𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 ₊ ˚ ⊹ 🔥 ᵣₑᵥₑᵣᵢₑ & ₖₒᵤᵣₐ

[reverie.]

ᴀ  ᴅ ᴀ ʀ ᴋ  ʀ ᴏ ʟ ᴇ ᴘ ʟ ᴀ ʏ  ──────────────────────── ᴋ ᴇ ᴇ ᴘ   ᴛ ʜ ᴇ   ꜰ ɪ ʀ ᴇ 𝖇 𝖚 𝖗 𝖓 𝖎 𝖓 𝖌 ──────────────────  ʙ ʏ  ʀ ᴇ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴇ .  ᴀ ɴ ᴅ  ᴋ ᴏ ᴜ ʀ ᴀ ​ 𝖘 𝖈 𝖊 𝖓 𝖊 𝖘 ──────────────────────  ᴏ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ᴠ ɪ ᴇ ᴡ ​     ① ᴄᴀᴜɢʜᴛ ꜱɴᴇᴀᴋɪɴɢ ᴏᴜᴛ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ʰᵉʳᵉ ˚ ⋅     ② ᴘᴜꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪᴍɪᴛ ʳᵉᵃᵈ ʰᵉʳᵉ ˚ ⋅     ③ ᴘʀɪᴠᴀᴛᴇ ᴛᴜᴛᴏʀɪɴɢ ᶜᵒᵐⁱⁿᵍ ˢᵒᵒⁿ ˚ ⋅ ​

 

[reverie.]

𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖊 ᴄ ᴀ ᴜ ɢ ʜ ᴛ  ꜱ ɴ ᴇ ᴀ ᴋ ɪ ɴ ɢ  ᴏ ᴜ ᴛ ​

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ It was way past eleven and everyone at Fenwick Academy was supposed to be asleep—or at least inside their rooms. Marissa was neither. It wasn't the first time she'd been out after curfew, but it wasn't like she had planned to make a habit of it. It was just that sneaking out of the dorms had turned out to be far easier than Marissa had thought. When Blaze had asked her to meet him under the giant oak tree by the front gate, she'd told him she'd be there, but she hadn't actually meant it. She thought it would be impossible—that someone would catch her before she even made it outside—but she made it. No one had stopped her. Not on her way out. Not on her way in. But despite her victory, Marissa hadn't planned to sneak out two days in a row, yet here she was, on her way to the giant oak tree once again. Only this time, she was wearing a short dress under her oversized cardigan, and her most sexy underwear underneath that again. Yesterday they had made out; tonight she hoped they would get further. Her sneakers didn't match the outfit at all, but if she had to run—she would. And that was exactly what she ended up doing. Marissa had barely begun to walk down the hall leading to the front doors when she heard approaching footsteps from another corridor. Fuck. The only way to avoid whoever was coming was either through the front doors or going back upstairs. There was no way she was going back upstairs, so escaping through the front doors was her only chance. Once she was outside, she could at least hide. She might have been able to find a hiding spot inside if she had given more time, but she was on the verge of being caught and panic was settling in. If she made it out—even if they managed to get a glimpse of her back—they would never know it was her. So, she sprinted for the doors. She was almost there. She reached out to grab the handle. All she had to do was pull, but— She couldn't move. The air around her tightened and Marissa's body was frozen in place. Her legs were slightly apart, her right hand wrapped around the handle, her left on the frame next to it for leverage. There was only one person on campus—that she knew of—that might be powerful enough to pull this off, and if she was right. . . She was in big trouble. There was no physical pain; Marissa was not suffocating. But even though she couldn't move her body, she could still feel everything. And what she felt was pure fear. She hadn't expected to be caught—she wasn't prepared to be caught. Of course, Marissa knew there would be consequences for roaming the halls after curfew, but she hadn't expected to be caught. Especially not by him. No matter how hard she tried to move, she couldn't. Marissa didn't stand a fucking chance against his powers. And since she couldn't escape through the doors, her only option was to talk herself out of trouble—or at least try. Marissa turned her head back as far as she managed before hurting her neck, and her eyes widened slightly when they saw him. She forced an innocent smile to her lips to conceal her growing fear. "I just needed some fresh air," she explained, pretending she didn't think of opening the window in her room. ​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ The prestigious Fenwick Academy had served the gifted and their families for decades, providing children with both an education and a safe, controlled environment. Secretly sponsored by both the FBI and the CIA, the academy was tasked with ensuring that the students could reach their full potential while making sure that no one got in trouble. Because of this, the academy was known for its stringent rules — rules that the teachers enforced with an iron fist — much to the student's displeasure. Most of the staff were former Fenwick students, their names written on the faded pages of old yearbooks. Edgar Beaufort was an exception. The Agency had discovered him late, a terrifyingly powerful gifted young man who had been teaching at a remote high school. Blessed with an uncanny ability to control his immense powers, Edgar had long known that he was different. He had assumed that he was the only one of his kind. Since the Agency wanted to monitor Edgar and was unsure of what to do with him, they had sent him to teach at Fenwick Academy, if only to make sure that he was surrounded by others of his kind, should he choose to go rogue. While the young man hadn't quite enjoyed his new profession — he had been keenly aware of all the eyes on him — he had eventually found a place for himself within the Academy, helping the gifted students to reach their full potential. While some of his colleagues criticized his methods as harsh and cruel, the results Edgar produced could not be questioned. The students who did not drop out of his classes often ended up working for the Agency's Special Operation Group. * * * ​ Edgar was walking through the dim corridors of the Enhurst building, his features bathed in soft light. He was on duty, ensuring students adhered to the curfew. As one of the two vice deans, he was expected to lead the staff by example. This meant taking an occasional night shift. Fenwick always had at least one teacher on duty. The gifted students were considered far too dangerous to be left without supervision. While a single teacher couldn't be everywhere at once, the fact that the students knew they could end in trouble kept most young men and women in check. The night was warm as it was quiet, yet something kept bothering Edgar. The air around him felt a little restless. Soon after, he could hear someone. Huffing softly, Edgar quickened his pace, his heavy footsteps echoing in the hallway. Following the sounds, he reached the lobby, only to see someone trying to dash for the doors. "No," Edgar grunted, raising his arm and commanding the very air to seize the trespasser. Invisible tendrils wrapped around Marissa's limbs and waist, suspending her in place. No matter how hard she tried to move, her body would not budge. Turning his wrist, he tapped into his powers and pushed the young woman against the door, weaving the air around her limbs and splaying her legs apart, leaving Marissa dangling above the ground in a rather undignified fashion. "What do we have here?" Edgar mused, walking slowly to the errant student he had pinned against the door. He knew he could take his time, knowing that none of the students could fight him. "A little rat trying to sneak out?" Marissa could hear the simmering anger in his voice. Edgar was not known for his patience or his kindness. The students feared him. They had all heard stories of just how demanding the vice dean could be. "Really now? Fresh air, Miss Wilde." Edgar's voice dripped with doubt and disdain. "You are aware of the curfew, aren't you?" The question was rhetoric. Every student was expected to learn the campus rules by heart. The dorm rooms had small posters on the door with the rules written on them. Marissa could not insist that she didn't know she was breaking the rules. "What the hell you think you were doing, girl?" A small tendril of air pressed against Marissa's face, the air cool against her skin. Much to her horror, the young woman would notice that she was unable to draw breath. The air around her would not move, no matter how desperately she tried to inhale. "I want you to tell me, just what on earth you were thinking." Edgar glanced down, taking note of the short skirt she wore. "You were not going for a run, were you?" Smirking, Edgar waved his hand, allowing Marissa to draw breath once more. ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Before Marissa could come up with another lousy excuse as to why she was sneaking around, she found herself pinned against the door—like a fucking starfish. At least her dress was still covering the areas it was supposed to, concealing the lace underwear she'd been excited to show Blaze. He might have to see if some other time, if Prof. Beaufort sent her up to her room again. She could already tell by the tone in his voice that he wasn't exactly pleased with her, and when he got close enough, she could see that his expression matched his voice. A faint red color painted her cheeks as he closed the distance between them. She was still fully clothed—if one could call it that—but with her arms and legs out to the side she felt exposed. Why did it have to be him? Out of all the professors. . . why did she have to be caught by the most handsome one? The most powerful one? Even if her feet had been touching the ground, she wouldn't have been able to escape this situation. A little rat? Is that what she looked like? She resisted the urge to snort at his remark. Marissa was no rat, but she was trying to sneak out—not that she was planning on admitting that. She'd heard the rumors about him, and the last thing she wanted was to end up on his blacklist. Nothing good happened to those. If one were to believe the rumors, his disciplinary methods were questionable at best. Who knew what he'd put her through? If she'd even survive it? "Of course," she snapped when he mentioned the curfew. Marissa was well aware of the rule she was breaking by being out of bed at this hour, but it wasn't like she was planning on getting caught. She'd managed to sneak out just fine yesterday. "I—" Her eyes widened in panic when she realized she couldn't breathe. She tried to fill her lungs with air, but he'd cut off her air supply. He wasn't trying to kill her, was he? White dots clouded her vision, and she couldn't help but wonder how red her face was. Could he see the panic in her eyes? Her growing fear? She wasn't ready to die just yet. Marissa gasped for air when he eventually allowed her to breathe again, her head spinning slightly. She knew he was mocking her outfit; she knew exactly how she looked. Shaking her head, she gritted out a hoarse "no". Of course, she wasn't going for a run, even though she'd just tried to run away from him. "I just needed some fresh air," she said again, her voice still hoarse. "I felt a bit nauseous." That was a lie. She might feel a bit nauseous now, but she had felt perfectly fine when she'd snuck out of her room a few minutes ago. "Thought it would help." Right now she was grateful that he could manipulate air, and that he wasn't a walking lie detector.​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Edgar splayed his fingers, keeping Marissa pinned to the old wooden door. It was not as if the callous teacher was unaware of her discomfort. He relished her distress, believing that he was teaching the insolent little bitch a lesson. Marissa Wilde had plenty of potential. Edgar had discussed the young woman with his colleagues — everyone agreed with his assessment. Miss Wilde had the potential to serve the Agency after graduation. Unfortunately for Marissa, her teacher found her temperament lacking. She seemed far too interested in extracurricular activities. While no one thought that Marissa was neglecting her studies, the teachers believed that she could have made far better progress if she had tried a little harder. This alone left Edgar fuming. He could not understand why someone would neglect their birthright. He could not understand why she would choose to let her talents flicker when she could have burned so very brightly. "I think I've caught a little rat, yes." Edgar smirked, a sardonic smile flickering on his lips as he walked to Marissa, his well-polished shoes clacking against the old stone floor. He had always liked to dress well. "Squeak fucking squeak," he mocked her, dismissing Marissa's words as lies. He could tell Marissa had been up to something. She looked and sounded guilty. Now Edgar needed to figure out exactly what the adventurous young woman had been up to. She needed to learn her place. He needed a fitting punishment. "Fresh air, my ass," The vice dean scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. She could hear the scorn in his voice, the haughty teacher visibly disappointed. "Let me get this straight, Miss Wilde." Edgar cleared his throat. "You expect me to believe that you felt sick? That you somehow slipped into the shortest skirt you could find without really noticing it?" There was a short pause. "On a chilly and windy night like this." Keeping his right hand extended, Edgar raised his left hand, causing a gust of wind to rush towards the ceiling, Marissa's hair fluttering in the air for a brief moment. The same gust of wind also raised the hem of her flimsy skirt, allowing the vice dean to see her undergarments. "Nice panties, Marissa." Edgar wanted the young woman to feel vulnerable, to see if he could make her fight back. Edgar wasn't out to kill Marissa. He wanted to push and challenge her. The brazen student had never been in any real danger. The vice dean wielded his immense powers much like a skilled fencer wielded his rapier, never applying too much force. Few could match his finesse with his talent — and those that could were no match for his strength. "Really now. Do you think I am an idiot, Miss Wilde?" Edgar huffed, stepping close enough to touch her. "How about we try again?" Edgar reached to tap his chin, his dark eyes intent on her. "I ask you a question and this time you'll tell me the truth." The tall man tilted his head to the side. "Where the fuck were you going?" ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Perhaps he didn't need a lie detector to see right through her. It was obvious that he didn't believe her—she probably wouldn't either, if she were in his shoes, but man, was it annoying. His mocking only made her face change color. If he was trying to humiliate her, it worked. She tried to move again, but her limbs were locked in place against the door behind her. Even if she used her gift, she wouldn't get down. Her breathing eventually stabilized after he'd cut it off. "I didn't slip into anything," she told him, her tone annoyed if not harsh. "I just never changed into my pjs." Well, that was definitely a lie, because there was no way in hell she had worn those undies to class earlier. She had just put them on, and the only reason she wore them was so Blaze—not Professor Beaufort—could see how good she looked in them. She didn't connect the dots with the wind he created before he commented on her lace panties. If her face hadn't been red enough from before, it sure as hell was now. Desperately she tried to move, so she could pull the skirt down to cover herself again. And even if she couldn't, she would at least prefer it if her legs were closed. "Fuck you," she muttered under her breath, leaning the back of her head against the wood behind her as if she'd accepted her defeat. If she wasn't already in trouble, she would have accessed her powers—despite it being prohibited to use outside of class—and set his clothes on fire. God, what she would give to see him go up in flames right now. That would fix all of her problems, and she'd be able to meet up with Blaze before he got tired of waiting for her. "Yes," Marissa answered quickly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Is that what you want to hear, professor? That I think you're a fucking idiot?" She paused, letting him continue as she held his gaze. Her expression remained neutral, but she couldn't conceal the fear in her eyes, even as she answered him. "Out," she repeated. "I was going out. Out to get some fresh air." She let out a frustrated sigh. "Do you want me to write it down for you?" Oh, she knew she was going to get in trouble for this, but there was nothing he could do or say that would make her tell him the truth. She would never throw Blaze under the bus like that; he would never forgive her. And if he was angry with her, he'd never fuck her—which was what she hoped he would do, eventually. ​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "So, you are telling me that you were studying? In that?" Edgar chuckled, his gaze dropping to the short skirt Marissa wore. "At this hour. Really?" Lifting his hand, he forced a tendril of air to poke her belly, the touch almost playful. "Tsk-tsk, Miss Wilde. You're an awful liar." She could hear the scorn in his voice. A terrible storm was brewing in his eyes. Edgar had always hated liars. "You don't even believe yourself, do you, Miss Wilde? Do you understand how pathetic you are? You can't even lie. That's how useless you are, girl." His cruelty served a purpose. He wanted to shake her sense of self. Hurt her. Have her act out on sheer instinct alone. Edgar moved his arm, using his talent to play with her bosom, the small coils of impossibly dense air squeezing her breasts. He wanted to provoke a reaction. To push her into using her power. "Such a shame." His tone left it unclear whether he meant Marissa’s body or her stubborn nature. Hearing the young woman curse, Edgar struck her with air, snapping her head to the side and leaving her dazed. "Mind your manners, Miss Wilde," he huffed, freezing the air around Marissa and leaving her gasping for air. "Do I have your attention?" Edgar asked, his voice ringing with anger. Marissa could not answer. The air in her lungs refused to move out, Edgar choking her once more. "You can still nod." Edgar smirked, enjoying the panic in her eyes as he suffocated her. "Good." Snapping his fingers, he released the air in her lungs, allowing her to gasp for the air she so desperately needed. "You're telling me you went for a walk dressed like a fucking trollop?" She could hear the disdain in his voice. Edgar was a bachelor, his marital status a matter of gossip on the campus. Many of the rumors connected the older man with his students, though none of the girls mentioned would admit to being involved with him. "Are you?" "How about we make a deal, Miss Wilde," Edgar offered, tilting his head to the side. Raising his hand, he moved the air under her shirt, toying with her breasts, his expression unflinching. Marissa could feel her nipples getting gently pinched and tugged. "You tell me the name of the person you were going to meet." Snapping his fingers, Edgar compressed the air around her nipples, squeezing them hard. "And I'll promise not to ground your cute little ass." Grounded, Marissa would be confined to her dorm room after the classes ended at 4 PM, making it impossible for her to take part in any social activities the students enjoyed. ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Marissa couldn't have hidden her annoyance even if she'd tried. "Are you even listening to what I'm saying? Yes. That is exactly what I'm s—stop it!" She could feel him manipulating the air around her, a gush of wind traveling over her stomach. He was not playing fair at all. What a stupid rule. Students were not allowed to use their powers outside of class yet the professors could use them whenever and however they pleased. Prof. Beaufort was certainly taking advantage of that at this very moment. He knew she'd be in even more trouble if she tried to use her gift. Her gift wasn't as innocent—if one could even call it that—as his, but destructive. Marissa could wield fire, and her potential was endless. In controlled environments and with a lot of concentration, she could light a single candle from across the room. But in situations like this, she was more likely to set his clothes on fire—not that that would be a bad thing as he deserved to be taught a fucking lesson. He shouldn't go around bullying students just because he could. He might be a professor and the vice dean, but he should not abuse his power. Not even on the ones breaking the rules. When nothing but air squeezed her breasts her eyes widened in shock. "Will you fucking—" She didn't get the chance to finish that sentence, because he slapped her. At least it felt like he did, but he hadn't laid a hand on her. He'd just used his power, slapping her with a palm of air. It stung more than she wanted to admit, and the cry that left her lips proved that. She was about to yell at him again when the air around her froze once more, making it impossible for her to breathe. Panic and fear glittered in her eyes as she glared at him—pleading him to stop tormenting her. It wasn't until he reminded her that she could still not that she did so. Desperately, she nodded her head. He had her undevoted attention. She gasped for air the moment air started flowing into her lungs, panic still lingering on the surface. It seemed so fucking easy for him. He could have easily choked her to death. Even her fire couldn't have stopped him from doing so. Without oxygen her gift was useless. Prof. Beaufort probably knew that already. If she so much as tried to light a spark, he'd diminish it in an instant. "I'm not a fucking whore, Professor," she said through gritted teeth as soon as she'd gained her breath back. "You think a pair of lace panties make you one?" She snorted. "Because if that is the case, then this campus is a fucking brothel." She'd heard the rumors regarding some of the things he'd done with some of the female students, but she'd never believed now. Now she was starting to wonder if all of them were true. "No," she said firmly when he offered to strike a deal. She would not be making any deals with him. But he was making it hard for her to keep her head cool. He was teasing—pinching and tugging—her nipples with fingers made of air. She tried so hard to conceal how much it bothered her. How much it actually hurt. But when he made the air around them squeeze so hard it felt like they were about to fall off, she couldn't stop a gasp from slipping past her lips. "No one!" she exclaimed, her cheeks heated. "I wasn't meeting anyone. I just needed some fresh air." Her story would never change, no matter how hard he squeezed her nipples. It felt both good and bad, but if she imagined it was Blaze's fingertips squeezing them, she was able to enjoy the sensation despite the pain. "Ground me!?" she asked in disbelief. "For what? Feeling sick?" She wanted to add 'being sexy', but she held her tongue. She didn't want to anger him further. Getting grounded was bad enough—that would make it almost impossible to sneak out to meet Blaze. "I just needed some fresh air," she told him once again. "Aren't I allowed to feel sick? People get sick all the time. Carmen was sick all last week, and she didn't get grounded!" Marissa knew that wasn't the same as Carmen had never left her room after curfew—not that she knew of, at least—but it was worth a shot. ​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "Oh, I hear you just fine, Miss Wilde," Edgar scoffed, sounding frustrated. "You just don't make any sense." It wasn't that he didn't understand her—he simply had no reason to believe her obvious lies, nor any desire to play her game. He wanted answers, and he wanted them sooner rather than later. "You're a sneaky little rat, aren't you? Squeak." He leaned closer, Marissa now able to smell him. "You think you are clever, hmm?" There was a short pause, Edgar wove his hand like a conductor, the invisible tendrils of air pinching her nipples hard. The vice dean gave little thought to the ethics of his methods. The Academy paid him for his results and the dean was very impressed with his work despite the occasional complaints that reached her ears. He knew the fire burned within Marissa. Having trained hundreds of gifted, he could tell that Marissa was merely negligent of her powers. Edgar was certain he could turn her into a tool for the Agency. "You just dress like one?" Edgar retorted with a wicked smile, his eyes slowly scanning Marissa, making sure she felt seen. "Oh, I know people are fucking around like rabbits." He tsk-tsked. "In their rooms. As they should. As you should." An invisible force poked her chest, Edgar making a point. She had been caught breaking curfew, and as far as the vice dean was concerned, that meant he could do pretty much anything he wanted with her."Marissa. 'No' is just a word." It was obvious that the tall man was not happy with her answer. The air within her shirt shuffled around, grasping her nipples in an iron grip. "I tried to be nice." He shook his head, waving his hand as he commanded air to brush gently against Marissa's cheek. "Now we'll have to do this the hard way." "You really think I'd hesitate to ground you??" Edgar could not believe how naive the young woman was. She knew she was breaking the rules. She should have understood the consequences of her actions. "As far as I know, Miss Hawthorne did not try to sneak out in the middle of the night. As far as I know, Miss Hawthorne remained sick in her room." Edgar tilted his head to the side, scowling at Marissa. "You don't think that explains why she wasn't grounded?" She could tell he was mocking her. Pulling his hand back, Edgar wrapped Marissa in a sheath of air, pulling her closer and leaving the young woman dangling awkwardly in the air, her feet some five inches above the ground. "No one? Rat. Give me a name." Raising his hand, he used his power to wrap invisible arms around her neck, willing the air to choke her. "Are we going to have a productive talk, girl, or are you going to be stubborn?" He laid his hand on Marissa's knee, running his fingers up along her thigh, still hoping to eke out a reaction from her. "You know no one will believe a word you say." He figured that she'd be smart enough to figure out what he meant with his words. ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ When air pinched her nipples once more, Marissa actually squeaked like a little rat. The sharp pain shot through her nipples as if he'd pierced a needle through them. "I don't dress like one," she shot back at him, offended. He was closer now, so close she could smell his cologne. If he hadn't had her pinned against the wall, she might have appreciated it, but now she'd rather he backed the fuck off. "I don't fuck around, anywhere." She too knew that some students did, but she was not one of them. She was no virgin, but she did not sleep around. How long had it been since the last time she had sex? It must have been at least six months. And how long since someone had touched her? Maybe two. Blaze was rather new to her, but she was determined to get further with him. Soon. If only professors like Mr. Beaufort would stop interfering with her plans. She glared at him. He tried to be nice? Was this his idea of being nice? Pinning her to the door, hurting her nipples, not to mention, peeking at her goddamn panties. Marissa tried not to wince at the pain in her nipples, but he made the air squeeze them ​ so fucking hard. "Ground me then!" she almost yelled in his face. In reality, she just needed an excuse to scream, the pain making it hard for her to think straight. Actually, this whole situation was humiliating. "It's fucking unfair, but go ahead, do it!" A small yelp escaped her lips as the door disappeared from behind her back and her arms fell—she could finally move them again. "There is no—" she started yelling, only for her voice to be cut off by an invisible hand squeezing her neck. Instinctively, her hands flew up as if trying to remove this hand, but her fingers only clawed at her own skin. Panic struck her as a lightning bolt. Her vision was slowly disappearing, Mr. Beaufort's face getting blurry by the second. She refused to black out on his watch. God knew what would happen if she did. She tried to beg him to stop, but even though her lips mouthed 'please', no sound came out. But when she felt his fingers brushing against her knee and trailing up her thigh, the invisible hand squeezing her throat was the least of her worries. As if his touch had burned her, her hands came flying down, her fingers wrapping around his forearm in an attempt to pull his arm away. He had absolutely no right to touch her in that manner—or any manner really. Despite her vision being covered with black and white clouds, she looked at him with pleading eyes. 'Please don't' her eyes said. At this point, she didn't know what she feared the most; blacking out or finding out what would happen when his fingers reached her panties. Neither seemed like a good option, and she'd rather not experience any of them. ​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "Really now?" Edgar huffed, his voice strained. He was slowly losing his temper, and as much as he wanted to fuck Marissa up, he knew there were limits to what he could do. Seeing that she had done nothing to defend herself, he kept pushing. Edgar refused to believe that she had no spirit in her. He could practically taste it. "You have the gall to tell me that while wearing this?" He reached to flick the hem of her skirt, his calloused fingers brushing against her thighs. "I beg your fucking pardon." Marissa could hear the mirth in his voice; Edgar was as amused as he was frustrated. He didn't believe a word the young woman said. Not after the clumsy lies she had tried to tell. "Who you fuck is not my business, Marissa. As long as you don't break the fucking curfew to get someone to pet your kitty." The vice dean rolled his eyes, a soft sigh escaping his lips. "Ground you?" Edgar tsked with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. He had a far better idea. "I don't think so." The petulant student needed to be taught a lesson she wouldn’t forget. Edgar was certain grounding Marissa would achieve little—besides, she would have no chance to test her powers in her room. "As it happens, I am your teacher. I get to decide what's fair and what's not." The Fenwick staff had powers the teachers at normal colleges could only dream about. The Agency considered this a necessary evil, both wanting to control and keep the students safe. "You'll meet me tomorrow at the grand hall at ten in the evening," Edgar announced. "I think you need some supplementary lessons. He looked markedly at Marissa. "You'll show up on time or I'll make the rest of the semester a living hell for you." He didn't bother explaining himself, figuring that her imagination would do the work for him. "Do you understand me, girl?" Edgar waved his hand, jolting Marissa in the air. "There is no what?" Edgar asked, grinning. "I don't think I quite heard you, girl." He knew full well she was struggling to draw breath, his voice dripping with mockery. "Did you try to say something?" Wiggling his fingers, he tightened his hold on Marissa's neck for a moment to keep her busy. Grinning, he reached beneath her skirt, hooking his fingers under the waistband of her panties, tugging them down to her knees. Determined, Edgar grabbed her thigh and pulled her panties all the way down. "I'll be taking these." Smirking, Edgar stuffed her panties into his pocket as he watched Marissa squirm in the air. "I trust you'll be able to find the way to your rooms, Miss Wilde?" Marissa could feel the pressure ease on her neck, allowing her to draw breath once more. "Until tomorrow, then." Turning his back on Marissa, he walked away from her, the young woman still dangling in the air. Whistling a happy tune, Edgar disappeared into the hallway, Marissa tumbling down to the floor moments later. ​

 

[reverie.]

𝖘𝖈𝖊𝖓𝖊 𝖙𝖜𝖔 ᴘ ᴜ ꜱ ʜ ᴇ ᴅ  ᴛ ᴏ  ᴛ ʜ ᴇ  ʟ ɪ ᴍ ɪ ᴛ ​

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Marissa still couldn't believe that Prof. Beaufort had stolen her panties. He had tucked them away like a fucking pocket watch, and God knew if she would ever see them again. It wasn't like she could report them missing, not to mention stolen. Who would she even go to? The Headmistress? Hell no. She would ask too many questions, and Marissa wasn't particularly keen on explaining how—or when—the professor had confiscated them. Even if she did, Marissa was certain the Headmistress would side with the professor. She figured the only solution was to buy a new pair. Throughout the next day, Marissa found herself constantly reaching for her throat. One second she couldn't breathe, the next she was fine. If it wasn't for yesterday's events she might have believed she was going crazy, but Marissa knew exactly what—and who—was causing it. A few times she'd spotted him in a crowd, and other times she hadn't dared to turn her head. His gift was dangerous. The fact that he was allowed to use it whenever he fucking wanted, terrified her. Now, her gift was pretty dangerous too, but she wasn't allowed to use it outside of class. Besides, since she wasn't allowed to hurt other students—and definitely not professors—there wasn't much she could do during her free time. Since throwing fireballs would only get her in trouble, the only thing she could have done was light candles, and that wasn't exactly the most exciting thing to do on campus. The young woman couldn't wait for this day to be over, but at the same time, she didn't want it to end either. Because at ten o'clock this evening, she was supposed to meet Prof. Beaufort in the Grand Hall for what he had called supplementary lessons—whatever that meant. She could pretend she had forgotten, but Marissa didn't have a death wish. And with all the reminders he had given her throughout the day, it would have been hard to convince him that it simply slipped her mind. She'd written Blaze a note earlier because she was too afraid to approach him when the professor might be lurking around the corner. The last thing she needed was for him to figure out who she had dressed up for yesterday—despite her attempt at lying. After dinner, she'd tried to catch up on some homework, but she struggled to focus. She constantly glanced at the time, afraid she might lose track of it and be late for her lesson. When she left her room a quarter to ten, she'd made no progress on her homework, and she'd changed into a pair of black jeans—she was not granting him another opportunity to steal her panties—and a loose sweater. If he was going to give her private lessons at this hour, she should at least be allowed to do it comfortably. To her utter surprise, Prof. Beaufort wasn't in—or anywhere near—the Grand Hall when she arrived with four minutes to spare. Nor did he show up when the clock struck ten. A part of her hoped he had forgotten all about it, but she knew better than to leave right away. She waited. . . and waited. . and by 10:15, she pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning against to pace the hallway. The teacher's lounge was right down the hall, so she could always check there. Perhaps he got stuck chatting with someone? The lounge sounded empty, but she knocked nonetheless. First three times, then three more. Nothing. She tried the handle, expecting it to be locked—it always was. Not that she'd tried it before, but she knew. No students were allowed inside, but— Marissa peeked inside. It was a lot bigger than she imagined. No wonder the professors liked it here. It was basically a small apartment. She quickly slipped inside and closed the door. If Prof. Beaufort showed up in the meantime, he wouldn't check for her here. She could make it back to the Grand Hall without him ever knowing she'd set foot in there. Her eyes scanned the room, and although the couch looked comfy as fuck, she was more interested in the fancy glass bottle standing on the coffee table. Smirking to herself, she poured herself a tiny glass. No one would notice a few drops missing if she left everything where she found it. She smelled the liquid before placing the glass against her lips. If it was poisoned she'd be fucked—but poisoned or not, it tasted like shit. Marissa coughed into her hand. It wasn't the taste that got to her, it was the intense burn. Holy fuck. She glanced down at the liquid still left in the glass. Why the fuck had she filled almost a third of it? Grimacing, she leaned over the table, aligning the tip of the glass with the small opening of the bottle. All she had to do was pour it back into the bottle, and no one would even know it had left it. Focusing on the task at hand while trying to ignore the burning sensation in her throat, she tilted the glass until a tiny stream started flowing into the bottle. This would take fucking forever. But when it was done, she would leave. She would get the fuck out of there before someone decided to stop by. ​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Reaching his room on the top floor of the main building, Edgar stepped in and kicked his shoes off his feet. The teachers lived on the campus for free, never having to worry about living expenses. The Agency had them covered. This arrangement was meant to keep the teachers near the students around the clock should something unexpected happen. As the teachers were all talented, the Agency could ask them to restrain any student running amok. Muttering under his breath, Edgar walked to one of his cabinets and pulled it open, dropping Marissa's panties on the small pile of undergarments lying at the bottom of the drawer. The headstrong young woman was neither his first nor his last victim. Chuckling softly, Edgar shuffled to his desk, sitting down and reaching for a bottle. He filled a glass that had seen better days, taking a small sip before putting it down and grabbing a stack of papers. He figured he should start grading the last week's exams, seeing how he had found himself something fun to do for the next day. * * *​ Glancing at the clock on his wrist, Edgar pushed himself up from his chair and left his room, slowly making his way toward Grand Hall on the first floor. He had been thinking about how he would punish Marissa, the wicked man spending most of the day in a good mood. He had even allowed his four PM class to leave early, leaving the students wondering if their professor was sick. Not that anyone had voiced their concerns. They knew better than to pester the surly man. Knowing that he was already a few minutes late, Edgar figured that there was no harm in making Marissa wait. Seeing how she had broken the rules, he was more than happy to leave the young woman squirming for a few minutes. He was certain he could push her to strike at him, allowing him to truly test her mettle. While he had enjoyed tormenting Marissa the night before, he had found her spirit wanting. Edgar was certain there was more to the young woman. Reaching the hallway leading to the Grand Hall, Edgar expected to see Marissa fidgeting by the doors. Instead, the corridor was empty. The professor cursed under his breath. He was about to turn away when he heard a faint cough from the distance, the voice distinctly feminine. With no one in sight, the sounds had to have come from the teacher's lounge. A lounge no one should have been using at this hour. Frowning, Edgar spread his hands and willed the air a few feet around him to remain still, effectively stifling the sound of his footsteps. Knowing the person in the lounge couldn’t hear him, he walked slowly to the door, preparing to unleash his talent on the intruder if necessary. Pushing the door slowly open, he peered into the room, Edgar rolled his eyes in annoyance. He could see Marissa trying to pour the contents of a glass back into a bottle. A bottle of expensive Delamain Très Vénérable that he had brought to campus a week ago. Sighing, Edgar waved his hand, allowing the air around him to flow freely again. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hissed, startling Marissa and causing her to spill some of the amber liquid on the table. “This lounge is off-limits,” he huffed. Edgar walked to Marissa and snatched the glass from her fingers, setting it down on the table with an audible clack. He was furious with the young student. She could see the anger in his eyes. “Do you have any idea how expensive that is?” he snapped, reaching for her wrist, his nails biting into her skin. “Do you?” Edgar twisted her arm behind her back, tugging hard. With Marissa unable to move, he slipped his hand around her neck and pulled her close. She could feel his breath on her neck, the scent of his aftershave washing over her. Pinned as she was against his chest, she could hear him smirk. She was at his mercy. He had caught her breaking the rules once again. She was fucked. “What on earth were you thinking, girl?” With Edgar's fingers digging into the soft skin of her neck, Marissa struggled to draw breath. “Why couldn't you just wait by the doors? Is it because you're a nosy little rat?” He shook her, easing his hold for a moment to let her gasp for air, only to tighten it once more. Much to her dismay, Marissa could feel something pressing against her rump, Edgar hard in his pants. He couldn't help himself. Watching her struggle left him aroused. “I think you should learn some manners,” Edgar growled, pulling Marissa closer to ensure she felt his cock rub against her rear. “You should clean up the mess you made. Don't you think?” Letting go of her neck, he bent Marissa over, forcing her cheek against the table, the cool wood pressing against her skin. “You tardy little fuck,” Edgar said, tugging her arm as he reached to grasp her curls in his hand. “Lick. It. Clean,” he commanded her, pulling her hair, his voice dripping with indignant fury.“You wanted to taste some, didn't you? Go on. Lick it.” ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "What the fuck are you doing?"​ Edgar's voice made her jump. Her hand twitched involuntarily and the stream of liquid that was supposed to go into the bottle spilled onto the table instead. "Professor!" she squealed, her eyes widening in terror. It wasn't like the risk of being caught hadn't been present, but she hadn't really imagined being caught red-handed like this. Not by him. But then again, who else would be roaming these halls at this hour? He was bound to come around at some point—fuck, why couldn't he have waited two more minutes? That would have given her enough time to empty the remains of the glass into the bottle and slip out from the lounge unnoticed. "I uh—" She didn't know what to say. "It's not what it looks like, I swear," she said as he snatched the glass from her hand. But they both knew that was fucking bullshit. It was exactly what it looked like. Marissa was trying to pour the liquid she'd intended to steal into the bottle again while being inside a lounge that was prohibited for students. She refused to believe that this garbage was expensive. "What? This piece of—aahngh!" She winced at the pain erupting in her arm when he twisted it around her back and pulled her towards him. Her free hand immediately reached for the one he wrapped around her neck. The masculine scent of his aftershave filled her nostrils and she hated how good he smelled. Another wave of fear started to wash over her when she found it difficult to breathe. Not again. "I did, I did!" she croaked. She had waited by the door for several minutes. He was the one who hadn't shown up on time. "You didn't come!" Whenever he eased his hold on her throat, she drew in as much air as she could, the inhale almost hurting her lungs. But somehow that wasn't what frightened her the most. No, it was the hard bump she felt against her ass. Professor Beaufort was fucking aroused and he didn't even try to hide it from her. He pulled her closer, his erection pressing against her butt crack. Her face flushed at the sensation, but she pretended she didn't notice, that she didn't know what it was. But she knew. It felt pretty massive too. Marissa tried to shake her head. No, she did not think she should clean up the mess she'd made, especially not—"Aahng!" A startled cry escaped her lips when he bent her over the table, pressing the side of her face against the flat, cold surface. Her face was no more than an inch from the amber liquid she'd spilled. Her breathing became frantic as he ushered her to lick it up. In panic, she tried to lift herself up, but her head only pressed against his hand. He was too strong, and the way he twisted her arm behind her back didn't exactly make it easy for her to gain any leverage. Not that the fingers he had wrapped in her hair did her any good either. "No," she said, avoiding opening her mouth more than absolutely necessary, just in case he felt the need to move her head. There was no way she was licking it up. First of all, she was not licking the fucking table. Second of all, the liquid tasted like horseshit. Thirdly, she was not a fucking cat. And lastly, she did not take orders like that from assholes like him. She was more than willing to clean it up, but not with her tongue. ​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "Not what it looks like. What do you think this looks like?" Edgar scoffed, rebuking Marissa's excuses. She was a grown woman. He knew she ought to have known better. Unfortunately, Marissa seemed to have a penchant for finding herself in trouble. It was as if she couldn't help herself. Considering how Fenwick was supposed to ensure that its students would become responsible members of society, Edgar considered her attitude his problem. "You know you shouldn't be here, Marissa. You know you shouldn't be stealing," he snapped, calling Marissa out for what she had done. She could hear the displeasure in Edgar's voice. "I told you to wait, didn't I?" Marissa could hear the ire in his voice, Edgar keeping a tight hold of her. "How fucking hard can it be to just sit tight and wait, sweetie." Somehow, Edgar knew she wasn't the type to sit around. He had caught her trying to sneak out after all. Marissa was trouble. "How fucking hard can it be to not snoop around. Rules exist for a fucking reason, you sneaky little cunt." Pressing his hand down on Marissa's cheek, Edgar rubbed her face against the table. With her hand behind her back, there was precious little the young woman could do to fight off her assailant. He held her tight, allowing her no respite. Marissa had been fucking around long enough. Edgar figured it was about time she found out just how miserable he could make her life. "You have no idea what I can get away with," Edgar taunted Marissa, slowly grinding his erection against her jeans. Her whimpers had left the sadistic professor's sizeable cock aching hard. Large as he was, Marissa could feel exactly what Edgar was doing. He was certain she'd understand what he meant with his words. After all, he had taken her panties the last night. "I'd be careful if I were you. You know, think twice before saying anything stupid." He tugged her hand, knowing he was hurting her. Edgar was making a point. If Marissa would not listen to reason, perhaps he could make her fear him. Perhaps he could force her to obey. Taking half a step back, he eased his fingers on her rear, slowly caressing the curve of her hip. Smirking, he groped her, his fingers sinking into the cloth of her pants. "You have such a nice ass, Marissa," he told her, allowing his hand to slowly slip between her legs, his fingertips pressing firmly against her sex. "Are you wearing cute panties today as well?" Edgar asked, his voice softer now as he teased her. "Black lace?" "Maybe I should spank your little ass," Edgar growled, pressing his hand on Marissa's pussy, running his fingers up and down along the seam of her jeans, roughly masturbating her. "Maybe that would teach you a lesson." Marissa could hear hunger dripping from his voice, the tall professor enjoying himself at her expense. "...or maybe you'll just fucking do what I told you to do." Stepping closer again, Edgar grabbed a fistful of her hair and pressed her face against the table. "Lick the fucking table clean, cunt." Edgar grunted, nudging her head closer to the small puddle she had left on the table. "Now." Marissa could feel Edgar's nails digging into her neck. "Lap it all up, or I'll spank your cute little ass so bad you can't sit for a week." ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "I'm not stealing," she snapped back, even though that was exactly what she was doing. At least in theory, considering she couldn't give back the sip she'd taken—although she'd really like to. She tried to push back up, only to be held in place. He was too strong even without his powers. "I did wait!" she repeated, her tone both annoyed and desperate. If he had shown up on time, they wouldn't even be in this situation. If she had shown up on time, she wouldn't even be in there, and he wouldn't have caught her red-handed. "How fucking hard can it be to show up on time," she mocked, emphasizing each word and using his own words against him. She winced at the pain erupting in the side of her face when he pushed her cheek harder against the flat surface. The bastard was grinding his erection against her ass—she could almost feel it grow. And it felt big. No matter how much she squirmed and fought to break free from his iron grip, he didn't stop. He didn't let go. "I know!" she yelled. He could probably get away with murder. Not that Marissa was afraid he'd kill her, but the thought was still rather disturbing. She didn't really want to know what he was insinuating, but a part of her knew. Oh, she knew. "You think you can—Aangnhh!" She winced again, the pain shooting through her shoulder this time. When she felt his hand exploring her ass, she'd wiggled her hips ever so slightly in an attempt to avoid his fingers. But instead of avoiding them, his hand ended up between her legs. She wondered if he could feel how warm it was. . . down there. A faint gasp escaped her lips as she automatically clenched her thighs together, trapping his hand between her thighs. She clenched her jaw, breathing through her nose. "No," she said. It was neither a lie nor the truth. Her panties were cute, but they were not black lace like the one he'd stolen yesterday. These were white with tiny flowers on them. Marissa squirmed against the table, trying her best to ignore the friction she felt between her legs. One part of her wanted him to stop; the other part wished she'd worn a skirt instead. "Maybe you shouldn't," she muttered, whimpering softly. She didn't want to be spanked—or maybe she did. She couldn't quite make up her mind. But before she had time to come up with a conclusion, he chose for her. And it was not spankings. A painful cry filled the air when he grabbed a fistful of her hair and pressed her face onto the table once more. He'd dragged her cheek so close to the puddle she'd spill that all she had to do was stick out her tongue. His fingers dug into her neck and scalp, and she grimaced at the situation she found herself in. He didn't exactly give her much of a choice. So, she gave in. Sticking her tongue out, she started licking the liquid she had spilled, groaning as she did it. She knew it didn't taste good, but God, it tasted like shit. Grimacing between every lick, Marissa tried her best to lick up every single drop. She wasn't going to give him a single fucking reason to spank her at all, let alone so hard she wouldn't be able to sit for a week.​

 

[Koura]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ edgar beaufort ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ "I come when I come, Marissa," Edgar said, the vice dean audibly annoyed with Marissa's feeble protests. "No one told you to snoop around. You had this coming." Holding the young woman tightly, he reached for his talent, freezing the air in her lungs for a few seconds. Unable to exhale, he ensured that Marissa could not argue. The blonde woman was forced to come to terms with the fact that she could not fight back, at least not without using her own talent. "You just couldn't sit in place, could you?" Edgar taunted Marissa, his soft voice dripping with mockery. "How fucking hard is it to sit tight on your cute little butt?" Releasing the air in Marissa's lungs, Edgar struck her rump with an open hand hard enough that his palm stung. He wanted to hear how she would yelp. "I do what the fuck I want." Edgar could not believe the nerve the girl had. Marissa had to know he had caught her red-handed. She had to know that she had no business being in the teacher's lounge, and yet she fought him. She should have apologized and begged for mercy, but instead, she tried to reason with him. Her antics only made him itch to stuff his cock in her ass, just to see if that would shut her up. Both frustrated and aroused, Edgar felt he couldn't keep his fingers off Marissa. "So you had better learn some manners, cunt." His voice rang with disdain. "'No' is just a word." She could feel him pause for a moment, his hand firmly lodged between her legs. "If you don't want me pulling your pants down and spanking your cute little ass, you'd better get that little tongue of yours going." Easing his hand free, Edgar gave Marissa's rump a firm squeeze. "I want you to put your mouth to good use and lick up every fucking last drop," Edgar snarled, inching her mouth closer to the small puddle she had spilled on the table. Edgar watched Marissa with grim satisfaction as she began lapping up the mess she had made, the disgust flickering on her features turning him on. He was quite enjoying himself on her behalf. "Good girl," he praised Marissa for her submission, his voice warm and mellow. "Keep licking. Don't fucking dare to stop. You spilled it. I want to see you lap it all up," Edgar commanded, leaning over Marissa. Figuring that the humiliated young woman wouldn't try to pry herself free, he let go of her hand and reached between her legs once more, seeking out the warmth he had felt earlier. "Keep going." His voice was quiet yet demanding, Edgar pushing his knee between her legs to pry them open. Much to her disgust, Marissa could feel Edgar touching her once more, his deft fingers brushing against her jeans. He seemed to know exactly how to touch her, his fingertips brushing against every right spot. "Go on," he beckoned Marissa, amused that she did not protest. It was almost as if she wanted him to touch her. "Don't stop." Pinned down against the table, there was little she could do to avoid Edgar's touch, his knee firmly between her legs. Pulling his hand back a little, Edgar moved to grope Marissa's rump, tugging and pulling. "You have such a nice ass," he murmured, taking his time feeling her. Exhaling softly, he slipped his hand between her legs again, his deft fingers opening the button of her jeans as he reached for her zipper. ​

 

[reverie.]

╭─────────  .  ★  .  .  ─╮ marissa wilde ╰─  .  .  ★  .  ─────────╯ ​ Prof. Beaufort allowed her to breathe again right before he slapped her ass so hard it burned through her pants, leaving her choking on the air around her. It was still so fucking unfair, that he—and the rest of the staff—could use their gift whenever they wanted. He didn't even have to worry about the consequences. If she were to use her gift, she'd not only be punished, but she'd risk being expelled too. Marissa couldn't afford that. If she could, he'd be toast by now. But Marissa kept her gift in check; she didn't have a death wish. She let out a loud groan but kept licking up the foul liquid from the table. It still tasted like shit. It wasn't easy either, to lick it. She wasn't a cat. Her tongue wasn't meant to perform acts like this. And yet, despite the frustration and the humiliation, something stirred when he praised her. Good girl. Those two words sent a jolt of arousal to her core. She squirmed against him, but at this point, it wasn't evident if it was to get away from him or get closer. Marissa stopped for a second when she felt his hand between her legs again, but she didn't fight—not too hard, at least—when he pried her legs apart with his knee. As if remembering what she was doing, her tongue continued its quest to clean up the mess she'd made earlier. She didn't say a word, even though a part of her wanted to tell him to fuck off. His hand was rubbing against her pussy—through her jeans, thank God—and it felt. . . surprisingly good. Marissa would never admit it, but a part of her didn't want him to stop. Instead, she pretended as thought it did not affect her. As though he wasn't stroking her through her jeans or squeezing her butt. She tried to convince herself it didn't feel good; that she hated his touch—and a part of her did. And she was doing so well. . . until his fingers unbuttoned the button of her pants. Her hand found his wrist. "Stop," she said, but her voice was barely a whisper. Did she even mean it? Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, but she made no attempt to push him away. Marissa just squeezed gently, as if holding onto him. Was it a warning or an invitation? She might as well have said please. Marissa wasn't necessarily afraid of Prof. Beaufort touching her—even though she should be terrified—but she was afraid of him finding out exactly how much her body craved his touch. Because if he touched her directly. . . chances were, she would not be able to hide it for much longer.​