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.

Getting to school today was all I could think about.

Not for class. Not to read.

For him.

Professor Dean.

I had to see him.

So I left the house early, skipped breakfast, and took the first bus I could find. When I got to school, the hallways were nearly empty, just a few students loitering around like shadows.

I pushed into our classroom, dropped my bag into my locker, and turned only to meet Ethan's furious face. The guy who fucked me when Professor Dean arrived yesterday.

"What's wrong?" I asked, feigning innocence.

His eyes narrowed. "Why is the new professor asking for you?"

I blinked, heat blooming between my thighs. He was asking for me?

I bit my lip.

I didn't care what Ethan thought. Hearing that Dean wanted me?

Turned me the fuck on.

Without answering, I turned and walked out, my heels clicking down the hallway, skirt swinging just high enough to tease.

When I got to his office, the door was slightly open.

He was there.

Sitting at his desk, sleeves rolled up, muscles flexing under his shirt as he flipped through some files. Calm. In control. Like last night hadn't happened. Like he hadn't wrecked me in my mum's bathroom.

"You'll just let me finish with this..." he murmured without looking up.

But I didn't care.

I stepped inside and quietly shut the door without locking it.

"Is the door locked?" he asked, still not meeting my eyes.

I didn't answer.

Instead, I walked toward his desk, slow and deliberate. My skirt barely covered my thighs. My crop top clung to my chest, no bra underneath. I wanted him to look. I wanted him to snap.

Still silent, I leaned back against the edge of his desk.

Then I spread my legs just slightly.

My fingers slipped down between them. One press over my panties and I felt how wet I already was. Just knowing he was watching. Just knowing what his eyes could do.

I moaned softly, two fingers teasing myself through the thin lace. My gaze locked on him, daring him to stop me.

His pen paused.

"I told you to wait," he said, voice low and strained.

I didn't stop.

Instead, I slid my panties to the side and slipped a finger in, slow, wet. My back arched, mouth parting.

His eyes darkened.

The file slipped from his hand.

"You're in my office. Do you know what you're doing?" he asked, rising slowly from his chair.

I moaned, fingers moving faster. "I'm helping you lose focus."

He walked around the desk, closing the distance, gaze locked on my soaked fingers. His jaw tightened.

"You're a little fucking brat."

I smiled. "So punish me."

And that was it. He was on me in two steps, grabbing my wrist, sucking my slick fingers into his mouth like he wanted to taste what belonged to him.

"Suck my pussy, Professor," I said, commanding, not begging.

He didn't rush. His eyes locked on mine for a beat, dark and unreadable, before he lowered himself between my thighs.

With his fingers, he spread the lips of my pussy open, parting the folds slowly like a man savoring a gift he'd waited too long to unwrap.

My clit throbbed at the touch, exposed and aching. Then his tongue made contact with my clit.

A soft, wet stroke that turned into a slow, maddening rhythm up and down, in and out teasing me with just enough pressure to make my hips lift off the desk.

He tasted me like I was his final lesson, devouring me with steady, focused hunger.

His spit mixed with me, dripped down, and he licked it right back up. Each glide of his tongue over my clit was a promise and a punishment.

"Oh... suck me deeper, Professor," I moaned, voice breaking, hands gripping the edge of the desk.

He obeyed with a low groan, tongue driving deeper as if he could possess me from the inside out.

"Fuck," I moaned, arching into his mouth. "More. Don't stop."

He groaned into me, the vibration making my pussy clench around nothing. He pushed two fingers inside, curling them just right as his tongue circled my clit, sucking, flicking, owning.

"Oh, Professor," I whispered, voice trembling. My hands gripped the edge of the desk for balance, for sanity.

His spit coated my pussy again, mixing with my arousal. He licked it up, messy and unashamed, like he couldn't get enough.

His fingers kept pumping in and out, wet, loud, relentless.

My breasts were heaving, nipples hard and aching against the thin fabric of my blouse.

One of his hands slid up, palm rough as it cupped my breast through my soft top, squeezing, claiming. His mouth never left me.

I was shaking due to overwhelming pleasuree. Desperate.

And still, he didn't stop.

I was right on the edge, quivering, moaning when he suddenly pulled his mouth away.

I gasped at the loss. "What the f-"

He didn't let me finish.

His hand reached across the desk and picked up a sleek, black fountain pen. Polished, cold, expensive like everything else he owned.

My breath caught as he twirled it between his fingers, his eyes never leaving mine.

"You want to come, don't you?" he asked, voice low and dark.

I nodded, hips still twitching from the aftershocks of his tongue.

"Then take it like my filthy little student."

Before I could say another word, he spread me wider with one hand and slid the cool metal pen into my soaked pussy.

My mouth flew open in a scream, but he was faster, his palm clamped over my lips, muffling the sound.

"Shh," he whispered in my ear, breath hot. "You'll get us caught, and then I'll have to really punish you."

The pen glided in deep, smooth, relentless and then he began driving it in and out, faster, rougher. The slick, wet sounds echoed between us, filthy and raw.

"You're dripping all over my desk," he growled, watching it vanish into me again. "Look how greedy your pussy is. You like being used like this, don't you?"

I moaned beneath his hand, eyes rolling back, body jerking every time he thrust the pen in deeper. The tip hit just right, scraping over that spot inside me like he knew exactly where to torture me.

"Fucking soaked," he muttered. "You're gonna come on my pen like a desperate little slut."

I tried to nod, tried to answer, but his hand stayed tight on my mouth. My cries were nothing but muffled moans, tears pricking my eyes from how hard it was to hold back.

He leaned over, lips brushing my ear.

"Come for me. Come while this pen writes your name inside my pussy. That's what you are now, mine."

My body jerked. The pressure was unbearable. I was about to fall apart around that damn pen when he yanked it out, slick and dripping.

"Not yet," he growled, tossing the pen aside like he knew it would haunt me later. "You don't get to come that easy."

Before I could even catch my breath, he grabbed me by the waist, spun me around, and bent me face-first over the desk.

My cheek hit the cool surface, and I gasped more at the speed than the cold.

He yanked my ass back toward him, lifting my skirt fully. My pussy was swollen and soaked, aching for friction.

CRACK.

His palm came down hard on my bare ass.

"Fuck!" I cried out, my voice echoing through the room.

"That's for screaming," he said darkly, spanking me again this time lower, closer to where I throbbed. "Someone might walk in, and then what? You want everyone to see what a needy little mess you are for me?"

Another slap, sharper this time.

"You think I haven't noticed the way you stare at me in class? The way your thought of me last night before you slept?"

"Yes, I think about this," I panted. "I think about your fingers... your cock..."

He chuckled low and sinful. "Then let me give you what you've been begging for."

His zipper came down, the sound so loud in the silence that it made my skin flush. Then I felt it, his cock, thick and hard, dragging along my slit as he lined himself up.

"No teasing," I begged, lifting my hips. "Please, just fuck me."

"Now she says please..." he murmured, gripping my hips with both hands. "You want to be fucked like a good little whore on my desk? You want me to ruin you right here?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Ruin me, Professor."

And then he slammed inside, deep and hard, filling me all at once.

I cried out, nails scraping the desk. He didn't give me time to adjust. His thrusts were brutal, relentless, each one pushing me forward, making the desk creak beneath us.

"God, fuck!" I gasped, jaw slack. "So deep..."

"You feel that?" he groaned, slamming into me again. "That's how a real man fucks his favorite student."

His hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back so I had no choice but to feel every thrust, every punishing inch of him as he fucked me harder.

His other hand slapped my ass again, leaving a burning sting that only made the pleasure sharper.

"This pussy's mine now. You understand me?"

"Yes, yes, it's yours!" I cried, body trembling, right on the edge again.

He leaned in, breath hot at my ear, his rhythm never faltering.

"Come for me. Now. I want to feel you squeeze my cock."

And I did, shaking, moaning, coming so hard I nearly screamed, but his hand clamped over my mouth again, muffling everything but the broken gasps and the way my pussy clenched around him in waves.

He didn't stop. He fucked me through it, deeper, rougher, chasing his own high.

With a growl, he came inside me, hips jerking, cock pulsing deep as he held me tight against him. His grip was bruising.

I was still bent over his desk, breathing hard, his pre cum dripping down my thighs, when the door creaked open.

I froze.

So did he.

Oh. My. God.

No. No no no.

I hadn't locked the door.