The rest of the day dragged like torture. Every class felt pointless compared to the memory of Professor Jayden Cross’s steel-gray eyes locked on mine. By the final bell, my body was a live wire—skin hypersensitive, nipples tight against my lace bra, and my pussy throbbing with a need that no quick bathroom finger-fuck could satisfy. I’d changed into a shorter pleated skirt after lunch, one that barely covered the curve of my ass when I bent over. A deliberate choice.

I knew where his office was. Word traveled fast in this school.

The hallway outside the faculty wing was quiet, most students already gone. My heels clicked purposefully as...