The classroom buzzed with the low hum of students shifting in their seats, pencils scratching, but for Jack, the world narrowed to a single point: her. The moment their eyes had locked earlier, his mind had unraveled a blackout of raw hunger. Her delicate frame, the way her dark hair spilled over her shoulders like liquid silk, had seared itself into his psyche.
His hands, long-fingered and calloused, adjusted the papers on his desk with deliberate care.
Clumsy, sweet little thing, tripping into me like a gift.
Her dark blue dress clung to her curves, the hem teasing her knees. He noticed her in the parking lot, her flustered apology, the way her lips parted in embarrassment. She's got no idea what she's stirred. His mind churned, vile and hungry.
He forced a smile, addressing the class, but his thoughts were a cesspool.
I'll have her squirming, that dress hiked up, her apologies turning to whimpers.
He paced back to the center of the room, positioning himself to drink in the sight of her, his fingers trembling with anticipation. He needed her name, her voice, her essence-every fragment of her to fuel the depraved fantasies already coiling in his mind. His lean frame clad in a fitted black shirt and charcoal trousers. His dark hair was slicked back, a single strand falling over his forehead and his sharp jawline twitched as he surveyed the room.
"Alright, class, let's get acquainted,"Jack announced, his voice smooth. His eyes flicked back to her, a predator sizing up prey. "I'll call your names. Stand up, share your favorite book, and one hobby. Simple enough."
"James Anderson?" A lanky kid stood, muttering about some sci-fi novel.
Shut up. Sit down.
Jack nodded absently, his eyes darting to Rosalie. She was twisting a pen between her slender fingers, her movements nervous, almost sensual in their unconscious grace. "Why that book, James?" he asked, feigning interest to mask his fixation. He didn't care. He was stalling, savoring the wait to hear her voice.
"Ellen Adkins?" A freckled girl rose, and Jack's heart sank. Not her. He forced a smile, his patience fraying. Name after name, his frustration grew, a dark heat pooling in his gut. Rosalie remained silent, her gaze fixed on her desk, as if she wanted to make herself invisible.
Finally, the name he'd been craving. "Rosalie Cassidy." His voice dripped with reverence, as if tasting each syllable.
Rosalie Cassidy.
She stood, his cock twitched at the sight while he gripped the attendance list tighter to steady himself.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Cassidy," he said, his smile too wide, too hungry. "Tell me about your hobby and favorite book." She avoided his gaze, her hands clasped tightly, knuckles whitening. The sight of her nervousness was intoxicating, like a drug flooding his veins.
"Um... I love baking," she murmured, her voice soft, trembling. "And my favorite book is The Count of Monte Cristo." Jack leaned forward, arms crossed, his eyes tracing the flush creeping up her neck. He wanted to press his lips there, to taste the salt of her skin, to feel her pulse race under his tongue.
"Interesting choice," he purred. "Why that book, Miss Cassidy? What draws you to it?" He didn't care about the answer-not really. He just wanted her to keep talking, to let that sweet, quivering voice wrap around him like a leash.
She hesitated, then spoke, her words gaining strength. "It's the way the story twists. Edmond's life is perfect, then it's stolen because of jealousy. The way he plots his revenge, how he finds redemption-it's gripping. I can read it over and over." Her eyes flickered to his for a moment, then darted away, and Jack's cock hardened painfully against his slacks.
Her vulnerability is fucking aphrodisiac.
"Thank you, Miss Cassidy. You may sit," he said, his tone heavy with reluctance. She sank back into her chair, and he felt a pang of loss, like a predator watching its prey slip out of reach. The rest of the introductions dragged on, each student a blur. His mind was elsewhere, spinning filthy scenarios: Rosalie pinned against his desk, her dress hiked up, her thighs trembling as he forced his way between them. He'd make her beg, make her cry but also love every second of it.
Class continued, but Jack's focus never wavered. He lectured on autopilot, his eyes returning to Rosalie whenever he could. She wasn't listening, her attention stolen by her friend Tess, who slid her phone under the desk to show her photos. The defiance, however subtle, infuriated him.
She should be watching me, hanging on every word.
He imagined punishing her for it-bending her over his knee, her skirt flipped up, her panties yanked down to expose the soft, pale flesh of her ass. He'd spank her until she sobbed, until her pussy glistened with unwanted arousal.
When the bell rang, Rosalie exhaled, her relief palpable. She gathered her things, clearly eager to escape. Jack's chest tightened. He couldn't let her go-not yet. "Miss Cassidy, a moment?" he called, his voice deceptively casual. She froze, her polite nature trapping her. "Yes, Mr. Sullivan," she said, forcing a smile. She turned to Tess. "Wait for me outside, okay? I'll be quick."
As Tess left, Rosalie approached his desk, her steps hesitant. Jack leaned back in his chair, his eyes raking over her. He wanted to drag his fingers across her skin, to feel her shudder under his touch. "Yes, Mr. Sullivan?" she asked, her voice small while he suppressed a groan. The way she said his name was fucking perfect, a siren's call to his darkest urges.
He tilted his head, a mocking grin curling his lips. "Tell me, Miss Cassidy, do you always bump into people without apologizing?" He leaned forward, his tone sharp, designed to rattle her.
Her eyes widened, and she stammered, "O-oh... I'm so sorry. I did apologize... You probably didn't hear me." Her arms crossed protectively over her chest, and Jack's grin widened. She was so easy to unsettle, so deliciously fragile. He could smell her fear, faint and sweet, mingling with the floral scent of her perfume.
"Maybe I didn't," he said, mimicking her stutter. "I-i guess." The mockery was deliberate, a jab to see how she'd react. Her lips parted, irritation flashing in her eyes, and he nearly moaned. That spark of defiance only made him want to break her more.
"Okay... Can I go now?" she asked, her voice tight.
No. Not yet.
"Yes, you may go, Miss Cassidy," he said, waving a hand. She turned and hurried out, her dress swaying with each step. Jack's eyes locked onto her ass, the fabric clinging just enough to hint at its shape. He waited until the door clicked shut, then leaned back, his hand dropping to the bulge in his slacks. "Fuck," he hissed, stroking himself through the fabric.
Look at what you do to me, you little tease.
He closed his eyes, imagining her back in the room, bent over his desk, her wrists pinned behind her. He'd tear that little dress off, rip her panties to shreds, and expose her tight, pink pussy. He could already picture it-her labia glistening, her clit swollen from his rough fingers, her slick dripping down her thighs as she begged him to stop. But she wouldn't mean it. Deep down, she'd crave it, just like he did.
"You're mine, Rosalie," he whispered, his hand moving faster.
I'll make you scream my name.
His mind spiraled, plotting ways to trap her-extra assignments, private tutoring, anything to get her alone. She was his obsession, his prize, and he'd have her, no matter what it took.