She didn’t come to his office the next night.
Vance waited until midnight, his c**k hard with anticipation, his mind flooded with images of what he would do to her — against the wall, over the desk, in the shower he’d had installed specifically for these sessions.
He would make her scream until she couldn’t remember her own name.
She never appeared. The next morning, Amelia sat in the back of the lecture hall. Dressed in gray — sweater, jeans, boots. No skirt. No lace. No invitation in her eyes.
Vance called on her. She didn’t respond. Simply stared through him, her expression blank, as if he were furniture.
“Miss Carter,” he repeated, his voice sharp. “The symbolism in Eliot?”
She stood, gathered her things, and walked out of the lecture hall. The withdrawal began immediately.
Van
