The Line We Crossed

Aria’s POV:

I didn’t go back to my dorm that night.

I didn’t even remember how I got home.

Wolfe carried me, I think. Wrapped me in one of his expensive trench coats, whispered something low against my hair, and slid me into the backseat of a car I didn’t remember calling.

The whole ride, I sat in silence with his jacket smelling like him—leather, spice, power. My thighs still shaking from the force of what he’d done to me. My voice long gone from how hard I’d screamed his name.

But the thing that haunted me most wasn’t the orgasm.

It was the way he’d looked at me afterward.

Not like a Dean.

Not like a Dom.

Like a man.

The next morning, Bellmere didn’t feel the same.

Everything was still perfect on the outside—manicured lawns, early fall leaves, the faint scent of overpriced espresso from the campus café. But I felt like I was walking through it naked.

Because I had no idea what we were anymore.

That afternoon, I got a text from an unknown number.

Rm 207. Now.

I didn’t hesitate.

When I arrived, the door was ajar. Inside, he wasn’t waiting behind the desk.

He was standing by the window, shirt sleeves rolled, tie loosened.

He looked… tense.

“Close the door,” he said without looking.

I did.

He turned slowly.

And that’s when I saw it: the contract.

A full stack of printed paper. Neat. Formal. The title on top read: Behavioral Agreement for Student Compliance.

“This is for me?” I asked.

“No.”

He stepped closer.

“It’s for us.”

I stared.

“Safewords. Rules. Boundaries. But also privileges. Ownership.”

My mouth went dry. “You want to formalize this?”

He nodded. “If we’re going to keep going, we do it my way. No more games. No more gray lines.”

“And if I say no?”

His jaw flexed. “Then we stop.”

It hit me then—how much control I really had.

But it also scared me.

Because I didn’t want to stop.

I wanted to fall deeper.

So I walked to the table, picked up the pen, and signed it.

But at the very bottom, I added one line:

He’s not allowed to fall in love with me.

When I handed it to him, he didn’t say a word.

He just stared at that line for a long, long time.

Then he folded the paper, locked it in a drawer, and said, “Strip.”

I obeyed.

This time, there were no cuffs. No orders. No toys.

Just hands.

His hands.

And the kind of sex that felt like something had broken open inside both of us.

He kissed me like I was air.

Held me like I was breakable.

Whispered my name like it hurt him.

And when we finished, he didn’t pull away.

He just rested his forehead against mine and said, “Tell me you didn’t mean that line.”

I should’ve lied.

But I didn’t.

“I meant every word.”

His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened.

And for the first time since this whole twisted thing began—

He looked devastated.

I had just redressed when the knock came.

Wolfe tensed immediately. His mask snapped back into place like a reflex.

One knock. Then another. Louder.

“Get in the closet,” he whispered.

I blinked. “Are you seri—”

“Now, Aria.”

I darted into the narrow supply closet just as the door opened.

“Dean Wolfe,” came a saccharine voice. “We need to talk.”

Sloan Maddox.

I didn’t have to see her to know it was her. The tone, the heels, the calculated pause as she stepped inside.

“What is it, Sloan?” Wolfe asked, voice neutral.

“Oh, nothing urgent. Just thought you’d want to know... word around campus is you’ve been very busy.”

I couldn’t see them, but I imagined her circling him like a vulture in heels.

“I’m not interested in rumors,” he said.

“Funny,” Sloan said. “Because they’re not just rumors. Someone said they saw you escorting a girl out of this building. Late. Intimately.”

Silence.

I held my breath.

“Careful, Sloan,” Wolfe said finally. “Accusations like that come with consequences.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No. It’s a warning.”

Her heels clicked once. Then again. Then silence.

“Well,” she said. “Just thought I’d keep you informed.”

The door closed behind her.

Only then did Wolfe open the closet.

His jaw was tight. His eyes unreadable.

“She knows,” I whispered.

He nodded.

“She’s dangerous.”

He reached out, brushing a thumb across my lip.

“So are you.”

And I didn’t know whether to be terrified or proud of that.