Chapter 47

Red haze fills my vision and violence laces my blood. I want to maim and destroy, to shove every single one of their cameras and microphones up their asses and watch them writhe in agony on the ground.

Logic and rational thoughts fled my brain the moment I saw the paparazzi surround her like fucking vultures. The desperation I saw on her face, her complexion as white as a sheet of paper, her lithe body trembling in her seat as the motherfuckers attacked her with questions.

And I couldn't reach her.

I couldn't protect her.

My surroundings blur around me in a sea of white. The only common sense I have left is to let go of her hand and instead, usher her toward my office with my fist lightly grazing her back. I hear the harsh sounds of her breathing as she quickens her strides to match mine. I know I should slow down. I should ask if she's okay.

But I can't.

Because all I want to do is find those bastards and force feed them several servings of knuckle sandwiches and right hooks. I vaguely register people leaping out of the way, no doubt wondering what has gotten into me, the unimpeachable Prince of the USA.

Impeccable reputation.

A delirious laugh slips out of my mouth.

"Ryland?" Millie huffs after me as we approach the office. She sounds concerned.

A sharp pinch of guilt stabs me in my chest.

I did this to her. I should've stayed away. I knew what would happen, and I did it anyway.

You fucking selfish, greedy bastard.

I don't deserve my dream, to be a professor, to have her in my life.

I don't deserve anything.

Ignoring her, I unlock the door and step inside. I wait for her to enter the room before I close the door and secure the lock.

I stride to the desk and press a button on the remote to turn the walls from clear to gray, blocking the view from the prying eyes outside.

Heated blood rushes in my ears, the sounds akin to the roaring wind in a hurricane. The madness I've attempted to rein in slams through the metal chains. I feel the metal giving, little by little.

A losing battle.

Millie stands before me, her luscious hair in disarray, a light sheen of sweat on her face, her pale skin pinkened from exertion.

Her beautiful, startling blue eyes stare at me in concern, her pouty lips curving down into a frown.

My little lark looks so beautiful. My heart, already bloodied inside my rib cage because of the last few weeks—my tortuous attempt at withdrawal from what surely would be a lifelong addiction—swells in her presence.

It clamors for her. It beats for her. It hungers for her.

And I don't know how I'll survive without her.

"Oh, Ryland," she murmurs while stepping toward me. "I'm okay. They didn't get to me. For a moment there, I froze because I was shocked."

She chuckles, her sweet voice sounding hesitant. "Who wouldn't, right? But I think it's time I get used to them. I'm Adrian's sister after all, a public figure now. So, don't worry abo—"

The chains snap and fall at my feet.

I grip the nape of her neck and crush my lips to hers. I'm voracious, desperate, frantic, an addict getting his last hit.

She whimpers as I thrust my tongue inside her mouth, tasting her sweetness of honey and chocolate, the elixir of life I need but will no longer have. She leaps into my arms and my hands automatically catch her by the round swells of her ass.

Stumbling back, I drop into my chair all the while devouring her with each swipe of tongue, each sharp bite. My hands travel up her body and pull up her T-shirt to expose the heaving swells of her tits.

Millie's fingers dig into my neck as I wrench her bra out of the way and clamp my teeth on her pebbled nipple, the beaded peak thrusted out like eraser buds, and I suck.

She cries out before slapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the noise. My mind can't compute how we shouldn't be doing this in my office moments after the press made accusations against us.

I don't care anymore.

I just know I need her. I need to taste her, to be inside her and to feel her heart beat against mine as our souls take one last flight together.

I want to feel her pussy strangling my hard dick one last time.

My free hand kneads her other breast before I switch sides. Millie grinds her hips on my cock like she needs this as much as I do. My suctions turn harder, stronger, each drag urgent, and I'm sure I'll leave marks on her beautiful skin later.

"Ryland, oh my God, please fuck me. Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me," she chants under her breath, her head bent toward the ceiling, her back arched as her movements turn frenzied.

"Millie, my lovely little lark," I rasp, and we pull apart just enough for me to wrench off her leggings and underwear and toss them to the ground.

Her fingers shake as she unzips the fly of my pants, reaches inside, and takes me out. My throbbing cock is seconds away from erupting, the tip red and dripping with pre-cum.

Her eyes are wild, dilated, her lips swollen, and we reach for each other again as she slams herself on top of me and I thrust home.

"Fuuuuck," I groan, the sharp pleasure almost unbearable.

She lets out another keening moan as her body struggles to accept me, but I push through, too far gone to slow down. I'm in my own version of heaven…or hell. Tremors spread through her body. Inch by inch, I invade, and she submits.

So fucking beautifully. So fucking perfect.

"Yes, yes, yes," she mewls, her words inflaming every part of me, and I clamp my fingers around her hips and thrust into her with the anguish of a dying man enjoying his last meal.

My lips find hers again, tasting her once more, telling her without words how much I love her, how I wish things were different.

But then again, words are never necessary between us.

She knows.

A burst of saltiness reaches my tongue and my eyes open, my vision blurry, and I realize tears have escaped me.

Millie shakes as she kisses me back ardently, her lips trailing over the wetness on my cheeks as if she wants to take away all my pain.

My cock slams into her repeatedly from below, my chair squeaking under the harried motions of our bodies as we're carried away by this tempest we never want to leave.

A heated burn gathers in my thighs as the thrusts turn into pistoning. The sounds of skin slapping against skin mixes with the clinking of the metal pieces of my belt buckle.

Her legs shake and her pussy grips my cock in a vise and I know she's close.

"I love you," she whimpers as I ravish her thoroughly.

Her gasps turn louder and pitchier. My balls draw up and contract as unbearable pleasure gathers below. I love you, too, Millie. I love you so fucking much.

Thump, thump, thump.

"Anderson, open this door right now! We need to discuss some things." Jacob's command travels through the door.

Millie pulls back, her body frozen on top of mine, her eyes widening in panic.

The sounds of our breathing are loud in the room. I stare at her, my breathtaking soulmate, someone I was blessed to love, even if only for a short period.

I don't stop.

Instead, I grip her waist tighter and slam her harder on my cock.

I need her. One last time.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

Her nails dig into my arms as we stare at each other, my mind memorizing every feature of her—her doe-like eyes, her plump bottom lip, her heavy-lidded gaze as she's close to orgasm—every cell of my body imprints with hers, committing to memory how our bodies join and merge into one.

Her lips fall open as her eyes glaze over. The trembling of her legs starts up once more and I feel a fresh torrent of wetness gushing out of her.

"Anderson! Open this door right now or I'm calling security."

She freezes and shakes her head, but I hold on to her.

"Safe word, Millie, say the safe word."

My words come out as low grunts. I'm delirious with want, with the need to be with her this final time because this will be the memory I'll revisit over and over when I lay awake at night, sleepless to the thoughts of her.

"Never," she replies, and she moves harder against me, like she wants to impale me deeper inside so I can never leave her.

Thrust. Thrust. Thrust.

"They decided against Archer and Tammy," I rasp, locking my arms around her back. "The committee made their decision this morning. I didn't have the heart to tell you."

She shakes and claws at my back, her head thrown back. I reach down and pinch her swollen clit, and she comes undone.

Her mouth parts and I swallow her cry with my lips as the pressure breaks inside me, shooting through my hard shaft. My vision blackens. I fall into oblivion with her. My cock pulses inside her trembling pussy, the orgasm never ending.

Our kiss turns fevered, suction against suction, swipe against swipe, hunter against hunter as we slowly climb down from our high.

My perfect match. The right person, but the wrong time and the wrong circumstances.

Losers in a game of fate.

Slowly, the room comes back into focus, and I can hear the commotion outside.

Hastily, I pull out of her and help her back into her leggings before righting the rest of her clothes and zipping up my pants.

The office reeks of sex and she looks well and thoroughly fucked.

She looks like mine.

But I don't know how to save her. I don't know how to protect her from the shitstorm. It's the final nail on the coffin.

Moving around her, I stride to the door, unlock it, and my fingers close around the doorknob.

"Ryland, I love you, please. Please don't do this." Her voice is pleading. I can hear the tears she's holding back and my heart splinters into a million pieces.

I falter, just briefly, my eyes flickering shut for a moment before I open the door and face my fate.

I don't answer her.

Tears spring into my eyes as I watch the dean storm into the room, his countenance dark and foreboding. He slams the door shut behind him.

Ryland steps aside, his head hung low, his shoulders slumped, devastating defeat clear in his frame.

He has given up on us. That was his goodbye.

Perhaps I never had him at all.

Heartbreak spears through my chest, the pain so unfathomable, it eclipses the fear, the anger, and all the other emotions coursing through me.

It was goodbye.

"What the fuck is going on, Ryland? What did you do?"

The dean stabs a shaky finger into Ryland's chest, but the man I love remains silent, his eyes still looking at the ground.

"How could you do this? Your reaction alone spoke volumes. You didn't need to say anything to the press. What you did back there and now," he glares at both of us, "signed your death warrant and quite possibly mine! And to think I was putting you on the tenure track!" The dean paces the room, his fingers gripping his hair.

Tenure track? His lifelong dream that he thought he could never have? He put that at risk…for me?

My lips tremble as sobs threaten to unleash. Please look at me, Ryland. Please. I will him to acknowledge me, to stand next to me, to do anything other than staring at the ground and ignoring me.

"Ms. Callahan."

At my name, I swivel my head toward the dean, who's looking at me with both pity and compassion.

"I have campus security waiting for you outside to escort you back to your apartment while we figure everything out. Please leave this office." The firmness in his voice doesn't allow for arguments.

"Dean, please, it's not what you think, don't punish—"

"Everything is my fault. What happened, didn't happen, what the press thinks, what you think, everything is my fault," Ryland interrupts, his head lifting, his desolate charcoal eyes finally meeting mine.

His voice is thick as he continues, "Please don't punish Ms. Callahan. She did nothing wrong. I take full responsibility for anything from this scandal."

"No!" My feet hurtle forward, wanting to go to him, but he halts me with a chilling glare.

"Please leave us, Ms. Callahan," the dean repeats his command. "I'll be in touch."

My hands fist around my sides and I step toward the door. Pausing before opening it, I look back, finding the dean facing the window and Ryland's impassioned gaze on mine.

"I love you," I mouth, my eyes pleading with him to not give up on us. Despite everything, to keep fighting. My heart is in my hands, wishing he'll take it and keep it safe.

His nostrils flare and a muscle pulses in his jaw.

He looks away, leaving my heart a bloody mess on the floor.