Nocticadia: A Dark Academia Gothic Romance
Nocticadia: Chapter 48

I folded the sheet I’d used, draping it over the couch. Due to the dungeon-like office being lit only by the desk lamp, only the chime of the clock alerted me that morning had arrived. Professor Bramwell typed away at his computer. His eyes had been glued to there for most of the morning, aside from the occasional glance my way. He’d helped me fold the couch back and replace all of the cushions, but not a single word was exchanged between us.

Fully dressed, I cleared my throat and turned to face him. “Well, I guess I’ll see you in class.”

“I’ll see you in class, Miss Vespertine,” he echoed, going back to his typing.

The cold, detached tone in his voice stabbed me in the heart, and I blinked back tears as I turned for the door. Stop it, I chided myself. I’d always been harder than this. Stronger. I’d had boys from school feeding me their false promises, while they stuffed my face with their cocks, but walking away from them had always been easy. Because they’d taken without giving. They took selfishly and made sport of their conquests. I’d never climaxed with one of them, never felt their skin against mine, or watched them fall to their knees to pleasure me first.

As much as I tried to convince myself otherwise, Bramwell was different. Exceptional.

And that made it hurt worse.

“Lilia, wait.”

I refused to turn around and let him see the torment on my face, the way his actions affected me so profoundly. I wished I could tear all of the emotion out of me, the way he so easily had.

At the sound of footsteps, my head urged me to bolt for the door. Don’t be childish.

“Turn around.” The command in his voice told me he’d gladly spin me around himself, if I failed to comply, so I turned to replace him standing there, hands casually tucked in his pockets. “I won’t soon forget last night. Tell me you understand how much it meant that you were here for my first success.”

His words slashed across my heart like a poison-tipped blade.

His first success. Was he so clueless that he couldn’t understand that last night was more than that for me? That he’d turned my entire world upside down in just a matter of hours? That what we’d done had seared itself into my memory forever, and no matter how many boys I’d been with before, or men I ended up with after today, he would always be my true first?

“I understand.”

His jaw shifted, and he turned as if he might go back to his desk, but paused mid-stride. Without warning, he prowled toward me, grabbed me by the back of my neck, and dragged me to his lips. His kiss was cruel and blistering, his hands like barbed wire across my skin, and I wanted to push him away and tell him how much I fucking hated his stupid games. That I hated the push and pull and cat and mouse.

Tell him, Lilia! Make him hurt, too!

But I couldn’t. Because the unsettling truth of it was, it set me alight. I really was a dumb fucking moth.

I melted into the commotion, and when he pulled me in tighter and clamped onto my neck, I let go, floated on big, fluffy clouds of ignorant and unrequited bliss. It was easier that way, to slip into stupidity and pretend his kiss meant anything to me. The masochist reared her ugly head, swallowing his attention like a love-sick fool. Because even if I knew better, even if I knew it was all a lie, it felt fucking good.

He pulled away, and for the first time since the night before, I saw a flicker of pain in his eyes. Good. I wanted to frame it, study it, just to know that I’d left something inside of him, too. That he could still feel me crawling over his skin.

Eyes locked on his, I reached up the hem of my skirt and pulled down my panties, slipping them over my ankles. I balled them in my palm and stuffed them into the pocket of his slacks, next to the hard length that brushed the edge of my thumb. “Panties are for the modest,” I said, and turned for the door.