Readers POV:
You are Eva Orlov, Hogwarts' newest history professor-and you're not alone. Tom Riddle, enigmatic and brilliant, begins his tenure as the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. From the moment you meet, an undeniable pull draws you to...
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*UPDATED Sep.13th.2024 ~Tom's POV ~
I hadn't planned on seeing Eva today, yet there she was, standing at the edge of the Forbidden Forest—so close to danger, so unaware of it. And then, of course, her wretched husband appeared. Theodore. A useless, pathetic man. I will have to dispose of him eventually, but for now, I'll let her handle it. She's the one who's allowed this garbage to fester in her life for far too long.
Now, here I am again, in her chambers, and I find myself mildly entertained by the silent tension between us. Her thumb brushes against my hand, and though I make no reaction, I hear her barely audible whisper, as if thinking aloud, "How badly I want to kiss you right now."
I arch an eyebrow, amused by her unintended confession. It's always the same—people can't resist me. It's predictable, yet never tiresome. With measured calm, I speak, my voice rasping slightly as I lean in, "Mrs. Orlov..."
The embarrassment that floods her face is almost endearing. She looks away, but I can't allow that. Slowly, deliberately, I reach for her chin, tilting her face up so she is forced to meet my gaze once more. There is defiance there, hidden beneath layers of hesitation, and it intrigues me. A challenge. One she doesn't even know she's presenting.
"You know, Mrs. Orlov," I continue softly, my voice no more than a whisper, "the forbidden fruit always tastes the sweetest."
Her eyes widen, fear and desire warring within them. I lean closer, letting the tension thicken between us, the air heavy with unspoken promises. She shivers slightly, caught between resisting and yielding. I can see it, feel it—the moment she falters, the moment her walls begin to crumble.
"But remember," I murmur against her skin, my breath warm, "indulgence always comes at a price."
She inhales sharply, her breath trembling. I see it now—the inevitable collapse of her resolve. The battle within her is lost, and we both know it. Her desires have already sealed her fate. With a predatory glint in my eyes, I pull her closer, her breath mingling with mine in a dance of surrender.
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As our lips meet, the thrill of victory surges through me. It's intoxicating—the power, the control. She is mine now, whether she realizes it or not. Every flicker of hesitation, every tremble, only fuels the fire within me. We are both players in this dangerous game, but it's I who holds the upper hand.
