Chapter 7: The Quiet Denial

  Lena didn’t even look up when Mira entered.

  She sat at the table as she always did—perfect posture, book open, pen in hand. Her hair was pinned back cleanly, her expression unreadable. If anything was different about tonight, she didn’t show it.

  Mira stood there a moment too long.

  The st time she was in this room, she had come apart under Lena’s hand. She remembered her thighs trembling, the burn of restraint, the sound of her own quiet whimper buried against her sleeve.

  Now, Lena barely acknowledged her.

  “Sit,” Lena said.

  So Mira did.

  She lowered herself into the same seat as st time—close, but not touching. Her body remembered what had happened here. Her skin buzzed with it. But Lena didn’t gnce over, didn’t touch her, didn’t even lean near.

  The silence wrapped around them tight.

  Mira cleared her throat. “You said to come prepared. I brought notes.”

  “Good.”

  Nothing else.

  Lena slid her hand toward Mira, palm open—not to touch her, but to take the notebook. Her fingers brushed against Mira’s as she took it. The lightest contact.

  Mira’s breath caught anyway.

  Lena read in silence, pen tapping softly at the page. Mira stared at her profile—the line of her jaw, the curve of her shes, the stillness of her body—and waited for something. A comment. A look. A move.

  Nothing came.

  “You rewrote the thesis,” Lena finally said, voice cool. “But you lost the crity. It’s too emotional now.”

  “Oh.” Mira’s voice shrank.

  Lena didn’t soften. “It’s not bad. It just isn’t precise.”

  Mira nodded, eyes dropping. Her cheeks burned.

  Lena turned another page. “You were distracted when you wrote this.”

  Mira flinched.

  “I—I guess I was.”

  “Why?”

  Mira hesitated. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak.

  Lena didn’t press her. She simply returned the notebook.

  “Fix it by next week.”

  That was it.

  No leaning closer. No fingers beneath the table. No whispered commands, no dangerous smile. Just silence and cold calm.

  Mira felt suddenly small.

  The session went on for twenty minutes. Lena pointed out grammar errors, offered feedback, handed her a short reading list. All of it polite. Professional. Distant.

  Like Mira was any other student.

  By the time Lena stood to leave, Mira couldn’t take it.

  “Did I do something wrong?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

  Lena turned back slowly.

  Her expression stayed unreadable. Her eyes, though, flicked down Mira’s frame—one slow sweep.

  Then Lena leaned in just slightly.

  “You’re used to being touched now?” she asked, quiet.

  Mira blinked. “What?”

  “Last week. You came so easily,” Lena said, voice soft but sharp-edged. “I thought maybe you needed time to think about what that meant.”

  “I—”

  “You’re still too reactive, Mira. Still too eager. It clouds your focus.”

  Mira swallowed hard. Her heart was thudding.

  “I just… I didn’t expect you to act like nothing happened.”

  Lena’s smile was faint. “I never said it meant nothing.”

  “Then why—?”

  Lena leaned in just enough to let her breath brush Mira’s cheek.

  “Because control doesn’t always look like touch.”

  Mira’s breath caught.

  “I’m not here to reward you every time you show up wet and waiting,” Lena whispered. “Sometimes, I want to watch you need it.”

  Mira’s knees nearly buckled where she sat.

  “Come prepared next week. Again,” Lena said, voice smooth as satin. “And maybe I’ll let you earn it.”

  Then she turned and left—quiet as ever, heels clicking softly down the hallway.

  Mira sat frozen, thighs clenched, body throbbing with the tension Lena left behind.

  And the worst part?

  She wanted more.