17. Theron

17

THERON

POWER TRIP - J. COLE FEATURING MIGUEL

"You look like steaming dog shit," Theo says when I open the door.

"Just once it'd be nice if you said good morning like a normal sister."

"Ew, why would I ever do that?" She pushes past me like she did when we were kids, clutching two large coffees from the local Java King, as requested.

Atticus is excited to see her. He circles her every step of the way, tail wagging as he nips at her ankles.

I follow them into the kitchen. "I think my dog likes you more than me."

"Why wouldn't he? Dogs sense demonic energy."

" I'm the demonic one? Really?" I raise a brow at her as she kneels to scratch the fluffy golden dog all over his neck and chest and his tail flops about in a fast blur. I pass them by to collect the coffee cup that's mine—the one marked peppermint mocha.

Theo laughs. "I'd say in Dad's eyes, we're both pretty demonic. I'm a lesbian and you're… you. "

"Why does that feel like more of an insult than steaming dog shit?"

"You know what I mean." She pauses long enough to scratch extra attentively behind Atticus's droopy ears. "You've never gone along with the program. Though neither have I. It frustrates Dad."

"And I would care because?" I ask in between sips of warm peppermint and sweet mocha.

"Well, you are his only son. His legacy is yours to carry on."

"His legacy of what? His wife moved two thousand miles away from him."

"Mom's on a sabbatical."

"What a charmingly PC way to say they've separated, sister," I taunt darkly. My lips spread into a grin against my coffee cup as she casts me a scolding look. "You and I both know the truth about their marriage. Or lack thereof."

"Are you going to tell me what's up with the bags? If I didn't know any better, I'd guess you'd been up all night."

…that's because I have.

Enjoying every inch of Nyssa Oliver.

"Am I not allowed to stay up late?" I ask instead.

"You've never been a night owl. Even when we were teenagers. Remember prom? You fell asleep outside in the rose garden."

I grit my teeth. "It's not my fault the night went on too long. So much glitter and pop music. I was bored."

"Most kids were off fucking. Anyway, point is, you're not a night person. You've been different lately." She's finally tired of lavishing Atticus with adoration and rises to her feet to join me at the kitchen counter. Her tone shifts from humorous to serious that abruptly. "This isn't about the V Killer, is it? "

Tension cords through me, gripping me tight like a lasso. Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched, I hiss at her. "Really, Theo?"

"Kane Driscoll's murder is still unsolved. So is Holly Driscoll. And there's that attack on the college student from Halloween night. The evening news is saying it could be Valentine. I know how personal this is for you. What happened with Josalyn and all?—"

"One moment you're heckling me about Veronica. Now it's Josalyn?"

"You feel things intensely, Theron. If you need someone to talk to?—"

"I have plans," I interrupt sharply. "Papers to grade. Lessons to plan. Thanks for the coffee."

The dismissal is cold, perhaps cruel, but necessary in the moment.

I turn my back on her and walk toward my home office, snapping my fingers for Atticus to be obedient and follow.

Theo takes the hint and leaves only minutes later.

But the rest of the afternoon's hardly productive. The papers to grade and lessons to plan that I had mentioned turn out to be a false alibi. Instead, I spend the time locked in my home office trying to resist the urge to seek Nyssa out.

I breathe through the fervid temptation and force my mind elsewhere.

Current events. Recent legal studies. Projects around the house that are in progress.

Anything to take my mind off her.

The obsession's taken a life of its own. It's left me thick in an addiction I promised myself I'd never fall prey to again …

You feel things intensely, Theron. If you need someone to talk to…

My heart races in my chest as I slam shut my laptop and leap to my feet.

"This isn't that," I grind out, then I start pacing the room wall to wall. "That was years ago."

I go from denying the past to feeling the warm sunshine on my skin.

Josalyn's smile was like no other. It was a flower blooming before my eyes. It was in the way her entire face glowed along with the spread of her lips and flash of her pearly teeth.

I sank down beside her in the grass, feeling anemic against the spring rays of the sun that shone down on us and signaled winter was finally over.

I preferred the dark. The moody and rainy season where I could bask in my brooding.

But Josalyn made me feel alive. She made me feel eternally young…

I rumple fingers through my unruly hair and banish the past.

Theodora has no idea what the hell she's talking about. I'm a man of reason and logic and I'm in control of myself. The supposed reemergence of the Valentine Killer has no bearing on me or my life.

"It's not real. She's never coming back," I mutter under my breath. I snatch the textbook for Criminal Law One off my desk and pop it open to the last page of the required reading I'd given. "It's impossible ."

"Any questions?" I ask the class Wednesday afternoon.

The two dozen empty-headed cows blink and gape back at me like I've asked them the most complex mathematical equation imaginable. A scowl clenches onto my face as I incline my head toward the door.

"That is all," I say. "If you have nothing else, get out of my face."

Students scramble. They hustle to shove their books and laptops into their bags and crowd at the door in their eagerness to exit.

All except one.

Miss Oliver.

She sits obediently at her desk, shiny gaze stuck on me.

Jose Zardoya's last out, letting the door thud heavily behind him. The silence takes over from there, swelling with the unfettered passion that's grown between us in even just a few short hours.

From the last time we were together, experiencing each other.

I nudge my black-framed glasses further up the bridge of my nose. My right brow raises, my stance at my desk authoritative.

"Well?" I say into the loud silence. "What have I told you, Miss Oliver?"

Her head tilts to the side and her teeth graze her deliciously plump bottom lip. She hesitates only a second longer, then does as instructed—she sinks lower in her chair and spreads her legs obscenely wide.

Offering me an unobstructed view of her sopping wet cunt.

No panties.

Just as directed.

Her pleated skirt's ridden up her thighs and her pussy lips resemble the soft petals of a flower. The pink center so warm and inviting. Her pussy blooming before my eyes like an orchid.

I square my jaw, biting down on the rush of chemicals that flow through me. That shoot straight to my cock.

When I open my mouth to speak, my voice sounds hoarse. Borderline strained.

"Come here. Hands flat on my desk."

Nyssa, being Nyssa, makes a performance out of the demand. She rises to the occasion, slipping out from under the small L-shaped desk with a sultry sway of her hips and a pout of her lips. Then she's strutting toward me, step by step down the cascade of student desks.

Her shiny curls shimmy. Her pleated skirt flutters.

It teases skin.

So does the tight button-up blouse she wears that's seemingly fit to burst. Several of the male students had eye-fucked her as she took her seat when class began.

Justin Hendricks practically had his tongue flopping out of his mouth.

But Nyssa hardly paid him any mind. She only had eyes for me.

Like now.

I remain composed and distant as she struts toward me oozing sex. She's a temptress, a seductress about to make me lose my mind.

We both know it, though we hold on as long as we can.

Flattening her hands to my desk, she pushes her hips out and spreads her legs. Her eyes link with mine in brazen challenge and she says, "Anything you want, Professor."

I work the tension from my jaw and remind myself to breathe. "I've told you before, Miss Oliver, about misbehaving in my class."

"I'm sorry, Professor. I thought?— "

"You thought wrong. Which means now I have to teach you a lesson. I want you to count along with me. Ready?"

Her shoulders rise with the breath she takes in and then straighten into perfect posture. She gives a nod.

I step behind her and flip her skirt up over her bare ass. I've grabbed hold of the wooden yardstick from my supply closet and beat it against the palm of my hand, building suspense by the second.

Her backside's round and supple. A delicious juicy peach I'd love to bite into.

Devour and feast on.

Worship.

But first things first.

Punishment.

I wind the wooden stick back, issuing the question on my mind. "What were you up to last night?"

"Homework."

"Wrong answer."

The wooden ruler slams into her ass on the first strike. She does a little hop in place, managing to keep her hands flat on the desk.

"Count along with me, Miss Oliver."

"One, Professor."

"Why are you lying? Homework? That's all?"

She releases a shaky breath. "I went to dinner."

"With who?"

"A friend."

Strike two.

The wooden ruler collides with the round, soft cheeks of her ass, forceful and sudden. It leaves behind the faintest strip of pink against brown.

The erotic sight elicits a buzz inside of me. My pulse throbs so hard, I wonder if she can sense it. If she's aware my cock's twitching in my pants.

I'm both wild with need and composed from discipline.

"A friend?" I say, palming her pinkened ass. "Care to provide any names?"

Nyssa screams as I bring the ruler down a third time. Harder than the other two times.

"J-Justin!" she calls out before I can go in for a fourth. "He asked to borrow my notes. He said he would buy me dinner."

"Buy you dinner?" I repeat slowly. "So… a date?"

"Professor!" she cries.

But it's too late.

I've swung the ruler. The wooden stick whacks straight into the underside of her thighs, and she groans in what could be pleasure or pain.

Or both.

Either way, she hasn't uttered the agreed safe word.

She's trembling on the spot, but she's pushing back her hips, effectively shaking her ass in the air.

More , it says.

So I give it to her.

The ruler rains down on her gloriously round ass several more times. Each swat, she screams out the number.

"Seven!" she calls.

Then comes the eighth.

She shakes, her head angling toward the ceiling. The number warbles past her lips before the next smack collides and she's starting all over again.

Nine.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

Twenty .

I'm feverish, achingly hard, as I beat the ruler against her ass and she cries out along with me. The slender stick slips out of my hand and I admire my handiwork. The artful way the rosy pink blends with the golden brown. I groan and pull out my cock to stroke.

Coming up behind her, I let her feel how hard I am. The head of my cock runs along the seam of her cunt and she shudders in silent pleading.

"Is your ass sore, Miss Oliver?" I ask huskily.

She nods. Her hands haven't budged. She's a good girl, keeping them planted on the desk.

My left hand reaches under her.

She drips for me. Moans for me. Shudders for me as I fondle her greedy little wet pussy.

I kiss the spot behind her ear, then brush my lips against the gentle flesh. "It's too bad you're sore. But guess what?" I whisper. "Your pussy will be too once I'm through with you."

Without warning, I drive my cock all the way inside. Nyssa bucks against me in a wild scream. I grip her by the hair and yank her head back so I can kiss her throat.

She's tight warmth wrapped around me.

The finest silk encasing my cock.

"You feel so fucking good," I whisper against her skin. "My beautiful little whore that'll do anything for an A, is that right?"

She gasps, taken aback by the crass words.

I've begun moving, setting a hard pace from the first thrust. She digs her nails into the wood of my desk and rises up on the tips of her toes as I palm her ass and slide my cock in and out of her.

It wouldn't be the first time I was rough.

I've gradually broken her in. Tested the waters to see how far I can go. How much she can take.

Nyssa whimpers as she takes my cock and the brutal thrusts I give. But her body— her squelching pussy —betrays her. She clenches me tight, massaging me, kneading me as I dig deep inside her and then retreat to start over again.

Soon she's riding the wave along with me.

She's turning her head to meet my lips in a sloppy kiss, our flesh smacking together.

I fuck her and grope her and then wrap my hand around her throat to cut off her whimpers. I'm deep in her pussy as I lick at her jaw and tell her how she's my naughty little slut who will work for her A in this class. I squeeze her throat and bask in the dazed look that glazes over her beautiful face, like she's ascended the physical moment. She's floated into the realm of pleasure, where her orgasm rules.

Her pussy flutters.

I feel her come undone firsthand, her walls spasming. Her body seizes up. She's locked in my hold as I simply thrust harder, slamming into her soaking cunt and squeezing her slender throat. I give my all until I'm spilling inside her and tiny spots appear before my eyes.

We fold over my desk. We don't move for what's a very long time.

Minutes before we come to our senses and rise up as civilized beings again. I cup her face and kiss her lips tenderly, like I didn't just fuck her roughly like a whore.

But it's the language we speak. The routine we've developed.

Nyssa's as willing a participant as I am. She likes things wild and untamed. She enjoys the games we've begun to play .

"Are you okay?" I ask. My hands reach around to palm her ass. Massage her sore, reddened cheeks.

She nods. "Are you?"

I chuckle. "No," I answer, brushing her lips with mine. "You drive me insane."

"That's the goal."

She's smirking, meeting my eyes. A spark lives in them, like she's aware of a secret I'll never know. The same kind of confidence I've witnessed from the first day in class.

…this girl will truly make me lose my mind.

"How about you meet me on the east side of campus?" I ask. "I'll pick you up and we can have dinner. Outside of town."

"I should finish coursework from my other classes," she says after a beat. "Maybe next time?"

Just like that, she's fixing her clothes and gathering her things. I stand back, putting on a composed front, hands in my pockets.

She kisses me goodbye, though it does nothing for the tension cording through me.

The lasso's back, cinching tighter and tighter.

"Next time," I remind myself. "There's always next time…"

Friday rolls around, and Nyssa's absent from class. I'm distracted throughout the duration of it. So much so, other students take notice. Katelyn Wicker raises her hand to question if I'm in the middle of a heart attack. A few others in class laugh.

But I give a withering look that makes her shut up on the spot .

It's no heart attack that has me clenching and snarling. It's the absence of the person who has been on my mind almost every waking moment.

I send texts that go unanswered. Calls that go straight to voicemail.

She's avoiding me.

But why?!

Dean Rothenberg catches me once class lets out, falling into step beside me. "Theron, how about you join me and some of the other board of trustees for cigars tonight? Your father won't be making it, but you would be a fine stand-in. We'll be discussing how we'll approach the campus-wide paranoia about Valentine."

"No."

A single one word answer that's cold and succinct.

It's to the point enough that there's no room for objection. The dean watches me stride down the rest of the corridor as if he's too shocked to figure out what else to say.

I don't give a damn.

The only thing I give a damn about is Nyssa Oliver and where the fuck she is.

Why would she skip my class? All of her Friday classes, according to her AirTag. Is she sick? Hurt? Does she need me?

I stride straight toward my car, tossing my leather satchel into the passenger seat. I pull my phone from my pocket and log onto her cloud.

Her social media provides no updates. Neither do her emails.

Her texts are a different story.

hey bby, still good for 8? Scarlet Room?

Yes. 8 works. I'll be there.

A bell clangs inside me. It rings and rings until I feel my entire body vibrating with the sound. I clench my phone in my palm and glare at the screen.

"Who the fuck is this?" I growl.

I'm off in a tear.

My BMW veers into traffic with a squeal of rubber and protest honks from other cars nearby. For the first few miles, I'm not even sure where the hell I'm driving to. I'm driving just to drive. A maniac on the roads, I cut off others and flout common courtesy and traffic rules.

It wouldn't be the first time I've spiraled after the object of my affection's suddenly become distant.

"Who have you been with?" I snarled, blocking her path. "Why won't you tell me what's going on?"

"Move aside, Theron. I can't… I can't… okay?"

"Are you hurt? Is he hurting you? Josalyn ? —"

"Theron, move!"

She brushed past me before I could stop her. Before I could get to the bottom of what was going on…

It's not until I pull up outside Nyssa's apartment that I tune back into the present.

I'm pounding on her door in another second. Damn anyone who sees or overhears.

Even Theo, who manages the building.

"Nyssa!" I hiss outside her door. "Open up! "

But she never does. She's not home.

She's… somewhere. Preparing to meet someone.

Her AirTag is useless, telling me she's left her bookbag in her apartment.

I let myself into her apartment anyway, just to be sure. A thorough search of the place turns up little to no clues, except I uncover a Composition Notebook full of Nyssa's musings. A list of names that include many students and faculty at Castlebury U and another page with lipstick smudges and my name doodled among the lines.

I snap shut the notebook and stuff it back under her mattress, where I found it.

My pulse beats wildly in my veins as I rush back to my car and attempt to regain some semblance of rational thought.

I comb through her digital footprint again, searching for meaning. How could I miss this? If she's meeting someone, then there must be other clues…

It's not until I reread the text message exchange for the fifth time that I realize what I've overlooked.

"Scarlet Room," I say. Then I google. The search results turn up what I've suspected.

Scarlet Room is a nightclub. Some kind of underground club with a reputation for drugs, alcohol, and sex .

Anonymous hookups are so casual and frequent there, people show up with that intention alone.

Now that I think about it, I've heard the stories in passing. Read the news articles in the paper, reporting the alleged sexual assaults and druggings.

Night is falling as I hit the roads again and drive toward the club. My mind, once so clear and sharp, is riddled with neurotic thoughts.

Is she cheating on me ?

…or prostituting herself? Is she getting mixed up with the wrong crowd?

Does she need money? Why wouldn't she say anything to me?

My thoughts spiral into insane paranoia. I park outside the club, against the curb, ignoring the derisive snorts and curious stares I receive from people with a dozen tattoos and bright neon-colored hair.

I'm here with one purpose and one purpose only.

Find Nyssa and figure out what the hell is going on.

It's true that we haven't discussed exclusivity, but I thought it was implied that we weren't seeing other people.

We've had sex unprotected .

Fury pulses through me by the time I'm descending the steps into the dark, dank, dungeon-like underground club. The music's so loud, it drowns out all thought.

Monotonous techno beats that feel like they might bust an eardrum.

I submerge myself among the sweaty, writhing clubgoers, my eyes peeled for her.

I stick out like a sore thumb. An older male with glasses and a button-up shirt, I'm hardly subtle as I search the club.

Is she not pleased with the sex we're having? Have I been too soft? Too rough?

Am I too old? Not interesting enough for her youthful mind?

These questions and more plague me as I explore every inch of the club. I come across the dance floor, where dozens of people gyrate to the edgy, dark techno music, and then I wander into another area of the club where it seems the hookups happen.

I witness things like a woman disappearing out an emergency exit with two men in tow and another couple snorting white lines off each other .

None of them Nyssa.

I'm left in the dark. I'm wading uncharted water without a clue where I'm going.

Just like before.

"You have no business here," Professor Vise snarled.

Josalyn hugged her books to her chest. "But we need to talk about what happened…"

"Nothing happened. How many times do I have to tell you?"

I hovered outside his office door, my heartbeat frantic. I was a second away from rushing inside and interrupting.

"How could you?" she sniffled. "I won't let you get away with it."

He grinned. "You're delusional, Miss Webber. Get out of my sight."

I was outside as the door flung the rest of the way open and Josalyn ran out in tears. I started to follow.

"Josalyn, Josalyn… what's wrong?"

"Mr. Adler," came Professor Vise's baritone. "Never mind what you think you heard. If you're here to interview for the TA position, we can begin…"

I shake my head and realize two hours have gone by. I'm entrenched in the pulsing beats and humid air of the club, hoping Nyssa happens by.

But it's vain hope.

Clearly, wires have been crossed, and I've misunderstood.

I sigh deeply, then start for the exit. Coming up on the outside, the night's turned into a chilly, drizzly mess.

My car is half a block down.

I begin my trek with hands deep in my pockets, only to stop after a few footsteps.

Nyssa's up the street, her usually springy curls sleek and straight. The tight curls aren't the only thing that's gone—her preppy, sometimes vintage manner of dress has been traded in for thigh-high leather boots, hot pants, and a semi-sheer top.

She almost doesn't look like herself. If I hadn't been searching out every face on the street, I certainly wouldn't have recognized her.

She stands back as a bald, penguin-shaped older man opens a rear car door for her. From where I am, I can't see his face, but I can see the appreciative smile on hers. She slides into the backseat before he joins her, drawing the door shut.

The windows are dark, obscuring whatever it is going on inside.

I'm quick on my feet. My mind's lost to the feverish, obsessive virus that takes over. I rush toward the car like a madman with no care in the world.

Except to find out what the fuck's going on.

I'm closing in when the sleek black car finally pulls away from the curb and starts down the street.

Within seconds, it's slipping out of view.

Nyssa's slipping through my fingers.