The Pomegranate Society

Eight: Professor Aleksander Morozova

Eight:

Professor Aleksander Morozova

He left The Pomegranate Society sated. He wished he could say satisfied, but he wouldn't be satisfied. Not until he had the taste of Alina Starkov in his mouth. Not until she was his. Once she joined the society, there would be no going back. Even if she did date the Lantsov heir, he was confident he could get her to join. She was an orphan. She knew what it was like to have nothing. And even just one year as a member of the society was enough to set her up for life with wealth and connections.

The Society's headquarters wasn't far from his apartment. But, as he was driving home, he found himself stopping as he watched a girl come out of a brownstone. She wore a Royal Ravka University t-shirt and sweats, her dark hair was done up in a ponytail, and she was kissing someone good night. He gripped the steering wheel tightly as he realized who it was. Alina. Worse, he knew who the guy was.

Alina, and Prince Nikolai Lantsov.

He knew from his conversation with Zoya that this was, apparently, a possibility. However, he hadn't expected it to happen. Not really. Or worse, to see it with his own eyes. He watched as the Prince stroked her cheek and then slipped back inside his apartment closing the door.

When he was gone, Alina turned and froze. She'd seen his car. The black Mercedes was impossible not to notice. It was raining outside. He got out of the car. There was no denying that even in the dark she knew it was him. "Miss Starkov," he said darkly, "get in the car."

"Professor Morozova, it's not----"

"Aleksander," he said, "call me Aleksander."

She frowned. "I don't really think that's appropriate."

"Get in the damn car now, or I'm throwing you in," he grunted.

Alina glanced back at the apartment, as if she were thinking of running to her Prince. Please don't go back in there, he begged silently, please get in the car. He wanted to shout it at her.

Hesitantly, she walked towards him, and got into the car. She slammed the door shut behind her. "Are you following me now?" she demanded. "This is stalking."

"Someone should be, apparently," he said, "you're making all of the wrong choices, Miss Starkov. I would have thought better from you. You're a young girl with a bright future ahead and you choose to spend your time partying with the Lantsov heir---"

"Don't you mean fucking the Lantsov heir?" she said.

He pulled the car to a screeching stop. He gripped his steering wheel tightly. "Are you?"

"No," she said, "if you must know, that was my first date with Nikolai. He tried cooking for me, and it was a terrible failure. There was spaghetti sauce everywhere, so he let me shower and I changed into some clothes he had. My dress was ruined, so it's in my purse. Although just for the record, you're someone I've only known for two days really, you're my teacher, and none of this, who I fuck or don't, is any of your bloody business."

He heaved a sigh. "I know," he said, "that's very much the problem, Miss Starkov. I should like it to be my business."

They were sitting in the dark together. The rain was pitter-pattering across the roof of the car. He was aware of just how small and compact it was. He wasn't sure one could properly make love in there. What he was sure of was that Royal Ravka University shirt was loose on her, reminding him of her tiny frame. And all he could think about was how much he wanted her under him, and his cock inside of her.

He let out a groan as he could feel his cock hardening at the thought. "Saints."

From the passenger seat, Alina said, "Professor Morozova? Are you alright?"

He reached out and he stroked her cheek. "No, Alina. I'm not alright. Because I have been craving you since that first night I gave you a ride home. And I don't think I'm going to be alright until I've tasted you, my darling, naïve, girl."

Alina's breath hitched. "Saints."