"Azira Sidorov."
I whip around at the sound of that voice. The way it called my name. It could only be one person. One person who could make all the hairs on my arm straighten.
Oh God.
He's here.
The bass-thumping music grows louder and my heart is pounding against my rib cage as he takes the empty seat by my side. His unique hazel eyes are fixed on me like lasers, burning holes into my skin.
I didn't want to come out tonight, but Natalya wouldn't take no for an answer. Now, I'm glad she wouldn't. I'm glad I didn't stay home.
As I glance over at Professor Luigi and our eyes meet, it feels like an intense jolt of electricity pulses through my veins, forcing me to break eye contact and sending my heart rate into overdrive. I open my mouth, sucking in air greedily.
Sweet Jesus.
He's so unbelievably beautiful, with dark hair cut to a medium length and always styled without a hair out of place and a strong jaw with just the exact right amount of stubble. His eyes move from me as he glares at the rest of the students, and I allow myself to look at him again.
I swallow hard as I zero in on those eyes, struggling to believe how utterly stunning they are in the dim light of this club. There is pure, sadistic delight dancing in them as he watches the students cower at his stare.
Most people wouldn't use the word beautiful to describe the man sitting next to me. They'd call him sadistic, twisted, depraved. Most of the students at SA fear him, but I've had a crush on him since the day I ended up at the wrong end of his whip, perhaps even before then.
I swallow hard, wondering what that makes me. Maybe I'm twisted and depraved just like him. It was in ninth grade when I told Principal Byrne to shove his assignment up his ass in law class because I wanted to see what all the fuss was about. I remember so well the moment those normally dreaded words left Bryne's lips.
"Azira, straight to Luigi now."
I remember the fear I felt, but it was mingled with something else. Excitement, perhaps. A desire to find out if Professor Luigi's punishments were really as terrible as people described. The walk to his office I was buzzing with anticipation and then I'd looked into those eyes and the fear had quietened inside of me. They were so utterly beautiful that I couldn't be scared of him.
His accented voice was like butter when I stepped into the office.
"Sidorov, what are you doing here?"
His brow was furrowed, as I'd never been sent to him before. I remember it like it was yesterday. I told him the principal had sent me for punishment and I saw the delight in his eyes. A dark part of him lit up at the prospect of inflicting pain. It had an odd effect, one I couldn't quite understand at that age. A heat pulsing between my thighs and a coiling in my gut.
Once he took the whip to my back, the shame and confusion I felt at the enjoyment almost knocked me off my feet. After that day, I made sure I never got sent back to him because I was too ashamed of how good it felt. Too young and naïve to understand why it felt so good, and I think I'm still too inexperienced to truly understand it.
He glances at me, and there's a flash of recognition as our eyes meet. As if he recognizes the sickness inside of me. And then he leans a little closer and murmurs, "Aren't you drinking, Miss Sidorov?"
It's a simple question, but my mind misfires as I'm not used to him being so close that I can smell the woody scent of him. A scent that has stuck with me ever since that day in his office.
His brow arches, forcing me to speak.
"I had a drink, but I finished it," I say, dumbly.
A whisper of a smirk curls onto his lips, drawing my eyes to them. "Would you like to try mine?" He lifts the glass up and heat unfurls deep inside of me.
I shrug. "Sure." I reach for the glass and our fingers touch, electricity pulsing through my veins.
There's a fire burning in his eyes, as if he's taunting me as I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip of his whiskey, unable to break our eye contact despite the heat inside of me. It feels like I'm on fire.
"Thanks," I say, as I slide the glass back into his hand, allowing my finger to brush against his hand again.
His jaw clenches and nostrils flare, making my stomach churn. "I didn't think you were a rule breaker, Azira. A slacker, yes, but you've only ever been sent to me once."
My stomach churns as I wonder why he remembers that and if there's any significance to the memory sticking in his mind. "I may have succumbed to peer pressure," I reply.
His eyes flash with something undetectable. "Is that right?" His voice drops slightly lower. "Are you worried about the punishment you'll be getting at my hand because of tonight?" There's a sensuous tone to his voice, as if he's talking about something taboo.
I swallow hard. "I don't know what you mean, sir."
He smirks. "I think deep down you know exactly what I mean, Azira." The way he says my name makes my body erupt in flames. "There's a reason you never got sent to me again, and it's not because you fear the punishment I dole out like most of the other students." He shakes his head, a knowing look in his eyes. "It's because you don't understand why you got enjoyment from it."
It feels like he has cracked open my skull and is reading my mind like an open book. My pulse becomes unbelievably erratic as I stare at the God of a man next to me, wondering why he's bringing up my fucked-up reaction to the one time he punished me. Did he know that his punishment made me wetter than I'd ever been in my life? Or that I couldn't stop dreaming about him inflicting pain on me and making me come night after night?
I swallow hard. "I'm not sure what you're talking about."
He chuckles, the sound not friendly at all. "You're a terrible liar, Azira."
"What are you insinuating, sir?" I ask.
It's as if my question breaks him out of a daze as he shakes his head. Those hazel eyes turning cold and shuttered as he stands up and claps his hands, drawing everyone's attention to him.
"As fun as this has been, I'm not all together comfortable drinking with underage kids in a bar. Now, all of you need to head back to the academy."
Everyone grumbles in response to Luigi cutting our fun short, and I can't deny that a part of me is disappointed. I wanted to see where exactly he was going to take the conversation.
Does he truly know how aroused I was when he punished me that day?