Chapter 10: First Verbal Obedience
586 Words
He chose the moment with precision.
The room was full. A faculty panel. Three professors, twenty students, and me—tucked in the back, silent, pretending not to ache.
The question was about perspective in literature.
Julian Voss said my name. Loud enough to make me stand.
“Miss Sinclair,” he said, voice velvet and sharp. “Your thoughts?”
Everyone looked at me. But I only saw him.
I answered. Don’t ask what I said—I don’t remember. I just remember that when I finished, he nodded once.
And smiled.
No one noticed.
But that smile said: Good girl.
Afterward, I left fast. Not fast enough.
He found me in the corridor. Quiet steps. No greeting.
“I gave you an order,” he said.
I swallowed. “I answered in class.”
“No,” he said. “In the note.”
Next time, tell the whole truth.
I looked away. My shame sat heavy in my throat.
He handed me a card. His script. Thick paper. Folded.
“Read it alone. Come to my office at 9.”
He didn’t wait for me to say yes.
He knew I would.
The card read:
Say it out loud. Three times. No stuttering. No shame.
It didn’t say what. It didn’t have to.
I knew the words.
I want to be yours.
At 9:01, I knocked on his door.
“Enter.”
The light was low. Desk lamp only. He didn’t look up.
“Sit.”
I did.
Silence.
“Begin,” he said.
I opened the card. My throat dried.
“I want to be yours,” I said. Quietly.
He said nothing.
“I want to be yours.” My voice cracked.
Still, nothing.
One more time. I choked on it. Couldn’t finish.
My eyes dropped. Shame pressed in from all sides.
And then—he moved.
His chair slid back.
I looked up—just in time to see him rise and walk around the desk.
He came close. Closer.
Then he did something I never expected.
He knelt.
One knee down, one hand braced on the armrest of my chair. His other hand hung loose at his side. Controlled. Intentional.
I froze.
He wasn’t pleading.
He was claiming the space.
“Look at me,” he said.
I did.
His voice was low. Like thunder before a storm.
“You’re not saying the words because you’re unsure. You’re choking because they’re real now.”
My breath caught.
“I’m not here to overpower you, Elle,” he said. “I’m here to watch you fall—and to catch every part when you do.”
I blinked fast.
Not from fear.
From how safe I felt in that moment. Too safe. Too seen.
“Why are you on your knees?” I whispered.
His mouth didn’t move.
But his eyes said everything: Because I don’t need to stand to own you.
Before I could speak again—there were footsteps.
A sharp voice at the door: “Julian?”
He didn’t turn.
I did.
She walked in like she owned the room.
Dark coat. Crimson lipstick. Stilettos. Smiling like she’d just stepped into the scene she’d been waiting for.
She saw him kneeling.
She saw me breathless.
And she didn’t flinch.
“I see,” she said coolly.
Julian stood slowly. Back in control. Expression unreadable.
“Not now,” he said.
“Oh,” she said, her smile slicing into me, “but now is perfect.”
- Writer
