Lessons in Desire

[11] S- Fraying Control

The door to my dorm clicked shut behind me, and I leaned against it, feeling my heart still hammering in my chest. My legs wobbled, still shaky from the sensation of his hands on my skin, his lips on me, his fingers in me, the heat of his body pressed so close to mine. My pulse hadn't settled since we fled the library—since he made me feel like a puddle of warmth, desire, and something I couldn't quite name.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

I had a plan. A perfect one. One where I controlled every move, every interaction. Where I was the one pulling the strings. But with Lorenzo DeLuca, it was as if those threads were fraying. Slipping. Breaking apart with every stolen glance, every forbidden touch. And tonight, I was supposed to keep my wits about me. I was supposed to be the one driving this. I had every intention of playing him—just enough to leave him wanting more, to keep him on the edge, wondering what I'd do next.

But then...

The memories hit me like a wave, knocking the air out of my lungs. His hands, rougher than I expected, yet so gentle in the way they roamed over me. The way he pushed me against that shelf, his breath hot against my neck as his breath whispered against my skin, telling stories of all the ways he could make me melt. My mind had been so determined, so calculated. But the moment his fingers teased my skin, all of that control evaporated.

I cursed under my breath, dragging my fingers through my hair as I walked over to the mirror. My reflection stared back at me, flushed cheeks, lips still swollen from the frantic kisses we had shared, small bruises forming across my neck from his sucking and biting at my skin.

I was pissed. Not just at him—but at myself. I let him have that power. I let him reduce me to a mess, trembling and desperate for more. The way he touched me... it wasn't supposed to feel like that. The way he looked at me... I wasn't supposed to feel like that. I was supposed to be indifferent, detached. It was all part of the game. But the way he whispered my name, the way he touched me, the way he looked at me like I was the only thing in the world that mattered—I hated how much I craved it.

What the hell was happening to me?

I needed to be smarter. I needed to be in control. This whole thing wasn't supposed to be about... feeling. I wasn't supposed to melt under his touch.

But damn it, every time I thought about the way he pinned me down, the fire in his eyes as he watched me unravel for him... I shivered.

I pressed my fingers to my lips, still feeling the ghost of his kiss there. My whole body buzzed with the memory, and I hated it. How had I let him get so far under my skin? He was supposed to be the one wrapped around my finger, waiting on my next move. Yet here I was, burning from the inside out, trying to convince myself I didn't want more.

It was dangerous. The way he made me feel was dangerous. And I had to regain control. Fast.

But even as I told myself that, I knew it wasn't going to be easy. Lorenzo was more than just a distraction—he was intoxicating. Smart, too. The kind of man who could read between the lines, who could see beyond the surface. That both thrilled and terrified me. Because I wasn't just playing a game anymore. I was... involved. And that was a slippery slope.

The knock on the door snapped me out of my thoughts. I blinked at my reflection once more before forcing a neutral expression. I couldn't let anyone see what was really going on beneath the surface.

"Come in," I called, moving away from the mirror and sitting on the edge of my bed.

The door creaked open, and my roommate, Alex, stepped in, tossing her bag onto her desk chair before turning to face me with an expectant smile. She raised an eyebrow, clearly sensing something was up.

"So?" she asked, drawing the word out teasingly. "How did it go?"

I paused for a moment, considering how much to tell her. Alex was sharp. Too sharp, sometimes. She had a knack for seeing through the walls people put up, which was probably why we got along so well. But she didn't know everything—not yet, anyway. She didn't know about the way Professor DeLuca had consumed my thoughts, the way I was trying to play him, the way the lines between student and professor were blurring in ways I hadn't anticipated. And she definitely didn't know how close I was to losing control.

I smirked, leaning back on my bed and crossing my legs. "It went... exactly how I wanted it to," I said, my voice smooth and practiced, hiding the tumult of thoughts swirling in my mind.

Emily's eyes sparkled with curiosity, but she didn't press further. Not yet, anyway. She was content with my coyness—for now.

But even as I flashed her a playful grin, my mind wandered back to him. To the way he looked at me with those dark, intense eyes. To the way he made me feel things I didn't want to feel, the way his fingers made my toes curl.

Damn it. I needed to get a grip. Fast.

Because this was only the beginning. And I wasn't about to let Professor DeLuca be the one pulling the strings.

No. That was my job.

But as I lay back against my pillows, staring at the ceiling, a small part of me wondered if I was already too far gone.

And that? That was the most dangerous thought of all.