Chapter Five

Ava

Today, I didn't have Literature, unfortunately, but that didn't stop me from snooping around outside the class Professor Wolfe was teaching. I'm sure he caught me countless times, the way his gaze darted to the door, his eyebrow arching whenever I dared glance through the window.

An hour passed-an eternity-and finally, he emerged from the classroom. I moved quickly, cornering him.

"Professor Wolfe," I said, blocking his path with an innocent smile.

His sharp, unreadable gaze flicked to me, waiting. Not a word, just a tilt of his head.

I handed him the paper-the one I had deliberately sabotaged two nights ago, full of careless errors and lazy arguments. I knew how bad it was. He would, too.

"My essay," I said, slipping it into his hand. "Wanted to make sure you got it."

He glanced down at the pages, then back at me. "You skipped your scheduled submission slot yesterday."

"I know," I murmured, offering a sheepish smile. "Wanted to give it to you personally."

His fingers brushed mine as he took the pages. No reaction-at least not one I could see. But I could read tension. His jaw tightened, just enough for me to notice.

"I look forward to your feedback," I added sweetly, brushing past him and walking away-slow enough for him to watch.

But the minutes crawled by. The rest of my lectures were a blur. My thoughts were fixated on him. I kept glancing at my wristwatch, counting down the moments until the final bell rang. Until I could face him again.

I didn't expect what happened next. I thought he'd read the essay immediately, summon me to his office, and maybe even confront me for the disaster I'd submitted. But the hours passed.

It's been five hours. Still nothing.

When the bell rang, I felt a weight lift. My stomach churned with nervous excitement as I gathered my things to leave. But then I heard a voice behind me.

"Are there any difficulties you're facing, Miss Clarke?"

I turned to see Professor Jordan approaching. He looked to be in his late sixties, a gentleman with kind eyes. He was deeply religious and served alongside my father as a pastor in the Catholic church.

He wasn't the first professor to ask me that question today. Apparently, I wasn't hiding my distraction very well. But coming from Professor Jordan-it stung a little more. He taught physics, the one subject I loved most. I'd never once slacked in his class, and he knew it.

"No, sir," I said, forcing a smile. "I just got my first-ever C in literature, and I was worried it might affect my GPA."

Professor Jordan chuckled, patting me gently on the head. "Is that why you're so distracted? You don't need to worry, child. If you like, I can speak to Professor Wolfe about letting you redo the assignment. He's a kind man, I'm sure he'd give you another chance."

He already had.

And I blew it-on purpose.

Because I needed to feel his cock again.

But of course, I didn't say that.

"That's really kind of you, sir, but it's alright. Thank you for your concern," I replied sweetly.

He still looked unsure. "Are you certain?"

I nodded, and he sighed, clearly not convinced.

"If you insist. Take care, and give my regards to Sir Clarke," he said before turning and walking away.

I barely made it out of the classroom before I rushed to Professor Wolfe's office. I barged in without knocking.

He was there, lounging casually against the arm of his leather couch, some papers spread across the table in front of him. His sleeves were rolled up, his shirt slightly wrinkled, and he looked like a damn walking sin-tousled dark hair, sharp jawline, and that usual cold glint in his stormy gray eyes. His tie was hanging loose around his neck, giving him that dangerously disheveled look that made it hard to breathe.

I gulped. He looked hot as usual. Infuriatingly so.

He didn't look surprised to see me. Instead, he smirked the moment my fists banged down hard on his desk, the sharp sound splitting the heavy air.

"You look... disappointed," he said smoothly, arching an eyebrow.

I glared at him, heat rising in my cheeks. "Have you even read my essay?" I snapped, my heart thudding loudly in my ears.

Without a word, he pulled a paper from the pile and slid it across the desk, turning it so the bold red grade faced me.

D-.

I stiffened. Rage flared in my chest, sparking a heat that burned up my spine. Without thinking, I lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him toward me.

"What the fuck is this?!" I snapped. "A D-?! Are you kidding me?"

He chuckled, low and cruel, not even bothering to pry my hands off him.

"Because you wrote total trash," he said simply, like it wasn't even up for debate.

I felt my face flame. My nails dug into his shirt.

He finally brushed me off, rising to his full, intimidating height, towering over me.

"You're not stupid, Clarke," he said, voice cold and clipped. "You're a fucking genius. Top of your class. One step away from graduating with the highest GPA this school's ever seen."

He stepped closer, his presence swallowing the air between us, his stormy eyes locking onto mine.

"You're really about to throw away four years of being the perfect student, the golden girl, all because your pussy got wet for the wrong man?"

His words hit me like a punch. Shame and arousal twisted painfully in my gut. But what was even more embarrassing was that I couldn't speak. Couldn't even form a word of defense.

"You thought if you fucked up again, I'd bend you over and punish you like last time, didn't you?" he sneered, the corner of his mouth curling in disdain. "You wanted it. You wanted me to lose control again."

The air around us crackled with heat. The tension was unbearable.

"You think I'm just gonna let you destroy everything you've worked for?" he continued, voice low and dangerous. "Throw away your record, your future... for a dick?"

Suddenly he grabbed me, rough and sudden, spinning me and pressing me against the desk. My palms flattened against the cold wood as his body pinned me firmly, his chest against my back, his hips grinding deliberately against my ass.

I gasped, feeling the thick, hard bulge of his cock straining against his trousers, pressing right into me.

"Feel that?" he growled into my ear, his breath hot against my skin. "You want it so bad you're willing to wreck your life for it."

A whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it. My body trembled under his grip, knees weak. He thrust his hips once, the movement rough and punishing, making me moan softly. But he wasn't done.

"But that's not how this works anymore," he rasped. "You don't get me because you failed. You get me when you prove you deserve it."

I turned my head slightly, desperate, eyes wide and pleading, "How?" I whispered, voice shaking.

He smirked, cruel and breathtaking, "You're going to ace the next essay. I'm talking a perfect fucking A+. You want me? Then you have to be the best. No half-assed essays. No sabotaging yourself because you're too horny to think straight."

He leaned in closer, lips brushing the shell of my ear, his hand sliding teasingly up my thigh.

"And when you do..." he murmured darkly, "then you'll get your reward. Every filthy, depraved thing you're craving. Until you can't walk straight."

He pulled back just enough to make my body ache for him, "But if you fail again..."

He dragged a finger slowly up the inside of my thigh, stopping just before the place I needed him most, "...you get nothing."

I whimpered, my entire body burning, needing him, hating him, loving every second of it.

He stepped back, straightening his shirt casually, like he hadn't just shattered me, "Now get the fuck out of my office, Clarke," he ordered, voice low and serious. "And do better."

I staggered away from the desk, my legs barely holding me up, heart hammering wildly. I stumbled out of his office, burning with shame, rage, lust, and a desperate, gnawing hunger that only he could satisfy.

I was going to get that A+. No matter what it took. Because now, I needed my reward more than I needed my next breath.