The Professor locked the door with a loud click.
The sound echoed in the dark classroom. He turned around slowly, his eyes dark with hunger. Without breaking eye contact, he reached for his collar.
One by one, he undid the top buttons of his shirt. He loosened his silk tie and pulled it off, letting it drop to the floor.
"You've been a bad girl," he growled. His voice was deep, vibrating right in my chest.
I tried to step back, but my legs hit the heavy mahogany desk. I was trapped.
"Professor, I..." I started to beg, but my breath hitched.
He didn't stop. He stalked toward me like a predator. He placed his large hands on the desk, one on each side of my hips, caging me in. He smelled like danger and expensive whiskey.
"Do you think you can disrupt my class and get away with it?" he whispered, leaning closer. His hot breath fanned against my neck.
"Punish me," I whimpered.
He smirked. "Oh, I will."
In one swift motion, he grabbed my waist and hoisted me onto the desk. Books and papers went flying everywhere, crashing to the floor, but neither of us cared. His hand slid up my thigh, his grip possessive and firm. I arched my back, waiting for his touch, waiting for him to take what he wante—
Ahem!
The sound was loud. It was right next to my ear.
My pen froze. The ink started to bleed into the paper, creating a dark, messy blotch.
The office, the whiskey smell, the hunger... it all vanished.
The air conditioning of the lecture hall hit my skin. I wasn't on a mahogany desk. I was in my plastic chair.
My heart hammered against my ribs, but not from arousal. From pure terror.
Slowly, I turned my head.
A silver belt buckle. A crisp white shirt. A dark blue tie.
I looked up, terrified, until I met his eyes.
Professor Adrian Black.
He wasn't at the front of the room. He was standing right beside me, looming over my desk. One hand was in his pocket, the other resting on the back of my chair.
He was reading.
His eyes scanned the lines I had just written. The part about the locked door. The tie. The "punish me."
My face burned hot, hotter than the sun. I slammed my hand down to cover the notebook, but it was too late.
"Professor..." I squeaked.
The class was dead silent. Every student was watching us.
"Is my lecture boring you that much, Miss Lin?" he asked. His voice was calm, velvet-smooth, but his eyes were sharp.
"I... No! I was just taking notes!" I lied, my voice trembling.
"Notes," he repeated. A corner of his mouth twitched. "On what? Physics?"
"I... I was just..." I stammered. I couldn't breathe.
He reached out. His long fingers brushed against my trembling hand. He didn't pull away. Instead, he gently, but firmly, pulled the notebook from under my sweaty palm.
"No, please," I whispered, terrified.
He ignored me.
I was too weak to fight him. He lifted it up and read the last paragraph again.
I watched his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He looked at me, and for a split second, the dark look in his eyes matched the character in my story perfectly.
Rip.
He tore the page out of my notebook. The sound was like a gunshot in the quiet room.
He folded the paper neatly, once, twice. Then he leaned down.
He came so close that I could smell him. Sandalwood and coffee. It was intoxicating.
He brought his lips right to my ear. The whole class probably thought he was scolding me.
"It's always the quiet ones," he whispered.
My breath hitched.
He pulled back, his face returning to a mask of indifference. He walked back to his podium at the front of the class. He didn't crumple the paper. He didn't throw it in the trash bin.
He opened his leather briefcase and slid my dirty fantasy inside.
The bell rang, signaling the end of class.
"Class dismissed," he announced.
I sat there, frozen, unable to move, as he walked out the door with my secret in his bag.