Chapter 372. No More Bullshit... I’m Going To Taste Tyler’s Mother From Now On!

Chapter 372: 372. No More Bullshit... I’m Going To Taste Tyler’s Mother From Now On!

The irony was delicious, almost obscene. For weeks, he had played the part of the composed professional, the intellectual equal, the steady hand.

He had endured Tyler, the boy’s incessant energy, his predictable questions, and the way he seemed to occupy space in a way that was both exhausting and mildly irritating.

At times, Mike had genuinely felt a flicker of revulsion at having to navigate around the kid and a mild nausea at the forced domesticity of their interactions.

But now, as he followed the ghost of Aveline’s perfume up the darkened corridor, that irritation had transmuted into something far more potent: satisfaction.

’All that patience, all that careful maneuvering,’ he mused, his teeth grazing the inside of his cheek. ’And it all leads here...’

’To the mother... To the prize that makes the annoyance of the son entirely worth the effort...’

The thought was crude, stripped of any pretense of chivalry, but it was honest. He wasn’t here for a philosophical debate anymore; he was here to claim the territory he had been surveying for weeks.

The intellectual sparring had been nothing more than the foreplay of two minds, but the real game, the one that mattered, was about to become primal.

He watched her shadow ahead of him, a dark shape moving through the dim light. She wasn’t rushing.

She was savoring the anticipation, drawing out the tension until it was almost unbearable, a string pulled so tight it threatened to snap and draw blood.

They reached the landing. The air here felt different—thinner, colder, yet charged with an almost static electricity that made the hair on his arms stand up.

Aveline didn’t stop at the bedroom door; she stopped precisely three paces before it, turning slowly to face him.

Her silhouette was sharp against the pale moonlight filtering through the hallway window. She stood there, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe, her body angled in a way that suggested both invitation and challenge.

The silk of her blouse caught the faint light, clinging to the curves she had spent the evening deliberately hinting at.

"You’re quiet, Mike," she whispered. The sound was intimate and dangerous, cutting through the silence like a caress. "What are you thinking about?"

Mike stepped closer, closing the distance until he could feel the heat radiating off her body. Up close, the analytical distance she usually maintained had vanished completely, replaced by something raw and hungry.

Her eyes weren’t just observing him now; they were consuming him.

"I’m thinking about availability," Mike said, his voice dropping to a gravelly register that betrayed his own rising arousal. "About how some spaces are worth the risk of entering."

[AVELINE SCHMITH: 98/100 → 100/100.]

[THE THRESHOLD IS CROSSED. THERE IS NO MORE ACADEMIA. THERE IS ONLY THE IMPERATIVE OF THE FLESH.]

Aveline’s lips parted slightly. A small, knowing smile touched her mouth—not the smile of a teacher or a hostess, but the smile of a woman who knew exactly what kind of man was standing in front of her and exactly what she wanted him to do about it.

"Then stop thinking," she commanded, her voice barely audible.

She turned, the motion slow and deliberate, and pushed the bedroom door open. The darkness beyond was absolute, a void waiting to be filled. She didn’t look back this time; she didn’t need to. She knew he was following. She knew he couldn’t resist.

As Mike crossed the threshold into her private sanctum, the last remnants of his professional restraint burned away.

The hunt was over.

The feast was about to begin.

...

The door clicked shut behind them, sealing off the rest of the world with a finality that made the air in the room feel suddenly scarce. The bedroom was bathed in a soft, amber glow from a single bedside lamp, casting long, dancing shadows across the rumpled linen sheets and the polished hardwood floor.

Aveline turned to face him. For all her composure in the kitchen, for all her calculated seduction in the hallway, she looked different now.

Up close, in the intimate confines of her own sanctuary, a visible tremor ran through her shoulders. Her breathing was shallow, her chest rising and falling in quick, uneven bursts.

A flush had crept up her neck, staining her cheeks a deep rose. She looked vulnerable, shy, almost, but beneath that vulnerability was a raw, electric excitement that made her pupils swallow the irises whole.

Mike stood before her like a monolith. He didn’t move to touch her yet; he simply occupied the space, his presence overwhelming the room.

His eyes swept over her, not with tenderness, but with the appraising hunger of a man who had finally come to collect.

As his gaze dropped lower, Aveline’s breath hitched audibly. The fabric of his trousers was stretched taut, unable to conceal the massive, undeniable bulge that strained against the material.

The sight of it sent a visible shiver through her frame, her thighs pressing together instinctively.

"Fuck," Mike exhaled, the curse word tearing through the silence like a gunshot. "Fucking finally."

The words weren’t gentle. They were stripped of every pretense of the gentlemanly facade he had worn for weeks.

His jaw was set, his expression hardening into something transactional and predatory.

"Now that there’s no more bullshit," he said, taking a step forward until his heat was pressing against her space, "it’s time to pay up."

Aveline let out a soft, shaky moan, her head tilting back slightly. " Mike--"

"You have no idea, Aveline," he interrupted, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous growl. "You have no idea how many favors I had to pull."

"How many doors I had to kick down, how many people I had to threaten to make sure your son stopped being the campus’ favorite punching bag!"

"I made his life better, and... I made him safe."

He leaned down, his breath hot against her ear, sending sparks cascading down her spine. "And now I’m here for what’s owed."

Aveline’s knees buckled slightly, her hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the hard muscle beneath his shirt. A whimper escaped her throat, a sound halfway between fear and desperate need.

"I know," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know what you did for him."

"And I... I want to thank you properly."

A watery laugh escaped her as she looked up at him through fluttering lashes. "It has been Tyler’s lifelong dream to... to have someone like you around."

"To have someone who could protect him like that."

The mention of her son’s admiration was the breaking point. The last thread of Mike’s patience snapped.

"Fuck Tyler," Mike hissed.

Before she could react, before she could process the sudden shift in his energy, his hand shot out. His fingers wrapped around her throat with startling speed and crushing force.

He didn’t squeeze to kill, but he squeezed enough to dominate, to remind her exactly who held the power in this room.

Aveline’s eyes flew wide, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp as her back arched against the nearest surface. A strangled, high-pitched sound halfway between a scream and a moan rattled in her throat as her hands flew up to grasp at his wrist, her nails digging into his skin.

The sudden shock of pain mingled violently with the overwhelming arousal of his touch, leaving her gasping for air that wouldn’t come.

The pressure of Mike’s palm against her windpipe was absolute. Aveline’s vision blurred at the edges as her body instinctively reacted to the sudden deprivation of air.

Her chest heaved, her breasts straining against the silk of her blouse with every desperate, shallow inhale. A broken, melodic whimper escaped her lips, a sound that was equal parts terror and profound, shameful ecstasy.

The pain was a sharp spike that seemed to ignite the blood rushing through her veins.

Mike leaned closer, his face inches from hers, his grip tightening just enough to make her gasp audibly, a wet, choking sound that echoed off the bedroom walls.

"You think I give two shits about that loser?" he hissed, his voice dripping with contempt. "You think I spent weeks playing protector because I give a damn about some kid’s feelings?"

"Don’t insult me with that sentimental bullshit, Aveline..."

"I did what I did because it gave me leverage... It gave me access to this."

His free hand came up, his thumb dragging roughly across her lower lip, pulling it down to expose her teeth. Aveline couldn’t speak; she could only make small, pathetic noises, ’ah... ngh... mmh,’ as her head thrashed weakly against his arm.

The humiliation of his words should have stung, but instead, they acted like gasoline on a fire already burning in her gut. The idea that she was merely a transaction, a prize to be collected after a calculated investment, made her core throb with a humiliating, desperate heat.

Mike abruptly released her.

The sudden absence of pressure made Aveline collapse forward, her hands catching herself on his shoulders as she drew in ragged, sobbing gulps of air. Her throat burned, a delicious ache that made her feel raw and exposed.

"I’m not interested in a woman who just accepts what’s owed," Mike said, stepping back to survey her disheveled state.

He watched her struggle to regain her composure, his eyes tracking the way her pulse hammered visibly in the hollow of her throat. "If you want to thank me properly, you’re going to earn it..."

"I want you to impress me."

He pointed toward the large mahogany wardrobe standing like a sentinel against the far wall. "Go in there."

"Find something that shows me exactly what you’ve been hiding under those academic layers."

"Something sexy... Something that proves you’re worth the trouble I went through."