"Kneel," she had commanded.

Kai sank to the floor. The Persian rug was thick and soft beneath his knees, a stark contrast to the cold tile of the school corridor. From this angle, the world shifted. He was no longer looking at her face; he was looking up at the endless expanse of her bare legs, smooth and pale in the dim amber light.

The white shirt she wore ended dangerously high on her thighs. Every time she shifted, the fabric rode up, offering glimpses of shadow and skin that made Kai’s mouth go dry.

He rested his hands on his thighs, looking up at her like a devotee at an altar.

"Comfortable?" Anastasia asked, her voice laced with amusement.

"Yes, Ma'am," Kai whispered, though his heart was hammering against his ribs.

"Good."

She swirled the red wine in her glass, watching the crimson liquid coat the sides. Then, slowly, she dipped her index finger into the glass. She held it there for a moment, letting the wine soak her skin, before pulling it out. A single, dark red drop clung to her fingertip, ready to fall.

She extended her hand toward him.

"Open," she ordered softly.

Kai hesitated for a fraction of a second. It was such a degrading, intimate gesture. But the look in her eyes—expectant, commanding, and undeniably hungry—shattered his resistance.

He parted his lips.

Anastasia placed her finger into his mouth.

The taste of the wine was sharp and acidic, exploding on his tongue, but it was instantly overpowered by the taste of her—salt, skin, and vanilla. He instinctively wrapped his tongue around her finger, sucking the wine away.

"Gently," she scolded softly, though her eyes glittered with pleasure. "Don't bite. Use your tongue. Savour it."

Kai obeyed. He swirled his tongue around her finger, cleaning every drop of wine, treating her skin with a desperate reverence. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the sensation. It was humiliating. It was electric.

She withdrew her finger slowly, dragging it over his lower lip, leaving a wet shine behind.

"Good boy," she cooed.

The praise hit him harder than the wine. It triggered a rush of warmth in his chest, a pathetic, eager desire to please her even more. I am enjoying this, he thought again, the realization sinking deeper. I like being her good boy.

Anastasia reached for a small crystal bowl on the side table. It was filled with dark, ripe cherries.

"The chapter for tomorrow is 'Control and Coordination,'" she lectured, her tone shifting back to that of a professor, creating a dizzying dissonance with her actions. "It deals with how the brain processes sensory information. Taste. Touch. Pleasure."

She picked up a cherry by its stem, dangling it above his face.

"Tell me, Kai. When I feed you... which part of your nervous system is firing?"

She lowered the cherry. Kai stretched his neck up, catching the fruit in his mouth. He bit down, the sweet, dark juice bursting on his tongue.

"The... the sensory cortex," Kai mumbled around the fruit, chewing slowly.

"And?" she prompted, picking up another cherry. She brushed the cool fruit against his cheek, then his lips, teasing him before allowing him to take it.

"And the... the limbic system," Kai gasped as she finally pushed the cherry past his lips. "The center of... emotion and reward."

"Correct," she whispered.

She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. The white shirt gaped open. From his position on the floor, Kai had a direct line of sight to the curve of her breasts, free and heavy beneath the cotton.

"You are responding to the reward, Kai," she said, running her hand through his hair, her fingers scratching lightly against his scalp. "I give you sustenance. I give you pleasure. And in return, your brain releases dopamine. You are becoming chemically dependent on me."

She smiled—a slow, terrifyingly beautiful curve of her lips.

"You are not just my student anymore," she murmured, scratching behind his ear like he was a favorite pet. "You are my experiment. My project."

She dipped her finger into the wine glass again.

"Another taste?" she offered.

Kai didn't hesitate. He leaned forward, his mouth open, desperate for more. He was no longer fighting the current; he was letting it drown him.