I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Not Ethan. Not the half-hearted texts from guys I've already broken.

Professor Dean.

His voice still echoed in my head, calm, clipped, like he didn't need to raise it to control the room. That annoyed me. And turned me on.

Most men tried to impress me. This one? He dismissed me like a footnote. Like I didn't matter.

That was mistake number one.

I wore a tighter blouse the next day. White, crisp, just slightly see-through. My lips were glossed red, my eyes lined sharp enough to slice through silence.

When he walked in, he didn't look at anyone. The whole room tensed like someone had just pulled the pin on a grenade.

He placed his tablet on the desk, adjusted his sleeves, and finally lifted his gaze.

For a second, his eyes locked on mine. Nothing flickered. No reaction. No trace of yesterday.

And that made me smile.

He was better than most.

"Open your textbooks to chapter one," he said, already walking the rows. "Let's see how well your last tutor taught you."

My book stayed closed.

He stopped beside my desk. That cologne hit me again, woodsy, sharp, expensive. Like discipline in a bottle.

"Miss... Lucy, is it?" he asked, glancing at my closed book.

I looked up at him, lazy and unbothered. "That's me."

"You're not following instructions."

"And you're not the kind of man who likes being ignored, are you?" I said, voice velvet-soft. Just enough to test him.

A pause.

Then his eyes narrowed just slightly. He didn't smile. Didn't blink.

But he knew.

He leaned down just a little, not enough for anyone else to notice, but enough for me to catch his whisper.

"You have no idea what kind of man I am."

My breath caught.

He walked away back to the board.

And I sat there, pulse racing, grinning like a sinner in church.

Oh, Professor Dean... you're not going to make this easy.

Good.

I like a challenge.

He didn't look at me again for the rest of the hour. Not once.

Not when I crossed my legs in slow motion. Not when I arched my back just enough to press against the fabric of my blouse.

Not even when I purposely dropped my pen and bent to pick it up without bending my knees.

But I knew he felt me.

There's a difference between ignoring and resisting. One is boredom.

The other? Tension waiting to snap.

I could feel it in the silence between his words. See it in the way his jaw flexed just a little too tightly when I exhaled a soft sigh at the end of class.

So when the bell rang, I didn't move.

Everyone filed out around me. Books shut, chairs scraped, someone laughed.

But I stayed seated, fingers tracing the spine of my unopened textbook like it might catch fire from the heat still curling low in my belly.

He packed slowly. Still refusing to look at me.

So I stood.

Deliberate. Quiet.

Walked right to his desk.

"Professor Dean," I said sweetly, like I hadn't just spent the last hour fantasizing about ruining him.

He glanced up. "Class is over, Lucy."

I leaned a little closer across the desk. "Thought I'd stay behind. Catch up. Since I didn't open my book."

His gaze flicked down once, barely. But it was enough.

My blouse dipped just enough for him to see the black lace of my bra, taut over skin flushed from anticipation.

"Careful," he said, tone colder than ever. "You're playing a game you don't understand."

"But I like games," I murmured, taking another step forward, now on his side of the desk. "Especially with men who pretend they're not curious."

"I'm not curious," he said flatly. "I'm furious with what you're trying to do."

I smirked. "Same difference."

That earned me something, just the smallest twitch at the corner of his mouth. Not a smile. But not nothing.

Progress.

He grabbed his tablet. I didn't move.

"I said class is over."

I tilted my head, voice dropping lower. "Maybe you need a private lesson. A reminder that ignoring me doesn't make me go away."

He stared at me.

Still unreadable. Still silent. Still frustrating.

But this time... he stepped closer.

So close I could feel the heat off his body.

His voice came quiet and sharp, like the edge of a blade:

"Next time you try something like this, Lucy... make sure no one else is watching."

Then he walked past me, cool, collected, and perfectly in control.

And left me standing there breathless.

Holy. Fuck.

He wanted me. I felt it.

But he wouldn't give in easy.

Fine.

Let him act like he's the one in charge.

Because when I finally break him, when that voice growls my name, and that mouth begs for more, he'll wish he never looked away.

_____

_____

I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Even hours later, curled on the couch at home, my mind was spinning around Professor Dean like he'd cast a spell.

Every little detail looped in my head, he way he didn't flinch when I pushed, how his eyes barely moved but saw everything, how his voice held weight without ever rising.

So much that I didn't even hear my name the first six times.

"Hey! Lucy!"

I blinked hard.

My mom stood in front of me with her arms crossed and a frown on her face. "This is the seventh time I'm calling you. You okay?"

I nodded quickly, brushing my hair back. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just... tired."

She eyed me like she didn't buy it, but moved on anyway.

"You remember our new tenant?" she asked.

"We have a new tenant?"

"He moved in two days ago and left one of his baskets at the gate. I picked it up, but I'm busy now. Will you take it to him?"

I groaned faintly but got up. "Sure."

It wasn't like I had anything better to do except spiral deeper into my Professor Dean obsession.

I grabbed the basket and walked across the driveway to the guest flat we'd converted last year. Nice, quiet place. I hadn't met the tenant yet.

I knocked once.

"Come in!" came a muffled voice from inside.

It was hard to hear, the tap in the bathroom must've been running.

I hesitated, then turned the handle.

"I brought a basket you forgot... " I started, stepping inside.

No reply.

Then the bathroom door creaked open.

And he stepped out.

Wet hair. Bare chest. Grey sweatshorts that clung to all the right places.

My throat dried up instantly.

"Lucy?" His brows lifted slightly in surprise.

I froze. My eyes dropped to his abs and just stayed there. Water glistened along the ridges of his torso, sliding slowly down until it disappeared beneath the waistband of his shorts.

My mind blanked. Just completely blue screened.

Because standing right in front of me, dripping and shirtless...

Was Professor Dean.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

I almost dropped the basket.

"You live here?" I asked, though clearly he did.

"I do now," he said calmly, stepping forward with a towel slung over his neck like it was nothing. "Didn't know I'd be seeing you again this soon."

My heart kicked against my ribs. "You, you're the tenant?"

He raised a brow. "Seems like fate wants us to spend more time together."

I swallowed. Hard. "Yeah. Funny how fate works."

He looked amused. Just the faintest curve at the edge of his mouth. Not a full smile, more like a secret he wasn't ready to share yet.

"You gonna hand me the basket or keep standing there like you saw a ghost?"

I snapped out of it and shoved the basket forward. "Right. Here. Basket. Bye."

He chuckled as he took it.

I turned to leave but not before he added quietly, "Next time, knock louder."

I nearly stumbled on my way out.

Holy shit.

Professor Dean lived here. In my house. Under the same roof.

This man, who'd already taken over my thoughts without touching me, was now just a few feet away. Every night.

And he looked like that straight out of the shower?

Game. On.

_____

_____

"Are you busy?" My mum asked.

"Why?" I asked innocently, twirling a loose strand of hair between my fingers.

My mom sighed, distracted. "The water stopped running in the bathroom, and our new neighbor mentioned he's handy with plumbing stuff. I called him. He'll be here any minute."

The doorbell rang right on cue.

"I'll get it," she said quickly, already heading toward the front. "And I'll be out in the garden. Just show him to the bathroom, alright?"

I nodded, but I was already halfway up the stairs.

The moment my bedroom door shut, I peeled off my top and slipped out of my jeans, leaving only a black lace bra and a barely-there G-string.

No one said I had to greet him like that, but no one said I couldn't either.

I heard the front door open. Voices. Footsteps. Then silence.

Mom's heels clicked toward the back patio. The screen door closed behind her.

I took a breath, checked the mirror, and stepped into the hallway just as he reached the top of the stairs.

My heart stuttered.

Professor Dean.

His sleeves were rolled to the elbows. His jaw was sharper than I remembered.

"Lucy," he said slowly, like he hadn't expected this. His tone didn't change, but something flickered in his eyes.

"Professor," I said with a smirk, arms folded beneath my chest. "Fancy seeing you in my house."

He didn't look away. "I didn't realize you lived here."

"You didn't ask."

He gave a tight nod, stepping past me. "Which way to the bathroom?"

I pointed, not moving.

He walked, brushed just a little too close, and I didn't flinch. I wanted him to notice the heat between us, the way the silence curled around us like a secret waiting to be exposed.

He glanced at the door, then back at me.

"I'll fix the leak," he said, already rolling his sleeves higher. "And when I'm done, we're going to pretend this never happened."

I tilted my head. "What if I don't want to pretend?"

He paused. "Then you'll learn very quickly, Lucy, that I'm not one of your games."

I grinned, stepping back into the shadows of the hallway as he entered the bathroom.

My heart was pounding.

Challenge accepted.

I waited five minutes. Maybe six. Just long enough for him to think I was done playing.

Then I padded back down the hallway, slow and deliberate, the old floorboards creaking beneath my bare feet.

I paused at the bathroom door, half open. The sound of water trickling echoed against the tiles.

He was crouched down near the base of the sink, sleeves rolled, hands busy with tools.

I leaned against the frame, arms crossed under my breast again, arching just enough to make the lace of my bra shift.

"You always make house calls in tight slacks and no tie?" I asked, voice syrupy.

He didn't look up. "You always greet guests half-dressed?"

"Only the ones who try to pretend they're not interested."

This time, he did glance up. His gaze was razor-sharp, dragging over me from head to toe, lingering at all the places I wanted him to see.

But his face remained unreadable.

"You think I'm pretending?" he asked coolly.

"I know men like you," I said, taking a step closer. "You pretend to be professional, all rules and lines and limits... until the door closes."

He stood, tall and controlled, wiping his hands on a rag. We were close now. Too close.

"I'm not one of your toys, Lucy."

"And I'm not asking you to be," I whispered, stepping in so my breath nearly touched his collar. "I'm just wondering how long you can stand there pretending you don't want to know what I taste like."

His jaw flexed. His eyes dropped just for a second to the curve of my lips.

Then a sharp breath.

"Careful," he murmured. "You don't know what you're playing with."

"Don't I?" I whispered, reaching for the edge of the door and slowly pushing it shut behind me with a soft click. "Then teach me, Professor."

For the first time, something flickered in his eyes, not anger, not confusion. Hunger. Barely leashed.

But he didn't move.

Neither did I.

My heart pounded. I could feel the heat radiating off him like a storm waiting to break.

He stepped past me, slow and firm, brushing the door open again.

"I fixed the leak," he said, voice low. "Don't call me again unless it's a real emergency."

He had just turned to leave, tugging his shirt over those chiseled abs like it was nothing, like my brain wasn't melting from the sight.

But he stopped. Patted his pockets. "Damn. Forgot my watch," he muttered, half to himself.

As he turned back, I stepped forward, fast.

"Professor Dean," I said, blocking the hallway, heart pounding.

He looked up, brows raised. "Lucy?"

"Don't leave me... like this." My voice was soft, a little breathless. "High and dry."

His eyes dropped, just a second before they flicked back up to mine.

"What exactly are you suggesting?"

I took his hand gently, placing it against the fabric of my pants, just over where the heat pulsed between my legs. "You're smart. Figure it out."

The tension coiled between us like a live wire. His hand twitched but didn't pull away. His gaze darkened.

"That's inappropriate," he said, voice tight.

But I didn't step back. I leaned in, fingers grazing the waistband of his shorts. He was already hard. My lips barely parted in a smile.

"Seems like your body disagrees."

A long silence. A stare that felt like it could peel away every excuse I had.

Then he stepped forward, just a little. Close enough that I could smell that same intoxicating scent, wood, spice, trouble.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he said low.

I looked up at him, bold. "Then teach me."

He exhaled slowly, one of those breaths that feel like a fuse being lit.

He tore my bra in one swift motion, his mouth claiming my breasts with a hunger that made me cry out.

He bit and sucked, lips punishing and worshipping my nipples until I was squirming.

His hands slid down, gripping my ass possessively.

With a harsh tug, he ripped off my panties, fingers digging into my skin like he owned me.

I gasped, the sting mixing with pleasure as he squeezed harder, pulling me closer into him.

Every touch was rough, raw, like he couldn't get enough.

I was completely exposed, consumed by the way he devoured every inch of me.

I wonder if my mum wasn't anywhere near.

Two fingers plunged into my pussy, fast and relentless.

"Ah ahh! Fuck...!" I gasped, my body jerking.

His mouth stayed latched to my breast, tongue swirling, sucking hard.

"Mm, ngh, yes... don't stop-"

My hips rocked against his hand, desperate, aching.

"God, right there ahh!"

He curled his fingers just right, and I shattered with a cry.

We heard the door creak open. My heart stopped but he didn't.

He shoved me into the bathroom, turned the tap on full blast to drown the sounds, and lifted me effortlessly.

My legs wrapped around his waist as he pulled out his cock and thrust into me in one hard stroke.

"Ahh, fuck!" I growled, clinging to him.

He slammed into me, deep and rough. "Can you take it?" he whispered darkly.

"Don't stop," I moaned, barely able to breathe.

"Tarrr! Pahhh!" Skin on skin, my ass slapped his thighs.

"Sweetheart?" my mom called.

"I'm... ahh... just helping him!" I cried, breathless.

His hand clamped over my mouth, muffling my next moan as he kept driving into me, harder, deeper.

The water roared behind us, masking the filthy sounds of our bodies colliding, slap, slap, slap.

"Keep quiet," he growled in my ear, his breath hot. "You don't want her to hear, do you?"

I shook my head, eyes rolling back as he hit that spot again.

Outside the door, my mom paused. "Okay... I'll be in the kitchen."

The sound of her footsteps faded.

He smirked, pulled his hand away, and fucked me even harder.

"F-fuck-!" I whimpered. "Don't stop..."

He gripped my thighs tighter, holding me against the wall like I weighed nothing, his cock still buried deep inside me.

"Want me to stop?" he murmured, voice hoarse.

I shook my head, breathless. "No. Fuck me."

And he did.

He drove into me hard, fast, relentless. My back slammed against the cold tiles with every thrust, the sting only making it better.

His hips snapped forward, thick and deep, stretching me so wide I could barely take it but I wanted more.

The water pounded down like a storm, soaking our bodies, steam fogging up the mirror. I clawed at his back, biting his shoulder to keep from screaming.

He groaned, rough and low, then pulled out just enough to slam back in, making me cry out again.

"Say it," he hissed. "Say this pussy's mine."

"It's yours," I gasped. "Fuck, yes it's all yours!"

He growled and drove deeper, angling his hips until I was a writhing mess in his arms.

The pressure built, heat coiling in my core as he devoured my mouth in a kiss that was all tongue, teeth, and lust. I was shaking, undone.

Then he slammed in and stilled, pulsing thick and hard inside me.

I came apart with a cry, body trembling violently, legs locked tight around his waist as the orgasm tore through me.

We stayed like that, breathing hard, still connected, the faucet still running as if trying to wash away our sins. But we both knew there was nothing clean about this.

I was exhausted, no one had ever left me this weak, this wrecked.

"Bend," he commanded, voice thick with authority.

I obeyed, breath hitching. I'd asked for this. I wanted it. And I wasn't about to run now.

From behind, he pushed into me with his cockw, and I cried out loud, unfiltered. The sound echoed, sharp and reckless.

"Is everything alright in there?" my mom called through the door.

Panic flared, but he didn't stop. His rhythm didn't falter. One hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back; the other seized my breast, fingers rough, claiming every part of me.

"Say something," he whispered darkly in my ear, still thrusting deep. "Or let her figure it out."

I gasped, mouth parted, the words barely forming.

"Just moving some boxes!" I lied, my voice strangled by moans.

His laugh was low, wicked. And then he drove in harder, punishing me for lying so badly. My knees nearly gave out.

"I should make you scream louder," he said against my neck. "Let her know exactly what I'm doing to you."

And God help me, I didn't even care.

"I'm cumming!" I cried out, voice ragged, and my body trembled as I released around him.

The slick heat between us only made his thrusts smoother, deeper. He groaned but didn't stop, didn't slow.

He wasn't even close to his climax. He drove me crazy like a machine.

My legs shook. I clung to the sink, barely able to hold myself up as his hips kept pounding into me, relentless and punishing.

My vision blurred, breath coming in short, broken gasps.

"I... can't..." I whispered, eyes fluttering half-closed.

But he didn't let up.

He gripped my hips tighter, fucking me like he owned me, like I was the only thing that mattered.

"Suck," he growled, pulling out of me, still thick and glistening.

I turned still on my knees without hesitation, taking him into my mouth, lips wrapping around the head as I sucked eagerly, hungrily.

My tongue teased the tip before I slid deeper, one hand cradling his shaft while the other massaged his balls.

"Oh fuck... Are you a pornstar?" he breathed, watching me through heavy eyes as I worked him like I'd been made for it.

I looked up, lips wrapped around him like candy, moaning softly as I sucked him deeper.

His body jerked. He grunted. And then he came, hot, thick, and hard down my throat.

"Swallow," he ordered.

I obeyed, taking every last drop.

When it was over, I sank to the floor, breathless, my body trembling and spent.

I didn't even try to move. I just laid there, used, satisfied, and completely undone.

"I'll be expecting you in my office tomorrow," he said, tucking himself back in with maddening calm. "I have some things to show you."

That smirk, cocky, was the last thing I saw before he opened the door and slipped out like nothing had happened.

And I just lay there.

Naked. Spent. Completely helpless.

My body ached, my lips swollen, my thighs still trembling from the way he'd owned every inch of me.

The sound of the faucet still running was the only thing that grounded me. I didn't even try to move.

Because I knew... tomorrow, it would begin all over again.