa, trying to push away, and then fumbles in her skirt. If I hadn't had her in a chokehold, she might have stabbed me with the ice pick that materialized in her hand. But when she throws her arm back, I easily catch it. Haven yells in pain as I twist her arm up behind her back. The ice pick drops between our bodies, coming to rest just above the curve of her ass. I let go of her arm, and we both go for the pick.

But I can see it, and she can only guess where it is, so it's no surprise that I get it first. Tutting her, I dig the sharp point into the small of her back. She immediately holds out her arm, fingers spread, surrendering. "Big mistake, Miss H. Don't worry. You're going to make it up to me." My hand shakes as I touch the ice pick to her skin. It's not fear. That's heavy and dull. This is bright and sharp, prickling through me like the fuse on a firecracker. Is it power? Is this what Haven felt on Saturday when she held that gun on me? Jesus, it's fucking addictive.

My heart hammers against my ribs like it's trying to break free, every breath in my throat quick and hot. My pulse pounds so hard I can feel it in my fingertips where they press against her throat. She's mine. Finally, completely mine. Haven goes dead still in my arms. She even stops breathing for a long moment, her eyes flickering up to mine. Wide. Terrified. "Kai, please," she puffs out on a frantic breath. I scrape the sharp tip down her face, over her plump lips, and then switch it out with the handle. She tightens her mouth, denying the slim handle entry inside. "Open wide, Miss H."