Chapter 3

Sophia's POV

“I… I was in the library, sir,” I stammered, the words tumbling out too fast. “I didn’t realize how much time had passed.”

Mr. Diego didn’t look convinced. His eyes narrowed just enough to make my stomach flip, like he could peel back every layer of the lie and see the real reason I was late.

“Hmm,” he said slowly, drawing the sound out until it felt like a physical touch. “Since you’ve been studying so diligently, I believe you can complete the illustration on the board.”

Every pair of eyes in the room snapped to me.

I felt the heat crawl up my neck as I walked to the front.

When I reached for the marker, our fingers brushed barely and it was like someone flipped a switch.

In that split second I saw it: him shoving me back against the wall, one perfect hand wrapped around my throat, squeezing just enough to make my vision sparkle, my leg hooked over his shoulder while he drove into me deep.

“We are still waiting, Miss Brooks.”

His voice snapped me back like a rubber band. I internally facepalmed so hard I was surprised no one heard it.

A full-on wet dream about my lecturer. In the middle of class. In front of one hundred other students.

God, what is wrong with me?

I spun around so fast my skirt flared, hiding my burning face as I started on the illustration.

I could feel his gaze the entire time lingering on the curve of my ass as I leaned forward to reach the top of the board. It took everything not to squirm.

I didn’t know how I finished, but somehow I managed to and I handed the marker back.

He stepped closer and our fingers brushed again as he took it.

Then he guided my hand, just for a moment, tracing a correction over the sketch.

“Good,” he said, calm as ever. “Your silhouette is clear, but your proportions need control. Shorten this line here…” he tapped the waist.

“...extend the legs without losing balance. Fashion exaggerates height, not distortion.”

He moved to the shoulders. “Soften this curve. Fabric flows, it doesn’t sit stiffly.”

His fingers lingered on my wrist as he adjusted my grip one last time, thumb brushing the sensitive inside. My pulse spiked so hard I was sure he could feel it.

“And this seam placement,” he continued, quieter now, tapping the drawing, “needs to follow the body’s natural shape. Trust the anatomy underneath.”

He stepped back, finally letting me breathe.

“You’re talented, Miss Brooks. Just be more precise.”

His eyes held mine a beat too long.

“Wait after class. I have some assignments for you.”

“Thank you, sir,” I murmured, heart hammering, and hurried back to my seat.

Every girl in the room was staring, some with envy so thick I could taste it, others with barely concealed jealousy.

My friends shot me proud little grins, like I’d just aced a pop quiz instead of nearly coming undone in front of the entire class.

The next two hours passed in a haze.

I couldn’t concentrate on a single word he said.

All I could see was the obvious outline straining against his trousers whenever he turned to the board and the perfect arch of his back as he moved.

By the time he dismissed the class, I’d made up my mind.

I had to fuck him.

Just once, to get him out of my system.

The room emptied fast. Girls swarmed his desk with their usual post-lecture gifts and he accepted each one with polite distance.

My friends waved me over. “Hangout tonight? Drinks at The Velvet Room?”

“Yeah,” I said quickly. “I’m in.”

The second they turned away I pulled out my phone and texted Michael:

“Can’t tonight. Something came up”

I needed to be fully present for whatever was about to happen with Diego.

Class cleared out and I stayed seated, pretending to organize my notes.

I didn’t even realize we were alone until I heard the soft click of the door locking.

My stomach tightened.

“What do you want from me, Mr. Diego?” I asked, trying to sound bolder than I felt. “I gave you what you wanted yesterday. Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

A slow, dangerous smile curved his lips.

“I should be asking you the same question, Miss Brooks. You were staring at me the entire lecture. Perhaps…” He tilted his head. “You want something from me?”

I didn’t know where the courage came from.

One second I was sitting and the next my top was off, bra following, skirt sliding down my thighs, panties kicked somewhere under a chair.

I walked past him naked, and swept off the gifts and books off his desk in one reckless motion, and spread my legs wide on the polished wood.

“We’re both adults,” I said, meeting his gaze head-on. “I know what you want. So do it. Let’s get it over with. This is the last time. My scholarship is on the line. So is your job.”

He studied me for a long moment then that slow smile again.

“With the way your pussy is breathing right now, Miss Brooks, I don’t think it’ll be the last time.” His voice was low, almost amused. “But I’ll take your word for it. Unlike what you think, I don’t just want to fuck you…” He paused, eyes dropping to where I was already aching for him. “I want to understand your body.”

I blinked. “I… don’t understand.”

He moved to the side table where he kept water and apparently an insulated cup.

He lifted the lid, fished out a single ice cube, and held it up between two fingers.

“Helping with soreness,” he explained, voice velvet-soft. “Because your inexperienced boyfriend doesn’t know a damn thing about what a woman truly needs.”

My breath caught.

He stepped between my thighs.

And pressed the ice cube directly to my clit.

I opened my mouth to ask what the hell he meant about Michael, but the words never made it out.

The ice cube met my clit and everything inside me short-circuited.

“Fuck––” The curse slipped before I could catch it, raw and desperate.

He pressed the frozen edge right against the swollen bud, not hard, just firm enough to make my hips jerk forward involuntarily.

Then he started slow, maddening circles there sent cold racing through every nerve only for the heat of my own body to chase it away almost instantly.

My fingers clamped around the edge of the desk so hard I thought the wood might splinter.

Head thrown back, teeth sinking into my lower lip until I tasted blood, I tried…and failed to stay quiet.

“Who… who the fuck taught you that?” I gasped out, voice cracking on the last word.

Diego didn’t answer right away. He just watched me, eyes hooded, like he was studying another one of his perfect illustrations, and every time my thighs trembled and tried to snap closed around his wrist.

“You’re so fucking responsive,” he murmured, almost to himself. The low rumble of his voice vibrated straight to my core. “Look at you. Already dripping down my fingers and I’ve barely started.”

Before I could even process the humiliation of his words, his free hand moved.

Two long fingers pushed inside me without warning stretching me open while the ice continued its cruel little dance on my clit.

My whole body bowed off the desk.

“Oh god—!”