#hslot

At first, a large breath puffed from your lungs, and your lips subconsciously pursed as a man stopped at the opening of your aisle. A feeling of annoyance-though you know you had no right to feel this way towards someone for simply taking up the seat they paid for-surged within. That is, until you saw what this man looked like. Once your mind was able to piece together that, yes, this man felt like an intruder of sorts at this very moment-again, you knew it was irrational, but that didn't take the feeling away whatsoever-, but as your eyes wandered from his grey, worn denim up to the shirt covering his torse, you realized that maybe this man wouldn't be so much of a threat afterall. With a scruff that lined the length of his jaw and upper lip and a pair of sunglasses now sitting on top of his brunette head, your eyes plucked away, probably staring for an inappropriate amount of time, before you came to the realization that this man was incredibly attractive.

Suddenly, you weren't really mad anymore. Politely, he smiled as he slung his backpack off his shoulders and placed it underneath what you assumed to be his assigned seat-aka, the aisle seat in the same row as you. His rapidly moving chest made it evident that he had run the entire length of the airport until he ended up in this exact spot. You wondered if he was always someone who runs a bit late for everything-not that that was relevant to the situation at hand. Merely an observation and a curious one at that. It wasn't a crime to gnaw at the idea of who this man could be to the outside world. As he sat himself in the aisle seat, with only a middle seat separating the two of you, you already knew you were in for a quite enthralling trip. You smiled back even more politely, but quickly removed your gaze from his, feeling as if you knew your eyes would linger even more than they had should you allow them that type of freedom to do so. But your eyes would soon betray you the moment the stranger slung his blue colored jacket off of his upper body, leaving him in a thin, cream colored shirt that looked tattered, but in a cool, vintage sort of way. Tattoos decorated his tan arms-you found your eyes tracing over the ones that you could make out, without it being too obvious that you were, to put it simply, checking him out. Just when you thought he couldn't get any more appealing to your eye, the stranger bent down to hold his luggage in both arms, forcing his biceps to bulge out from the confines of the hemmed sleeves on his shirt. Hold on; It gets worse--then, he lifts the luggage into the upper compartment, causing the cotton hem of his shirt to rise, which gives a peek at the black ink decorating his lower abdomen. They seemed to be some sort of floral artistry to the ink stain, but you didn't dare allow your eyes to linger, because a). You weren't sure you would be able to break your eye contact on the needle-poked art once your gaze was fixated, and b). If you were caught staring - which you very much would've - that would mean you had to sit on a several-hour flight next to a man who caught you checking him out. Quickly, you turn your head in the complete opposite direction, looking out at the black tarmac from the window that felt like a prized possession at the time. Now, it felt like something even better than a prize - a treasure, if you will, or an escape. “Hey.”

His voice--how was his voice that level of attractive and coarse, paired with everything else he had going on in the physical appearance department? Slowly, you turned your head in his direction again. “How’re you liking that book? I heard it's a good one.”

He was now sitting comfortably in his assigned seat with a seatbelt strapped across his low waist and eyes that looked at you curiously. His head nodded in the direction of your lap. Your eyes following suit–that’s when you recall the novel that you had only gotten so far as to read the back cover of. “Oh”, you said softly, your fingers running across the colorful hard cover. “I haven’t even opened it yet, to be honest.” The stranger nodded with an amused smile, “Saving it just for this?” You nodded back with a simple, soft “exactly" and a nod. You hated the way your words were coming up timid and almost scared. You weren’t scared, nervous-yes, but not scared. Intimidated would be a better word for it. “I’m Harry”, the stranger, now known as Harry, outstretched his hand to you in greeting. Your eyes followed the vein that ran from his tattooed forearm all the way up to his middle finger. “Y/N”, you spoke, again, much too soft as you reached your hand out and met the skin of his palm. Harry seemed pleased with that as he nodded. “That suits you.” His eyes were pointed and paired with a smirk as he watched your straight-lined lips form into a grin, making him feel a sense of pride and cockiness that wasn't anything too heady. “Nice to meet you, Harry.” Harry was usually cool, calm, and collected around women he thought were attractive, but the way his name rolled off your tongue sent a tiny, sinful shock to his groin that even he couldn’t hide the power it held over him as his top row of teeth ever so slightly sank into his lower lip. “Likewise”, he said with a friendly smile, yet it held something else to it that you weren't able to distinguish at the time.

Under his powerful gaze, you turned your face to point downwards and finally crack open that book. Meanwhile, Harry kept his form straight, but his eyes were very much trained on your side profile. He was seemingly captivated by you despite your interaction not stretching further than plane entertainment subjects and government names. Yet something was torturously addicting about the way your black flared cotton pants pressed against your rounded thighs; the way your hair fell in wisps as it framed your facial features wasn’t helping fight his recent dependency on you either. He found himself searching for excuses in his head on how to continue the conversation. “So, Rome.” Your head perked up at his voice. “Rome?” “That’s where this plane is going, right? I hope so.” You chuckled, “Oh. Yeah Rome. I’m going to visit a friend.” Harry nodded, though his mind began to spiral on who this friend was and why on earth he felt a tinge of jealousy towards the fact that you were traveling across the country to visit them. They must’ve been special to you–Harry found himself wanting to be that special, too. “Boyfriend or girlfriend. But not like.. that I mean-” Harry’s tongue twisted in his mouth as he tried to extricate his words that, the moment they left his mouth, he knew sounded too prying of your romantic life. Not that he wasn’t interested, because he very much was-but you didn’t need to know that. “It’s fine. Just a friend from college.”, you smiled as Harry bailed on trying to find proper wording and instead settled into a nod and friendly smile. “What about you? Visiting a boyfriend or girlfriend… you know a friend or-”, your hand revolved in a circle to hint at your implication, which played off of Harry’s double entendre.

Harry smirked, “Family and friends, actually. No boyfriend or girlfriend at the moment.” The conversation transitions through the basic stages of forming a new acquaintanceship. Favorite movies, TV shows, music artists, foods, colors - you name it, Harry and you cover it all over the next couple of hours that passed in a blink too quickly in your opinion. “Look, all I’m saying is blue is a much better color than green.” “Okay, but how? Green is so versatile and blue is just.. Blue.” “That doesn’t even make sense”, Harry says, amused with a shake of his head.

“Funny coming from someone who is wearing a blue shirt at this very second”, Harry points a finger that prods into the side of your clothed arm. It’s shockingly annoying how just that simple poke could send a warmth and set of tingles up the back of your neck. “I didn’t say I hate the color blue. It’s just not green.” “Oh, yeah, yeah. Totally. I absolutely get it now. You’re absolutely right, green is superior to blue. I can’t believe I never saw it before. Thanks so much for opening my eyes to the truth.” Sarcastically, Harry looked at you with big eyes and an upturned corner smile, then his hand fell to your thigh as he patted it, except a pat would imply a quick tap and then loss of contact, which was the opposite of his hand that was still lying on your warm upper thigh, moments later.

Your eyes followed his ringed hand that remained- something that just meeting acquaintances wouldn’t normally do, regardless of how much they got along. And you and Harry were getting on quite well, even better than that. You cleared your throat as your eyes moved up to his for a brief moment before he flinched his hand away. As if nothing unusual happened from his point of view - though his cheeks were already turning red from his lingering accidental touch-Harry combed his hand through the hair that sat on the top of his head as an excuse to utilize the hand that was once pressed down onto the warmth of your thigh. Simultaneously, you both pulled your eyes from each other. Harry opted to look at the pocket on the back of the seat in front of him, and you chose to focus on the setting sun that had hued the sky a pink and orange tone. Then,by the grace of god, the flight attendant began making her rounds and quickly made her stop at your aisle that served you and Harry. “Can I buy you a drink? I know it’s shitty airplane booze, but..”, his sentence tapered off with a shrug of his shoulders and you couldn’t tell if this was a situation like a man coming up to you at a bar, saying “come here often”, and then purchasing your drink of choice in the hopes of getting under the waistband of your jeans later, or if this was a simple offer that didn’t go anything above kindness to a just met stranger. Your mind already seemed smitten, encouraging you to believe that, despite mentally telling yourself that it was most likely friendly. “Sure”, you nodded as nonchalantly as you could. Harry’s gaze lingered on yours longer than normal, and you could’ve sworn you saw his pupils move from your eyes downward in the direction of your chest. Your breath began to quicken at the silly thought as it entered your head. Shortly after, you and Harry were comfortable in your now dimly lit row. A plastic cup containing red wine was safely tucked in your hand, and a glass of some sort of IPA was tucked away in his. “You know what my favorite part about overnight flights is?” You raised your eyebrows in amusement, “What’s that?” “These blankets”, he said with way too much excitement in his voice as he pulled the cheap fleece from the plastic cover that had been passed down by a flight attendant at the same time as the alcohol. “Really?”, you chuckled and watched as Harry draped the blanket over his front, sadly making his prominently muscular thighs disappear from view. Harry caught on to your dissatisfaction with what he found enthused him. “You’re telling me you don’t love these?" You shrug at the way Harry’s eyes seemed like they would pop out of his head in disbelief. He looked quite cute. “They’re fine, I guess, but also kind of scratchy, don’t you think?” “Great, I'm sat in a row with a crazy person.” “Hey!”, your arm flew, lightly smacking what you assumed was Harry’s abdomen-you nearly groaned out loud at the hardened muscle that your hand collided with that probably didn't even feel like a speck of dust on his skin. “When’s the last time you actually used one of these?” Harry questioned as if there was no way on god’s green earth that you just insulted his favorite advantage to an overnight flight through the sky.

This made you think. It had actually been a while since you last took an overnight flight that resulted in you being dependent on one of these things. This realization caused your hands to become curious as they reached for the plastic-covered blanket from the pocket in the back of the seat in front of you. Harry watched in amusement as you busted open the package and laid the blanket across your lap with palms soothing along the texture. “So..”, Harry asked expectantly, making you chuckle. “It’s.. better than I remembered, I guess.” “Told you!” “But!-”, you interrupted Harry before he could continue on and explain how he was correct and you were not- he seemed like the type to play something up in the most non-serious way ever. “-It’s still not a highlight of the flight.” “Then what is? What’s been your favorite part of this flight so far?”, Harry’s voice became tinted with a sort of hoarseness that you weren’t sure was because he was in dire need of liquid in his throat or something else entirely; something much much more off subject, yet the thoughts had been swirling around your brain since you saw his shirt raise and the skin just above his low waisted jeans peak out to the world. You escaped your zoned thoughts and focused on Harry’s expression. A smirk adorned in a single dimple on the side his lips were pulled up towards, his god chiseled arms crossed in front of him. “The company isn’t too bad, I suppose”, you fluttered eyelashes above your doe eyes that attempted to match the message that you hoped came across. Thankfully, Harry caught on to your obvious flirting, making his teeth dig into the skin of his cheek and his smirk look almost arrogant from your point of view. You thought it made him look even more sexually appealing, which you hadn’t thought possible unless he were to be fully unclothed, of course… “Glad I can be of service.” Harry’s voice was warm as his eyes held yours in confidence, nearly making you feel the urge to crawl under your seat and have a fit of giggles and flailing of your hands. You had a little crush on him; there was absolutely no denying it now. Even more importantly, due to his gaze, lingering touches, and continuation of conversation, you felt that Harry was on the same page-which you’d be correct in thinking. You were thankful for the chatting between you both tapering off when it did. This way, you could properly dive into your brain and curate daydreams of you and him in both innocent and… lewd situations. Eventually, your eyes gave way to the exhaustion of air travel as you rested them without fully falling asleep. Meanwhile, your head played out some of these little fantasies. One scenario in particular, you were finding yourself replaying over and over. It involved Harry and the palm of his hand spread wide along the length of your neck. In your mind, his breath was heavy and panting as he pressed just the right amount of pressure across your windpipe, with his other hand around your waist, holding your body down as he fucked into your whining form. You’d moan out a common “right there”, triggering him to move his cock in and out of your creaming hole even harder in order to hit the spot you were proclaiming was giving you an immense amount of pleasure. Meanwhile, in the reality of the airplane, Harry noted the way you began to squirm in the seat next to him. Shifting your leg to have crossed over the right and then the left, adjusting where your arms were from across your chest to down in your lap. You hadn’t been this mobile the entire flight, which had him intrigued. He watched as you subconsciously dug your top front teeth into the plumpness of your lower lip–his cock quite liked that sight as it twitched underneath the cloth of his pants.

You knew getting yourself worked up and wet on a flight as you thought of the man sitting next to you wasn’t moral, yet you couldn’t stop yourself. Just the imagery in your head made a very noticeable amount of wetness gather in your cunt that you didn’t need to touch to know it existed. Your head swam with more visions-this new acquaintance fucking you in the shower with his strong arm holding your leg around his waist, or his mouth on your pussy making the most obscene noises. You hadn’t even noticed your teeth causing your bottom lip to bleed ever so slightly or the way whines seeped through your teeth. This was Harry’s last straw. At first, he was hesitant. He wasn’t frequently-or ever-entertaining the thought of sneaking a hand under a fresh and extremely attractive acquaintance's blanket and offering to, well, assist if you will. Yet there was something about the way your teeth dug into your lip as a small grin covered your mouth that was begging for him to have his mouth pressed against.

Your lashes would flutter ever so often above your closed lids, something he knew would make you look like the embodiment of innocence, even though it appeared whatever you were thinking about was entirely the opposite of innocent. Meanwhile, you continued to indulge in whatever visions of you and your new acquaintance decided to flutter into your brain. However, your visions ceased when you felt a touch-so featherlight, you could've convinced yourself it was made up if you tried hard enough or something you could’ve blamed on a mosquito or a random itch set off by a layer of dead skin so microscopic that you never saw it fall from your skin. Except it was neither of those things. You shifted your body, assuming that maybe the blanket caught on a particular spot on your clothes or something along those lines of pure accident. That is, until the touch began to move, tracing the expanse on the side of your thigh. Your eyes shot open, panic naturally coming over your features as you looked around. However, it wasn’t a phantom; it was Harry smiling at you with a darkness tinged into his pupils that you could somehow still make out despite the plane's main cabin lights being dimmed for the next several hours. Your eyebrows pulled together in confusion, especially when, once caught, Harry didn’t pull his hand away or act as if he was doing anything out of the ordinary. You know, the standard putting your hand on the thigh of the person sharing the row of seats with you on an extremely long flight, that just so happens to be someone Harry finds an insane amount of attraction to in both physical and mental capacities.

It took you several seconds of analyzing Harry to come to terms with the fact that he was doing this on purpose. It wasn’t an accidental touch of casual circumstances–this felt very, severely intentional. With his eyes boring into yours, his hand slid just a tad bit further so his warm palm was resting on the top of your thigh, fully pressed several inches above your knee or so. It was him asking for consent-verifying that this taboo act was something that was okay, before he made any other move. Your gaze softened as you seemed to grasp what was happening here. Something deeply frowned upon to the public eye, yet teasingly erotic and tempting all the same. Your head swayed in and out, up and around, as you searched for strangling glances or straight-up stares from the other attendees on the flight. Thankfully, the coast was clear. Everyone seemed to be tucked away in their makeshift bed for the night with eye covers on or preoccupied with their devices that glowed against their face. Once confirmed, your eyes moved back to Harry’s, and a slight smile spread along your lips as you gave a slow nod. At that, Harry-much like you-did a quick take in of his surroundings before removing his seatbelt from around his waist and scooting to the middle seat–finding the expanse that had been separating the two of you for the entirety of the flight being something that needed to disappear immediately. “Is this okay?” His accented voice was whispered directly into the side of your neck as his hand came back to cling to the top of your thigh. His method of acquiring consent was a pleasurable breath of fresh air, making a smile on your lips stretch even wider as you nodded an agreed “Yeah”, that was meant for only him to hear. “Just relax, okay?” you nodded, lulling your head to one side, giving into gravity, and closing your eyes as Harry’s hand gave your thigh a squeeze.

For a moment, the most he did was gently move his thumb back and forth across the fabric of your pants resting over your body. It felt polite, maybe even hesitant in a way-as if he hadn’t done something like this before. Your eyes fluttered open, Harry’s meeting your gaze instantly as you muttered something so desperate and borderline begging.

“Please” He smirked, “Impatient thing you are” his low voice was so tauntingly full of rasp that it made you clench your thighs together. He chuckled darkly as he nuzzled the tip of his nose into your hair and placed a brief kiss on the top of your head. Here is where it gets interesting. A shaky breath fanned in front of your face at the first feeling of Harry’s hand drifting towards your inner thigh. His enlarged palm felt as if it were burning a hole through your skin as he gripped the softness of your inner thigh in his hand and let out a primal groan that was as quiet as he could muster given the circumstances. “Fucking perfect”, he whispered in your ear as he continued his gripping assault on the squishy meat of your inner thigh. His fingers just barely graze your clothed core as if you were the softest fabric that he wanted to be gentle with, yet appreciate all at once. But when he did it with intention and purpose–his hand cupping your sex over your clothes had your hand instinctively reaching upwards. In a usual scenario, you’d find your hand drifting to lay on the top of your stomach or twist and pinch at your pert nipples, but obviously, this situation didn’t allow for that sort of thing. The best you could do was bring your hand up to your mouth and gently press your front teeth into the side of your pointer finger. The sight alone made another groan rumble through Harry’s chest.

“The things I would do to you if we weren't on a plane right now.” He didn’t give you much time to bask in the sensuality of his words before his hand moved in a spider-like fashion to the top of your pants. You gave yourself a mental pat on the back for giving in and wearing a pair of joggers as opposed to jeans, which would’ve made this situation a lot harder. Though you were sure Harry would've found a way to further his mission regardless. “Can I touch you?” His voice was confident, yet needy as your eyelids fluttered open to briefly stare at him. You nodded with a fucked-out, relaxed expression. Something that made Harry smirk as his hand snuck beneath the top layer of fabric that separated his hand from your thin panties. You let out a wince, gnawing deeper into your finger as he pressed into your cloth-covered cunt. “Poor thing, you must’ve been having some good mental images to be this drenched.” His taunting only intensified your need for him –thankfully, he must’ve been able to read your mind as he began moving his pointer and middle fingers in a circular motion directly over your clit. You whined, but it was much too loud for the current predicament, resulting in Harry stopping his hand movement altogether. He breathed a “shhh” in your ear, which was soothing and also served as a reminder that getting caught was not an option. "Keep quiet or I stop", he whispered with the picture-perfect combination of possessive and relaxed. You obeyed, making Harry's hand pick up where it left off. A gratified sigh left your lips, along with a hiss of air. “Yeah, right there?” he mumbled in your ear, sending you nodding frantically alongside a “fuck” as his hand seemed to be applying more and more pressure with each graze of his fingertips. The immense amount of friction his fingers were able to create over your panties had your body subconsciously leaning back and to the side, moving further into Harry until your shoulder was directly leaning on him for support to keep yourself afloat. "Yeah relax. Just like that", he breathed in your ear as his fingers teasingly moved along the side seam of your panties that belonged to the specific piece of cloth that covered your cunt. "Can I slip these to the side? Feel how wet you are?", his voice lingered with a remnant of husk in your ear. "Mhm", you hummed at his teasing movements that didn't hesitate once given the full consenting package. Harry's middle finger dipped below the fabric, a singular digit gliding slowly, teasingly along your slit that was already leaking with an amount of arousal that you felt was borderline embarrassing.

He groaned quietly as your hips dared to squirm under his ministrations, yet remained still in fear he would stop - the very last thing you wanted him to do. For a beat, his finger merely glided along your slick lower lips, avoiding the very sensitive blossoming bud he knew lay beyond the barrier of skin, yet teasingly avoided. "Harry", you breathe his name quietly for the first time, nearly making him give in to touch you where you wanted. However, his mission to milk this sexual interaction as much as possible weighed much more heavily in his decision. "Hmm?", his voice was an erotic hum behind smirking lips and eyes that peered down at you. He monitored the way your eyes twitched behind your closed lids each time he dragged his finger upward, moving tantalizingly slow in the direction of your puffy clit, yet not reaching the destination just yet. "I want it." Harry smirked, "Want what?" You let out a whine, forcing Harry to stop his teasing and instead cup your bare sex completely in the palm of his hand. "Keep. Quiet.", he spoke straight in your ear; you nodded quickly for way longer than needed, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. "Sorry, please don't stop." "Thought so", he smirked just before dipping two of his fingers beyond the threshold of your slit and onto your absolutely drenched core that felt as if it would explode just from his minor touch. You sucked in a breath, making sure to keep quiet in the process. "Good job, keep quiet." The rough command of his voice had your legs shaking, not to mention the way one of his single finger tips dragged upwards from your wet hole to your clit. Your teeth dug desperately deep into your bottom lip, trying to suppress the noises you were so needily accustomed to making during sexual encounters that go above and beyond your expectations-and Harry can tell. It gets him off even more—makes his cock that much harder as he watches you struggle underneath his circular movements that have made way to your clit. So needy and so, so warm under his touch, he can't help but imagine what it would feel like on his tongue whilst flicking it back and forward as your juices spilled down the corners of his mouth. At this moment, he wishes he weren't locked in this steel cage of transportation so he could properly give you what you oh so clearly deserved.

A right and proper fucking would do him some good, and to have you being the one he'd be thrusting himself in and out of would make it that much more ideal.

But this would do for now. Not like he had a choice. "Fuck", you whimpered so quietly as you dug your teeth still in your teeth. Harry, who is quite literally pressed against the edge of your shoulder hardly hears it. "You're doing so fucking good", he husks in your ear with a voice that could only be described as a roughness comparable to sandpaper. His lips pressed to your neck for a moment-a much too short moment, but again, either of you were unfortunately left with the option of having to be sneaky over giving into the greedy needs of lust. His two fingers that were still tantalizingly revolving around your swollen bud at a slow pace hit every single nerve within you as your hips begin to grind forward on nothing at all. Desperation very clearly getting the best of you, which made Harry let out a quiet, dark chuckle. Your cunt is-quite literally-pulsing around air as Harry picks up his ministrations, now utilizing an insane amount of power and pressure as he presses down harder and moves his fingers quicker.

"You're so fucking wet, i'd be shocked if everyone can't hear how much you're dripping right now." And you know he's right. As his fingers got more pleasingly and aggressively pleasurable, you could feel wetness continuing to run along your cunt. The faint noise of your arousal is insanely audible as four of his fingers begin furiously rubbing against your pussy with a flat hand. You'd fear everyone on the plane could hear it, that is, if you even bothered to care, because at this very moment, you couldn't care less. "Hear how good I make you feel?", Harry grits with his lips brushing your earlobe as his hand remains relentless, rubbing your clit back and forth with an insane amount of force that has you gripping the armrests of your seat. You chant a low hummed 'mmmm' sound over and over that has a pride-filled smile latching onto Harry's smirk. "'M gonna cum—oh, fuck", Your swear at the end comes out at a much louder volume as Harry dips one of his fingers inside of your pussy, which he has a hunch is the prettiest shade of pink he could ever fathom. Remaining true to his promise, his hand ceases all movement, instead hovering over your pussy that is still desperately clenching as it begs to be touched until it's devouring an explosive release. "No, no, no. I'm sorry", you say with a flushed face and hair that now sticks to your hairline. Harry wants to keep a stern face and show that he's disappointed in you, but the way you immediately apologize at the pause of his hand has him snickering into the crook of your neck. Severally amused by your desperation to come by the touch of his digits and palm. "If you're sorry, then stop doing it", he says through near clenched teeth, his mouth running along the skin of your neck with each word he says. You nod-frantic and begging. Harry decides he will allow that as an appropriate enough answer. Harshly, his hand comes down against your pussy three times in a gentle slap until his finger dips inside of you again, relentlessly fucking into you at an angle that has your hips stuttering and toes curling inside of your shoes. "Want another?"

"Obviously", you breathily reply and let out a whine that is quiet and approving according to Harry's standards. "Got a mouth on you, huh? Bet that mouth can do all sorts of things." Though he would usually prefer to drag this interaction out further and edge you until your legs were shaking and your clit was near numbness, he knew the close confines of the plan wouldn't allow him to tease you in the way he truly wanted, should either of you be tucked away in his flat and stripped entirely of clothing. Harry's second finger joins his first, twisting the combined digits even deeper up inside you, making you sit up a little straighter with tightly closed eyes as you grip the armrests until you're sure there are moon-shaped marks permanently sketched into the faux leather. Instinctually, you spread your legs wider, making Harry bite his lip as he looked down at you, utterly flushed and consumed. His fingers pump and pump and pump inside of you until eventually curling upwards, fingertips rubbing along the soft patch inside of you that has stars blurring underneath your closed eyes. "Make a mess on my fingers. C'mon." Harry's words are half demand and half groan as he speaks them into your hair that's lazily tousled around your face. You didn't think it was possible for the euphoric waves of pleasure to get any better, but then you feel his palm bumping into your clit with every upward thrust of his fingers inside you, making you grip even harder with your tooth on the skin of your finger as it, no doubt, peels layers of skin off your bottom lip. "Please don't stop", you beg, letting out silent gasps with an open mouth for him, and Harry keeps that promise, never slowing down or speeding up. Keeping him exactly where you need him. The time span is short between this teetering on the edge feeling and your orgasm punching you in the face. You knew you couldn't keep quiet even if your life depended on it - you didn't trust yourself. Instead, you pressed your palm to your mouth to create a barrier of sound as your hips desperately moved along with Harry's fingers and palm.

Riding out your orgasm in utter silence was one of the harder challenges you'd been handed, yet you were forced to do so whether you wanted to or not. Not that you were complaining, especially when the experience was happening in a taboo fashion, paired with an extremely attractive man. Eventually, your breathing settled as the pleasure dwindled from intense to a bearable, quaint hum. A warm chuckle resounded from a slightly higher elevation. Your eyes moved upwards to find Harry staring down at you, concentrated, amused, and utterly infatuated by you. "What?", you asked with a face that quickly felt a wave of warmth. "You're really going to ask me what's amusing me right now?" His accent is much thicker when whispered directly into the top of your head, strands of your hair gently tickling the apple of his cheeks. Your smile grew wider, though your teeth were still concealed as your gaze moved down to your lap. Somehow finding the cheap fabric of the blanket that covered your and his sins was awfully distracting.

"Was that okay?" His voice breathed into the side of your head this time, eerily close to the shell of your ear. "Yeah. More than okay if I'm being honest", you chuckled, moving your gaze back up to his sultry pupils. The final straw in the interaction between you and this new acquaintance was his eyes grazing your face as if he were being fed by the way your nose sat on your face and the shape of your lips and eyes. His top teeth dug into his lower lip, as if he were fighting a temptation. Unluckily for both of you, a flight attendant seemed to be making the rounds as the lights slightly grew brighter and brighter, until they reached their default setting. You sat up straight, as did Harry. And then your time together seemed to morph into you ensuring your carry-on was filled with everything you'd packed in preparation, including that book you had good intentions of diving into, yet something, or rather someone, seemed to occupy that attention instead. It wasn't long until the plane had come to a pressured landing, thus enabling each of the riders to exit the plane efficiently with a bag in hand. "Hey." Your neck jerked up from your previous position of peering down at your phone at the sound of his voice. "It was uh-nice to meet you. Definitely a unique trip on my end." You let out a breathy chuckle through your nose and nodded. "For me as well, for sure. Thank you?" "You're welcome?", Harry pinched his eyes, mimicking your question-marked tone. You followed behind Harry through the slender aisle until your shoes met the rubber ground of the jetway. It was silent, but nothing uncomfortable as you walked in parallel with him until the insanely atrocious fluorescent lighting of the airport came closer and closer. "Maybe I'll see you in another life or something?" Harry looked at you as he placed his over-the-ear headphones on the top of his head, one ear already being covered by the ear cup. You felt only a smidge of disappointment that it didn't seem as though Harry would type his number in your phone or request yours, but what were the odds of anything other than what had already occurred happening between you both when you barely knew each other? "Yeah, we'll see. Safe travels," you waved him off, and as did he, as his back turned to you and walked with an easy-going swagger down the main hall of the airport. ______________ The cab to the hotel was fueled by dissociation at its absolute worst. You could hardly focus on anything, not even the gorgeous surroundings painted outside the window of the moving vehicle. Everything was a blur-and all because of this stranger on the plane.

It was a casual, temporary interaction- a transaction if you will-yet it was stuck like a wad of gum with the imprint of a shoe decorating its pink hue as it was stamped against dark pavement. Eventually, your much-overpriced Uber dropped you off in the hotel that you'd only had the pleasure of viewing via your phone screen. Now, with it sat in your physical vision-the rose bushes, European balconies lined with iron wrought railing; your thoughts were pulled away from the man from the plane. Your room boasted a well-kept, beautiful garden view that you were anxious to get an eyeful of as you pressed your designated floor's button. Impatiently, your foot tapped on the ground as your hand rested on the handle of your rolling luggage. And when that glorious 'ding' of a noise resounded, your feet moved quicker than your brain could, not even processing the person who just so happened to be aiming to walk into the elevator at the same time you were practically speed walking out. "I'm so sorry-oh my god", you said mortified-embarassed even-by your lack of spatial awareness at the time. However, that humiliation soon subsided once you got a proper look at the shoulder you'd not so kindly ran into. "Are you following me now?" The voice was familiar-a little too familiar. Familiar enough that you could've sworn you'd heard it maybe an hour ago…in the airport…or whispering filthy things in your ear. Your brain doesn't fully register the voice, only when your eyes lay on his smirking figure, who's leaning on the wall with arms crossed in front of his chest, do you properly take him in with wide-eyed disbelief.

"When I said maybe I'll see you around, I didn't quite have this in mind", Harry spoke, amused and much too smooth for the amount of shock you were in right now. "What are the odds?", you breathe, trying your best to mimic his tone that's oh so cool, calm, and collected; everything that you are absolutely not at the moment. "Are you staying in this hotel too?" A playfully boyish grin smothered that obscenely rouge pout of his as he nodded. "Must be fate, I guess."

Sometimes it annoyed her but that wasn’t all that common because she was so used to it, she looked at him more fondly than anything else.

She pushed back against it, lived her life as she wanted, and when she pushed boundaries—staying out too late with friends or wandering where she shouldn’t to find a good place to read, she was never surprised to catch the faint silhouette of him in the treeline, a shadow tracking her until she made it home.

And when she pushed too far?

Harry had no problem making it known.

She’d watch her friends scatter in the directions of their homes under the weight of his growl when he pop out from the treeline and scared the shit out of them, leaving her to be herded home with nudges to her back, his snout pressing between her shoulder blades until she finally relented and stopped dragging her feet.

She’d curse at him the whole way, throwing insults over her shoulder, but by the time they reached her porch, she was always over it.

She knew this wasn’t just him being controlling for the sake of it—it was something innate, necessary for him, and deeply embedded in his bones.

He respected her boundaries most of the time.

Unless something genuinely endangered her, he didn’t cross those lines.

But this— today was different.

There was a feralness to him she hadn’t seen before, a tension in his movements that made her confused, made her wondering if she had missed something that happened to set him off but she kept coming up blank.

She had been tasked with a school project for her media class, to photograph local wildlife with certain lenses and angles, and the best way to do that was in the woods behind the school.

YN had been back in those woods multiple times to photograph different things, the high-end camera hanging on a strap around her neck, and she was happy to be able to get out of the stuffy school for a bit even if it was for an assignment.

YN had done it before without incident, quite a few times because their media teacher was prone to sending them out into nature for photography opportunities that they couldn’t get inside the bleak building.

There was a creek deeper in the woods she wanted to photograph—she knew that it would fit the assignment perfectly because there was even a small waterfall that would look great through her high-quality lens.

She found it.

The shallow stream roped lazily through a small, overgrown clearing, the was a picturesque beam of light that was seeping through the massive trees looming overhead, and she knew this was going to get her a good grade.

She crouched low, removing the camera from around her neck for a better ability to move it, and she lifts the camera to her face, adjusting the focus until it starts to become clear enough to line up—

And then she was yanked backward so suddenly she lost her balance, her body hitting the wet ground with a thud, bum hitting hard against the uneven mud of the creek, and her elbows scraping the ground.

The startled yelp that left her mouth was loud enough to send a few nearby birds scattering, and the expensive camera tumbled from her hands - coming to a stop directly in the creek, water starting to race around and over it, completely drenching it.

From her YN could see the lens had cracked against a nearby rock.

To top it all off, mud was quickly seeping into the seat of her jeans, cold and disgusting as her sneakers were caked in dirt, water soaking through to her socks.

And the camera—worth more than she’d earn in years of allowance was undoubtedly destroyed beyond compair with the water damage, the mud that was already caked into the small crevices.

Her first thought wasn’t Harry—why would it be?

She hadn’t been doing anything wrong.

Her heart jumped into her throat because she was worried that she was about to be attacked.

But then she heard it - that deep, irritated growl she could recognize anywhere, echoing through the air like a warning siren, and vibrating the trees around them with how obnoxiously loud he was.

She whipped around, angry tears already burning at the corners of her eyes - partly from being so terrified but also the over pain from falling, it was a dull ache but still…and the humiliation of her close being ruined, the camera being broken.

“What the fuck, Harry?” YN shouts at him, turning to glance over her shoulder with the meanest glare she could manage.

He stood there in his wolf form, towering above her, heavy breathes coming from his chest that were mixed with the rumbles of his anger.

His coat was deep brown, nearly black in the low light but the brief rays of sun managed to capture the almost copper-like strands that only really showed when light hit it in a direct way.

He had her hoodie between his teeth, tugging her another step back from the creek before releasing her, his massive body shifting, blocking her from moving forward again.

She pushed herself upright, crossing her arms over her chest in a defensive way to make it known just how pissed off she was,“You ruined my jeans, my shoes, and the school’s camera! Why are you even out here—you’re supposed to be in Econ!”

Harry’s only answer was another growl, low and unapologetic, the sound was too loud for the quietness of the space that they were sharing.

Then he swiped one paw across the mud, a silent command to move, tilting his head toward the school.

“It was an assignment,” She snapped, unsure of why she even felt the need to explain herself to him because she didn’t, bending to retrieve the mud-streaked camera, grimacing as she held it away from her body.

“Mrs. Bett literally told me to come back here. There’s zero reason for you to be here right now,” YN points out, which she knows he won’t like, and won't appreciate being questioned on his actions (especially when he’s caught on bad behavior).

His teeth flashed briefly—more a snap of disagreement than a threat and the sound lit her temper like a match.

He was so unperturbed by her anger that it made her furious and no, it wasn't her best moment when she picked up a rock and threw it at him.

It bounced harmlessly off his shoulder, he wouldn't have even noticed unless he had just watched her throw it, blocked by the dense layer of fur and thick muscle.

Normally, he’d at least yowl or bare his canines in response to the action (it wasn't the first or last time she'd hurl a rock his way).

Instead, Harry stepped forward in the quiet, stalking grace that if any other alpha came at her that way, she would be scared shitless.

It was not a casual step but the kind that closed distance like he was hunting, his paws sinking into the wet mud by her.

The air seemed to thicken with the tension.

His head dipped lower, eyes narrowing into slits, the gold in them catching the flicks of some emotion she couldn't recognize.

He wasn’t looking at the ruined camera in her hands or the mud on her jeans.

He was staring at her—her proximity to the water, the narrow ledge that she had crouched on haphazardly.

Her anger flared hotter at the realization because she's not a fucking child.

“This is about the creek?” She demanded, her voice rising over the pounding thump of her heartbeat in her ears, “You think I’m too stupid to stand near water without falling in?”

His tail gave one sharp swish behind him, ears angling back just enough to signal his displeasure, but he didn’t back down like he normally would have by now.

Instead, he took another deliberate step forward, she could see the deep chest rising and falling with each controlled breath.

The stubborn part of her—the part that had been testing his boundaries since they were kids, didn’t step back.

If anything, she leaned forward a fraction in a challenge, chin tipped in defiance despite the primal warning in every line of his body that her senses ignored easily.

It was trust at the end of the day, that no matter how irrationally mad he was, she trusted that he would never harm her.

For a moment, they simply stared at each other, the tension stretching between them like it was about to snap..

A bird darted across the stream, its wings flapping obnoxiously right in front of his face and for a heartbeat she thought he’d break eye contact.

He didn’t.

Instead, he lowered himself fractionally, muscles tightening in his shoulder, the slow, predatory crouch of a wolf ready to drive pounce.

She already could guess his plan.

“You’re not dragging me anywhere,” She huffs as she stands her ground, her voice softer now but edged with the stubborn fight he knew all too well.

One ear twitched.

He huffed through his nose, the warm air hitting her skin as his nose skirted the edge of her sleeve—sniffing, checking, confirming she wasn’t hurt.

His gaze flicked once toward the school through the trees.

When she didn’t move, he bared his teeth—not in a threat, but in that unmistakable impatience that always came right before he acted without asking.

She took a step back, but her heel caught on a root, and before she could recover, he nudged her forward with the solid weight of his shoulder, steering her toward the path.

The shove wasn’t rough, but it was forceful as he knew she wouldn't listen willingly.

“Harry—” She started to scold, but he gave another insistent push (a bit rougher), and the sound that came from his throat this time was low enough to make her body vibrate.

She tried, at first, to put a little distance between them, stepping toward the opposite edge of the trail, but he matched her instantly, closing the space with silent precision.

Every time his head lifted again, his gaze flicked toward her, a quick, assessing check before returning to the path ahead.

It was infuriatingly calm, and it made her made because she knew he was doing it because he cared.

There was no true anger in the way he moved with her—he was corralling her in the most literal sense, guiding her without trapping her, each nudge or sidestep an unspoken order.

By the time YN got back to the school, her body felt coiled tight with irritation, like every nerve ending was buzzing under her skin.

She ignored Harry’s sharp, commanding chuff from the shadows of the tree line—a demand to wait for him to shift back.

But she didn’t wait.

She didn’t even look back.

Instead, she shoved through the back doors of the school so forcefully that the metal handle rattled and the hinges squealed in protest.

The schooled smelled faintly of disinfectant chemicals but even that couldn’t cut through the saturation of Harry’s scent clinging to her.

It was suffocating, dizzying, wrapped around her like a heavy blanket, and YN realized with a sharp pang of understanding why the teacher’s expression softened in wary recognition the second she appeared back in the classroom.

The woman’s nostrils flared.

Her eyes flicked down to the camera in YN’s arms, then back up again, but instead of reaching out, she took a half-step backward, spine stiff with a kind of primal caution.

Harry’s scent had warned her—loud and clear that YN was protected by an alpha leader.

Without a word, the teacher simply pointed to her desk, making it clear she would not be touching anything YN handed her.

The humiliation stung, but the anger stung more.

YN dropped the camera onto the desk harder than she intended, the thunk echoing too loudly in the empty room, then spun on her heel and stalked back out.

By the time she pushed open the front doors of the school, she was already digging in her bag.

Her fingers found the familiar bottle, she didn’t even hesitate—just yanked off the cap, pressed the nozzle, and sprayed.

The mist laid over her throat, her wrists, the fabric of her shirt - everywhere.

She pressed down again and again, until she was sure every trace of him was buried, smothered, neutralized.

She knew he would be furious and that's the reason she's done it.

She knew that blocking her trail would drive him mad with frustration, that he’d follow the fruitless leads expecting her scent to lead him to her only to find empty air.

That he would realize what she had done, realize that she had chosen to make herself untraceable.

And that was exactly what she wanted.

++

YN barely remembered how she got home.

By the time she finally shoved her way through her front door, her limbs heavy with the weight of her emotions.

She dumped her bag onto the floor with a careless thud, kicked her shoes halfway across the entryway, and headed straight for the bathroom.

The scent blocker mingled with soap and shampoo until she couldn’t smell anything but her pomegranate body wash even though she's sad Harry's scent was washed away as well.

By the time she crawled into her bed, tucking herself beneath the blankets, her body deflated with exhaustion.

The irritation was still there, a steady burn in her chest, but it wasn’t enough to keep her from drifting.

It didn’t last.

The crash of her bedroom door slamming open jolted her awake so violently that her heart lurched in her chest.

The wooden edge smacked against the wall hard enough that she swore she heard the drywall crack.

Her head snapped up, sleep-bleary eyes wide, and the sound that scared her still semi-unconscious mind..

A growl.

Low, guttural, and dangerous.

It rolled through the room like thunder, echoing with a feral edge that made the hairs at the back of her neck stand on end.

Harry stood in her doorway, shoulders squared, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.

His eyes were sharp, almost wild, and the tension in his body was like a coiled spring seconds away from snapping.

The air around him carried heat, thick and heavy, and YN’s instincts screamed that something was wrong—worse than just his temper.

“Harry—” She started, voice catching in her confusion and tiredness.

“Don’t,” He snarled, low and hard to understand through the rumbles, stepping forward, “Don’t even say my name right now.”

Her back pressed into the headboard instinctively as he stalked further inside, each heavy step measured, deliberate, still just as angry as the woods.

His hands curled into fists at his sides, and his jaw ticked with barely controlled fury.

“You think you’re clever, huh?” He spat, his voice sharp and unsteady, like it was starting to crumble. “Think I wouldn’t notice? Sprayin’ yourself down like that—wipin’ me off you when I purposely fuckin’ marked you?.”

YN’s lips parted, anger flaring just as quick as her fear.

“Because you were being a knothead!” She shot back, even though her voice was croaky, “You freaked out for no reason! You ruined my day and my media project and my clothes for what reason? None.”

He growled again, louder this time..

YN’s pulse still fluttered, her fingers gripping the blanket tight around her.

She didn’t know why it felt different—why his presence seemed hotter, sharper, more intense than usual.

The air in the room was charged, thick with something she couldn’t name, but her gut told her it wasn’t just anger.

Harry’s nails dug into his palms, the muscles in his forearms trembling like he was restraining himself.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me—losin’ you on the trail? Do you know what it does to me when I can’t find you?” His voice cracked, raw,“You don’t disappear from me, YN. You don’t. You fuckin’ know better.”

His tone was commanding, but underneath it, there was desperation for her to just obey.

YN wasn’t ever fearful of him.

Her heart was pounding, yes—but it wasn’t the kind of fear that made her want to run.

It was the kind that sat low in her chest, gnawing and heavy, because it hurt her omega instincts to be at odds with him like this.

Her room was already stinking of him again.

On a normal day, his scent was strong enough, a constant presence on her clothes, her sheets, in the air she breathed—but right now it was heavier, richer, almost intoxicating in a way that made her head spin.

It was different too, sharper at the edges, saturated in something she didn’t recognize.

She wasn’t going to complain, not really—she loved his scent, the comfort it brought, the way it turned her bedroom into something that felt claimed and safe.

But that didn’t mean it wasn’t obnoxious.

And he was being so fucking obnoxious.

“Harry, you’re being too much today,” YN huffed, dragging a hand over her face as if she could wipe the irritation off, “Like what happened in the woods, it was so unnecessary—”

“Do not fuckin’ tell me what is too much,” Harry cut across her, his tone low and jagged, a snarl caught between his words,“I’m the alpha here.”

YN’s brows shot up.

That was a line he knew better than to cross.

He knew she hated when he played that card, when he tried to use his title like it was some kind of weapon.

He rarely did with her—never, really.

She couldn’t even remember the last time he’d thrown “I’m the alpha” in her face, and to hear it now?

It made her own fury flare hot in her chest.

“Oh, really?” She snapped instantly, her voice rising with her temper, “So you get final say because you’re a stupid fuckin’ alpha?”

Her hand curled around the nearest pillow, and for a moment, she thought maybe hurling it at his head would snap him out of this, make him laugh, break the tension but the second the snarl ripped out of him, warning and feral, it sent a shiver down her spine.

That wasn’t the Harry she knew.

“I’m your alpha,” Harry rasped, his voice rough, his pupils blown wide, almost swallowing the green of his eyes until they were nearly black.

She only ever saw him like this when he was seconds away from tearing into an intruder on their land.

There was still no doubt she was safe.

“No, you’re going to listen to me,” YN hissed back, spine straightening, shoulders squared.

She shoved her chin high, glaring at him with every ounce of defiance she had left,“You’re going to get the fuck out of my room, now. I’m done with this conversation. You’re being a knothead.”

Harry’s lip twitched, the corner of his mouth pulling back over his teeth in displeasure.

His eyes narrowed, sharp and assessing, like he was debating whether to ignore her demand or snap at it.

“Get out, you stupid alpha,” YN raised her voice further, throwing the words like rocks, her chest heaving with adrenaline, “I shouldn’t have to tell you twice.”

Something about that, about the sharpness in her tone, about the authority she forced into the command—made him pause.

It woke him up from a fog.

The silence stretched long enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her throat, and then, without another word, Harry turned.

He didn’t slam the door—he shoved it, hard enough that the frame rattled and the crack of wood rang in her ears.

And then he was gone.

YN sagged back against the headboard, her pulse thundering, her whole body tight with the aftermath of the clash.

She knew what he’d do—what he always did when she pushed him too far.

He’d shift, slip into his wolf skin, and stalk the treeline outside her house, pace relentlessly to protect.

“I… I don’t understand. I studied the material—“

“Well, clearly you didn’t study it enough. The years are all mixed up. If you want to be the historian that you say you do, that usually comes with not mixing up dates. I mean,” he held the paper in front of him, reciting the words she’d written. “Julius Caesar was assassinated in March, 43 BC. Incorrect. He was assassinated in March, 44 BC. You should know this, it’s basic stuff.”

“I’m sorry, I swear it was a simple mistake—“

“Simple mistakes will cost you your grade. In fact, it has.”

Her heart dropped. “Is there anything I can do? I can fact-check and write it all over again. Please. I want to pass this paper. I—I need to pass.”

He was always this mean. This… hurtful. He had no leniency towards so much as a falsely placed comma, and she could see her incorrect information pained him deeply. He was right. It was basic stuff, and internally she knew it. However, she’d been slammed with studying and had simply made a mistake.

But he had no patience, no care if anyone in his class was overwhelmed with what he pushed onto them. He’d been given the same load when he himself was studying. In his view, being pushed to the brink was what made him great at what he did. So, he showed his students the same respect as his professors once had.

“What makes you think I have the time to give you special treatment, Violet? I have enough papers to grade as is, adding yours to the pile all because you made a mistake will only set me back.”

“It’s one paper.” She begged, near on in tears again. She eyed the plaque that had his name engraved in the gold, avoiding his eyes.

Leaning back in his chair, he eyed her through his wide-framed glasses. He tapped his fingers against his thighs, clad in soft beige plaid pants. Her eyes fluttered towards his sweater, the striped shirt underneath. She lost herself in the pattern as he mulled in his thoughts.

“I want it on my desk tomorrow morning by nine o’clock.”

She could have jumped at the relief she felt. “Thank you, sir.”

“Just this once. I won’t be so easy on you if it happens again.”

“It won’t happen again.” She grinned, grabbing the paper from his outstretched hand.

"Since you're rewriting it—do you want my honest opinion?"

"Of course." She whispered, always one to accept constructive criticism. She knew he wouldn't hold back and she mentally braced herself.

"I was bored reading your paper."

She gulped, blinking in surprise but he continued, not concerned about hurting her feelings. That wasn’t what he was there for—to teach her.

"I expected more from you, Violet. To be frank, I’m disappointed. There was no depth to it. No excitement. You did the very bare minimum. You gave me a bunch of facts, with some of the dates mixed around. What’s more, is that nothing about this piece made me want to read it. Tell me, what makes history so exciting?"

"Uh, I guess learning about—"

"The stories. The stories make history so exciting. Stories of the people, their daily lives, and the fight for survival and victory. History would be nothing without the stories it tells."

"Yeah, I understand, now. You're right."

"Of course I’m right. Retelling history has to be gripping. Write it again and pull me in."

His eyes scanned over his pager, alerting him that a staff meeting was about to commence. He stretched out his neck, grabbing his folder and eyeing her as he stood.

He hated the way his eyes observed her frame. Soft corduroy pants, a graphic t-shirt of a band he had never heard of. Her hair was in a bouncy ponytail, half splayed over her shoulder as she twirled a lock between her fingers.

What he didn’t hate was how she feared him. Her eyes were wide with intimation as she stared at him. She was clearly so desperate to please him, not wanting to disappoint him or let him down.

She wanted to do this paper for him as much as she did for her grades. That’s why his tactic was to be cruel. To keep her at arm’s length, but also to keep his mind at bay from wandering into risky territory.

"Is there anything else?"

"Oh, that's all—"

"Great. I have somewhere to be."

The expectant look he gave her threw her off, but she very quickly gathered his meaning. She adjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder and gave him a soft smile, hoping to lessen his harsh expression, yet all to no avail. His expression remained the same. She turned to leave, barely getting through the threshold before his voice reached out.

“Nine o’clock, Violet.”

“Yes, professor.”

She left his office, winding her way through campus, smiling at her classmates as she passed them. Oxford University. Rich with history and success. Abundant with opportunities fit for her dreams. It knew no bounds of imagination, with its old and infamous buildings and all the tales held within them.

There was something about history that made her feel alive. Reliving the past through depictions, art, studies, and discoveries. It was what drove her.

So when she’d landed her dream Ancient History class, taught by a very highly adored historian, Harry Styles, she knew that she had a lot to prove.

She raced back to her flat after a stop at the supermarket for brainfood and energy drinks. She got stuck in, completely starting again, double and triple-checking her facts to be sure.

Her Walkman kept her company, and she cycled through her favourite CDs. She even went above and beyond, adding small details to her work that weren’t overly relevant but she knew Professor Styles would enjoy reading.

As grumpy as he was, she wouldn’t deny that she had a soft spot for him. For his focused gaze, his deep voice as he stood before the class and taught, and how his dimples flexed when he was talking or hiding his irritation.

Oftentimes, she’d allow herself to admire him. To see him as a simple man. Rich in thought and graceful in the way he so confidently carried himself. He was effortlessly smart and passionate. Young but full of experience, which she found impressive amongst the older faculty.

In his early thirties, it was remarkable how far his career had soared already.

He was gorgeous. Poised and proper, with inklings of something more unhinged that she could sometimes spy through his carefully placed mask.

But then she’d shake her head and chastise herself for thinking such thoughts about someone so above her.

He was known to be a sucker for details and personality. He hated textbook answers, even though his whole career and teachings relied purely on facts. So, she spent extra time being a little more pedantic than usual.

She wanted to impress him. He was one of the most successful historians of his impressively ripe age of thirty-two. She’d never wanted to let him down and she had to prove to him that she had what it took to be in his class and be worthy of his teachings. It was what motivated her to piston through her assignment and perfect it.

She was going over her paper, adding some final flares when her flatmate knocked on her door.

“Vi, you’ve been working on that for hours.”

“I know,” she wrote furiously, so hyper-focused on the spread of papers and books in front of her, “it’s due tomorrow.”

“You need a break, come get a drink with us.”

Violet was that person that worked herself to the bone to maintain her grades. She was a people pleaser, and that trait stretched to her professors. She clung to every word they said and took every assignment seriously.

“Due tomorrow, Alice.” She repeated, barely blinking as she wrote and mouthed the words out to herself.

“Please take a break before you lose your mind.” Alice could sense her friend falling into that mindset where she neglected everything aside from whatever assignment was due.

Violet sighed, pausing her work and turning to face her. “Who’s we?”

She soon found herself dressed in an attire that completely contrasted her university jumper and sweat pants. A tiny green dress, and a little makeup applied to her tired face to make it seem as if she were actually getting any appropriate amount of sleep.

They made their way to the local bar they often frequented, meeting their group of friends who had already started on the drinks. It was then that she realised was extremely overworked and tired.

Her study load was never-ending, piling on top of her until she was suffocating. She had to take some time for herself tonight or she’d go crazy. Her mind was constantly whirring with assignments and tests and studying.

Her paper was mostly done. She’d have a few drinks and then head home to finish it off. It was only nine o’clock, and she figured an hour or two wouldn’t hurt.

By ten o’clock, she was feeling lighter. She stayed true to her word, only having two drinks before cutting herself off. She knew she’d have to leave sooner rather than later, but her friends were renewing the energy she had been lacking. She couldn’t leave the source of such liveliness.

There was one guy in the group who had been pining after her all year. They shared a few classes together, including Ancient History with Professor Styles. He had a bright smile and a sense of humour that she enjoyed.

“Hey, Vi.”

“Hi, Charlie, how are you?”

“I’m good, yourself?”

“Not bad.”

“Glad to hear it.” He smiled. “Can I get you a drink?”

He made her laugh all night, stuck to her side to enjoy her smile up close. They flirted, sending each other sultry gazes and warm, suggestive touches.

She couldn’t even deny that she wished it was someone else she’d rather be with tonight. A certain professor who wore glasses, sweaters, and displeased frowns. Perhaps that was why she threw herself head first into Charlie, wanting to forget about her sinful desires.

She felt warm and gooey, needing something to focus on other than that damn paper and the professor who was expecting it.

So, when he led her down the hallway, kissing her lips and her neck, she didn’t hesitate to get lost in him.

Too lost to see her professor sitting at the bar watching as she pulled Charlie into a supply closet.

“I have to say, Miss Walters. I didn’t think you’d be able to do it.”

She huffed out a breath at his expression. It was like he was almost smug about it. About her having to rewrite a whole paper, work that would take weeks crammed into one night.

He was being truthful. The paper would have been difficult to complete in one night, he’d known as much when he told her that he wanted it the next morning. It was a test.

He didn’t want to be played around by his students. He was tough on them for a reason, and barely ever handed out second chances as he had done with her.

So, to know that she had been out last night when she should have been at home was an insult. She’d fluttered her eyelashes and taken advantage of the one sliver of good nature he had in him. And here she was, a pleased smile on her face with her paper before his very eyes.

She was wearing makeup as if to hide how tired she was. It wasn't because she had stayed up all night writing his paper, but he already knew that. He looked at the assignment dubiously, doubting its contents.

“Well, I did it. Correct dates and everything.”

“It’s longer.” He said, flipping through the pages and noticing that there were a few additional ones compared to the initial few she had handed in.

She absorbed her surroundings, his office was deep woods and dim lighting. His desk was large and cluttered with books and assignments to grade, and the room was framed with bookshelves, awards, diplomas, and expensive-looking knick

knacks.

“I took your advice and made it more exciting.”

He wanted to reprimand her. Tell her that adding extra fluff didn’t equal excitement or any weight to her assignment. But he swallowed his sour mood and nodded, placing the paper flat on the desk and leaning back in his chair.

His outfit was darker than his usual palette and style of light colours and unique sweaters. Instead, he donned a black shirt, a black suit jacket thrown over the top with charcoal pants. She could tell that he was in a bad mood, somehow even more irate than usual.

“I’ll review it over the weekend.”

She opened her mouth to reply, but then snapped it shut. She very clearly wanted to say something and he raised a brow in encouragement.

“Thank you,” she said. “For the second chance. I hope you enjoy it.”

Enjoy it? He’d never had a student wish that he enjoyed something they handed in. They simply wanted to meet the criteria and pass.

She turned to leave, feeling overwhelmed by his scrutinising gaze. She’d handed in the assignment, and had a bit of time to cram in some study before her first class of the day, which just so happened to be with the grumpy professor.

"Violet."

"Yes?"

He tapped his neck, eyeing hers. "I want that covered before you come to my class."

Her cheeks flushed with heat, her hand coming up to cover the hickey on her neck. She thought she'd done a good enough job with her concealer this morning, but apparently not.

She didn't even have the nerve to reply before she left the room, utterly mortified.

He stared after her, wondering if he'd embarrassed her. Probably. He disregarded her feelings, viewing the mark on her neck as inappropriate. He wasn't sure why the hickey bothered him so much.

Perhaps it was because she'd clearly had a late night last night, and it wasn't with the company of his teachings. He watched her take that man into that supply closet and the evidence of that was staring him in the face.

He didn’t want to look at that fucking hickey on her neck because then he knew he’d have to face the reality of the fact that he was jealous.

Jealous of one of his other students putting his hands and mouth on her. His student in that tiny green dress, cheeks flushed with arousal and drink. He imagined it. How she'd taste on his tongue. The sounds she'd make. The way she felt.

He had felt pathetic about the whole thing, sitting at the bar all alone and sulking. He’d polished off his drink at the bar after watching it happen. He’d just as quickly gone to his cold and empty home to wallow with a bottle of tequila and some Aerosmith.

Fuck. He couldn’t think about this. About her soft thighs in her tiny skirt and her bouncy ponytail. Or the way she called him professor. It wasn’t right and he felt sick about it.

He checked his pager, seeing it blank and sighing. He needed something to do so he couldn’t keep thinking about her. And then she’d be staring at him during his class, her eyes wide and wandering.

Almost panicked about the prospect of being near her again, he picked up her paper and began reading it to distract himself.

Following a strenuous battle with her concealer and the sizeable hickey on her neck, Violet entered Professor Styles’ classroom. It was mostly covered, there wasn’t a lot she could do in the way of hiding it completely. However, in the back of her mind, she was perplexed that he found it his place to even say anything.

Surely he just wanted to mortify her. He had been a student once, he knew the means of getting lost in dark hallways with another warm and desperate body.

She spotted Charlie sitting in the center of the seats and he waved her over. She smiled, shaking her head. She wasn’t in the mood to talk to him just yet, especially considering he was the cause of her marked neck.

She took her usual spot up front, always wanting to bathe in the professor’s teachings, and found herself lost if she was stuck in the middle of the seats.

Professor Styles wasn’t in class yet, and she took the time to prepare her notes in an organised spread on the desk in front of her. She didn’t even notice him silently enter, setting up at his desk with a look of disinterest.

Her body felt heated. Not the warm embarrassment of him pointing out her hickey, but because his gaze was on hers as he set down his satchel. She held his eyes, right until he looked away to retrieve the folders that held the material he needed for the class.

Decidedly ready, he stood at the center of his territory up front, his suit jacket parting as he slid his hands into his pockets. He eyed the class through his glasses, noting that no one had realised he’d entered the room yet. Except for her.

He sighed, wrinkling his nose before looking down at his oxfords. He cleared his throat, somehow garnering everyone’s attention in a split second. He leaned back against his desk.

“As you’re aware, I’m obligated to drag you on a class trip abroad in the coming weeks. I’ve heard your suggestions as you’ve not so subtly given them to me.” He eyed the mouthy students in question. “However, the board and I have discussed it and we’ve come to a decision.”

Students started chattering loudly, and Violet sent a friendly smile to her friend next to her but otherwise kept her attention on Professor Styles.

“Quiet, or you’ll be staying behind while I go on holiday by myself!”

His demand was heard loud and clear, and everyone became tight-lipped and watched him. He adjusted his glasses on the bridge of his nose, already dreading the idea of this trip.

The university board had been grilling him about it, and he’d been pressured into making a decision that pleased them with ridiculously limited time to sort it out.

“Pompeii.” He said simply, letting it sink in for his students.

Violet felt a rush of excitement. Pompeii—preserved in Naples, Italy, was rich with history and had been on her bucket list for as long as she could remember.

It was a monumental part of history, and she could not wait to see it in its glory and stand where devastation rocked an ancient city so long ago.

The class talked loudly, bursting and bubbling with enthusiasm. Professor Styles remained unphased by it all, waiting until the chatter had died down before he spoke again.

“We’ll be staying in Naples, however, the focus of our trip will be Pompeii. This will be your final paper and will be half your grade. This isn’t a holiday or a time to slack off. You’re here in this room for a reason, that applies to this trip as well. Think about the history there. The people, the politics, the daily life. The power of nature and the terror that it entices.” He took a slow breath, as if bored or tired. Perhaps both. “It wasn’t my first choice, naturally. But seeing as it is one of the most famous natural disasters in ancient history, the board saw it fit to touch on, considering it differs from any other material we’ve studied so far.”

“Can’t we go to Paris instead, Professor Styles?” One of the girls at the back of the glass giggled. It was clear that the only reason she took this class was for someone nice to look at. “It’s the city of love.”

“Love?” He laughed but it was void of humour. “If you want love, you’re in the wrong place. Maybe if you spent less time daydreaming, and more time paying attention, you wouldn’t be failing my class.”

Violet laughed under her breath, doodling in her notebook. His eyes went to her at the sound, wondering if she found the girl's suggestion funny or his response.

She looked up at him, brushing her hair over her shoulder. He clenched his jaw and looked away, locating the documents that contained everything regarding the trip.

He handed piles to the desks in the front row, telling them to take one and pass it back. He stopped before her, placing the papers in her waiting hands and staring at her with an unreadable expression.

“See me after class.”

“Me?”

His voice was low and deep. “Yes, you.”

She was perplexed. See him after class for what? He said that he’d go over her paper during the weekend, so she doubted it would be about that.

Maybe he wanted to torment her about her neck some more. Really rub in the embarrassment and taunt her for it.

It was hard to focus during the whole class. She jotted down notes every now and again, but her mind was honed in on him. Even more so than usual. The authority in his tone as he told her to cover her neck, his confident stance, and the way his lips caressed words.

He rambled on about the trip, what to expect, and in turn what he was expecting from them. He adjusted his glasses, searching the student's expressions and finding her eyes. He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek before looking back at his notes.

By the time class had ended, she had written down things she wasn’t paying attention to. She’d been paying attention to him. Only him. And she couldn’t even fool herself into her fascination with him strictly existing just because of his teachings. It was far past that now.

She gathered her things, the room emptying of students. She stood, her gaze falling to him, stood behind his desk organising his folders.

She approached his desk, standing before it. She noticed that his jaw clenched, looking up at her from the frame of his glasses and raising his brows.

"You wanted to see me?"

“I did.”

She waited as he righted his desk, ensuring everything was in order before he finally regarded her.

“Your paper. I want to talk to you about it.”

Her stomach dropped. “The paper I just handed in?”

What would he have to say about it considering it had only been mere hours since he’d received it? She felt a flash of irritation, wondering if she’d ever be able to please this man.

“I don’t have time this week, so it’ll have to be next Monday. You’re my last class so I’ll be able to give you all of my attention.”

She felt warm at his words. At the promise of having his full attention, her body was alive with need and desire. His eyes were so intense, deep, and thick with thoughts she could see the complexity of.

But as the foggy haze of her absurd fantasies cleared, she frowned. Monday? It was Thursday now. Why didn’t he bring this up closer to the time? Did he just want her to stew in her worry until Monday?

Surely he couldn’t have read her paper already. Maybe he’d read the first paragraph only to crumble it up and lob it into his trashcan.

“Is it that bad?”

He shot her a look that she couldn’t decipher. “Monday, Violet.”

As she left the classroom, completely vexed and anxious, Charlie caught up with her.

“He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

“Who?” She felt like she was barely there as she navigated the old building toward her next class.

“Styles. I mean, that paper we just did, for example. He ignores all of my hard work and focuses on the shit I’m doing wrong.”

Violet shrugged, “I mean, isn’t that what makes him a great professor? He points out what you need to improve on to do better.”

“Whatever. I feel like there’s no winning with him. At least we have this trip. You and I can ditch the group and do our own sightseeing.”

She didn’t miss the way his eyes sparkled at his suggestion. And maybe if she wasn’t so hung up on someone she had no business being hung up on, she’d reciprocate Charlie’s enthusiasm.

Monday. She’d be seeing her favourite, constantly disgruntled professor on Monday.

It wasn’t hard to keep herself distracted until then. She attended her classes, her study load growing as each one passed. Her flatmate held a party on Saturday night, in which she’d spent most of it pressed up against Charlie, however avoiding his advances of something more.

He was sweet and funny but he wasn’t what she wanted and she was just a fuck to him. She felt bad that she’d even let that night happen. She’d just needed to feel something, something that wasn’t the ever-pressing crush she had on her professor.

She was wrecked with intolerable thoughts about her assignment. Was he going to fail her again? Tell that she wasn’t cut out for his class that she’d battled so hard to get into?

By the time Monday came around, she was a nervous wreck. She settled herself into a private nook in the library, her Walkman on hand and her collection of her favourite CDs.

She read every single piece about Pompeii that she could find. She wanted to be even more prepared for the trip, and have a better understanding of what it might entail.

And maybe having more knowledge of it would impress her professor.

Her last class on Monday was with him. As she entered and took her usual seat, he was setting up his material, dressed in plaid pants and a cozy looking sweater.

He used the knuckle of his pointer finger to adjust his glasses and flipped a pen in his other hand, staring over his class agenda.

She just loved watching him. There was something in his mannerisms that was so fascinating. He was mesmerising in the way he carried himself. From his large hands, which she always stared at, to his ever-expressive eyes.

The first time she’d spotted the cross tattooed on his hand, she had to go into the bathroom after class and slip her hand between her legs to quell the dampness there.

With a deep sigh, he focused on the class and ran a hand through his curls, though they fell back into the middle parting as always.

He seemed even more put off today. He spent most of his time voicing more details about the trip to Naples and running through multiple checklists before handing them out.

Where he would usually throw her a glance, he didn’t even look at her today. Not once. His seemingly permanent frown was set deeper.

Instead of his usual drabble, he had some poor soul at the front of the class read out the daily lives of those who lived in Pompeii before its demise.

She jotted down notes, but her eyes kept flickering to where he sat at his desk, leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed as if he were being read a lullaby.

As class came to a close, he stood, telling everyone to start preparing for the trip.

“Please refer to the list I handed out, and if you have any questions…” He twisted his lips, clasping his ringed fingers together. “Don’t.”

Her nerves were running haywire, sending electric currents through every part of her body as she stood with her bag and began to approach his desk. He was busying himself with the sprawl of clutter on the expanse of the aged wood.

She stood before it, and he looked up briefly before gathering a stack of papers and sliding them carefully into his satchel.

"Not here." His voice was so low that she felt it swirl in her ears like a thick, dreamy fog.

She took a deep breath and nodded, feeling intimidated to be alone with him again. Until a student approached the desk and asked for his aid on a project, and all she could do was stand there and wait.

"I just don't know how to make the connection." The student said.

He leaned over, staring at the paper. He nodded and then looked at Violet, "go and wait in my office. I'll only be a moment."

She felt her heart drop to her stomach at the authority in his tone. He looked at her for a second before focusing on the student who needed his help.

She tried to brush off her nerves as she arrived at his office and sat in the chair in front of his desk. She had no idea what was about to happen, but since it was regarding her assignment, she was beside herself with anxiety.

He stepped into his office with a sigh, running his hands along his thighs before taking a seat. He sifted through the drawer in his desk, taking out her assignment and reading over it.

“I’ve read your paper.” His voice was void of any emotion and it made her feel uneasy.

She wasn’t sure what to say, so she picked at the hem of her dress and avoided his eyes. He held up her assignment and stared at it.

“Violet… this is one of the best things a student has ever handed in to me.”

She took in a sharp breath, looking at him with wide eyes. She almost didn’t want to believe him. Or what was more believable was that he’d be jesting and then fail her. This wasn’t like the usual grumpy professor that she knew and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“I—Thank you, professor.”

“I could tell that it had potential when you handed it in. I’ve written some notes for you, but I wanted to go through them with you now.”

This was unheard of. He graded papers, jotted down brief notes behind his reasoning, and moved on. But this… this was beyond anything he’d ever done.

He was known for being insufferably unfair to his students. Yet he’d given her a second chance, and was now praising her work and wanted to express why.

“Okay.” She nodded, adjusting in her seat and trying to calm down her racing heart.

“Overall, it’s a well-thought-out paper. You have complete control of each point made and where your sources come from without sounding too recited. There are facts here, and you’ve shown how the influence that ancient Rome had in its prime is perceived nowadays… impressively. You’ve portrayed its people and politics really well.”

“Thank you.” She was struggling to believe this was actually happening.

“This is why I made you redo it. What you initially handed in was bland. But this is… you. Your authentic self and thoughts.” He gestured to the paper. “You’re passionate, and I can feel that when I read it. You’ve taken every aspect of what makes ancient history so fascinating and made it your own.”

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious right now.”

There was a flash of emotion across his face, his dimple appearing ever so slightly with a quirk of his lips. “Take my praise. I don’t give it often.”

“Wow, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” His tone was suddenly warm, and his gaze brushed her neck for a second before finding her eyes once more.

“Professional opinion aside,” she toyed with the question on her tongue, feeling overwhelmed, “did you enjoy it?”

There it was again. Her question made his brow furrow in thought. He rarely enjoyed reading his student's work. Oftentimes, he was too preoccupied doing his job to feel any sense of enjoyment.

Why was it so important to her that he enjoyed it? He’d praised her work, and she wanted to know if he relished in reading it.

No one was as surprised as him when he found himself nodding slowly. “I did, actually. I like that it kept me intrigued and that I could sense how deeply you feel for the past.”

She wasn’t in his class for the wrong reasons, like he could see a lot of his students were. Some weren’t interested in anything past staring at him for an hour and then bullshitting their way through every paper they had to write. But she had a reason to be there, a drive to explore the past.

“I’m glad you liked it.”

Her expression was so burning and focused on him that he felt it in his gut. He remembered how she looked in that guy's arms and he swallowed, wondering if she would be just as soft in his.

He cleared his throat, shaking off the fog of her. She crossed one leg over the other and he blinked at the sight of more skin exposed under that sweet little dress she was in.

She released a breath as he stood, relieved that this whole interaction was one of positivity. She was elated that he had enjoyed her work, and moreover was elated that he had praised her as he did.

But as he stood, he rounded his desk and went behind her before he closed the door to his office.

She felt a wave of adrenaline wash over her, being alone with him. She questioned if he was even allowed to close the door, but she didn’t want to stop it from happening.

She watched as he walked in front of her, leaning back against his desk with his arms crossed.

“Why history?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Well, everyone has a reason for their majors. Whether you’re in it for archiving, research, or curating, you’ve got a reason for choosing history. My question is why.”

She straightened under his scrutinising gaze. He adjusted his glasses before his hands rested back on the desk, curling around the lip of it. She stared at his rings, mesmerised.

“I find it fascinating to observe how humanity has changed, to see how we’ve improved and what we still need to work on. I like studying the past, preserving the stories, the art, the structures they left for us to see their legacy.”

He was floored, although his expression remained a trained unreadable one. To meet someone with these values wasn’t uncommon. However, she had a way with words that he adored.

Like every aspect of his own passion was laid out on her tongue and given back to him in a gentle vocal caress.

“So, you’re just as intrigued by their way of life as well as learning from their mistakes?”

“In fewer words, yes.”

“You’re in it for the right reasons.”

“Are there any wrong reasons?” She frowned.

“Greed.” He said simply, not giving any clarification.

“Why do you teach?”

He tilted his head, his hands smoothing down his strong thighs. “I have a lot of experience in the field, as you may know. I wanted to extend that knowledge to people with the kind of drive I admire. The lust for research and preserving history. I’m good at it, and I have a lot to give you so that you can be just as good.”

His choice of words turned her mouth dry. I have a lot to give you. She knew he meant a lot of his wisdom and knowledge, but his eyes were sparkling with something she couldn’t decipher.

“I love your class.”

“Is that so? Is that why you asked if I enjoyed your paper?”

“Yes.”

He pursed his lips. “Are you trying to impress me?”

She smiled. “I don’t see anything wrong with that. I like the assignments you give us and the way you teach. It’s informative and exciting at the same time.”

“I like that,” he said, mulling deep in his thoughts, “it’s a nice change. To have someone care about their studies as opposed to struggle through them.”

“Oh, the struggle is still there.” She laughed and she spied a hint of a smile teasing his lips before he could disguise it.

He took a step forward and her eyes followed as he gauged how close he wanted to get. She gripped the arms of the chair as he stood in front of her, a jeweled hand reaching out to brush a few strands of her hair away from her face.

She hoped he couldn’t tell how hard she was shaking. Their eyes didn’t leave one another as his fingers brushed softly down, moving her hair away from her shoulder so he could look at her neck before he retracted all touch completely.

“You covered it.” He mumbled, his voice so low that she thought she imagined it.

“I did.”

“Good gi—“ He cleared his throat loudly. “Good. It’s not professional.”

Her brows raised at his almost slip up. She wondered if he was going to say exactly what she thought he was. And she almost begged him to call her that. Just once. Just so that she could go home and think about it in the shower, alone with nothing but the memory of him.

He leaned against his desk again, his gaze searing. She couldn’t breathe and pressed her thighs together to dull the ache his touch had left.

“Do you want to impress me, Violet?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

“I’m going to give you some extra work to do for me.”

For me. Her eyes fluttered. “You are?”

“I am.” His voice was slow, dreamy. “For my enjoyment, and your benefit.”

This, he thought, is where he should stop. He could feel the vapour of arousal lick at him in warm swirls. The way she was looking at him had him near crumbling. So innocent and intrigued by the prospect of impressing him. He wanted to reach out and touch her again, but he wasn’t sure if he could stop himself again. From going too far.

“My benefit?”

“Yes. I’ll reward you, of course.”

“What kind of reward?”

“Whatever the teacher’s pet wants.”

Her entire body became warm and gooey, though her nerves did not settle. Instead, they amplified the longer he simply stared at her, unwavering.

“What does this extra work entail, Professor?”

He didn’t smile—although he wanted to, and straightened. He rounded his desk, producing a small stack of papers, the top one decorated with his sprawl. He walked back over, handing it to her.

He looked her in the eye, his face serious. “Only do what you want to do. Extra work and rewards. Do you understand?”

“Okay.” She said simply, feeling overwhelmed and heated. As if he had read her mind, viewed her deepest, darkest fantasy of being his pet and making it a reality. Her mind was buzzing with what extra work he’d have her doing.

“There are only a few things there.” He nodded to the papers. “Some extra assignments if you can do them as well as this one. Also, some preparation for the class trip if you’re up for it.”

She scanned through the list, seeing the assignment topics from subjects he’d vaguely taught them about. She felt a twinge of excitement at the idea of doing more for him.

“And my reward…?”

His lips twitched like he was amused. “Extra credit, of course.”

She felt a pang of disappointment. But then what else was he meant to offer her? She wasn’t about to turn town extra credit or the chance to impress him. She was already on his radar as someone he could count on. The thought made her all giddy and warm inside.

“I’m very grateful, professor.”

“You have potential. As you finish each one, come and see me.”

“Thank you, I will.” She nodded. She’d try her absolute hardest to complete them, and as he said, only the ones she wanted to. She eyed the list again.

He stepped forward once more, and she braced herself for the contact again. She was still spiraling from when he touched her. Her cheek still tingled from his fingers and she felt desperate to have that feeling renewed.

But then someone knocked on the door once before entering. “Hey, Harry, I—oh. Hello.”

Another faculty member she recognised from the economics department. Her cheeks flushed as he eyed her before looking at the grumpy professor in front of her.

Harry. She’d always known his name, but hearing someone actually call him by his first name made him seem more… real. Less like a history robot and more like the man she fantasised about.

“Forgive me.” He cringed, “I didn’t know you had company.”

“That’s generally why you knock.” Professor Styles grumbled, however checking his watch with a sigh.

“I did—"

“Get started on those, Miss Walters. I’ll check in with you in a few days.”

Blushing, she stood and ducked her head, leaving the room hastily. The list was crumpled in her fist as she made her way home. Alice was ready to ask her about her day, and they quickly got distracted watching reruns of some old sitcom. But the list he’d given her stayed on the forefront of her mind.

And as the week dragged on, she made her way through the few assignments he’d given her. They weren’t full-length assignments and differed heavily from the kind he handed out to the whole class, as he’d stated. She found them quite easy, the basis of them fitted her strengths.

Had he tailored these to her? Had he enjoyed her work so much that he wanted more? It was like he’d hand-picked his favourite topics they’d briefly covered in class and was now asking her to do what she pleased with them.

She spent all of her time between classes in the huge library. It was undoubtedly her favourite section of Oxford, and she spent many hours getting lost in the ornate building, the old books, and the history they shared.

She sat at one of the aged desks, a sprawl of books in front of her as she finished up her second extra assignment. She took on his advice. She double-checked her facts, and added drabble that made the paper more exciting and gripping to the reader. Him.

She’d even gotten a head start on the third assignment he’d given her. Although she knew she’d have to spend more time locating sources for the topic, she figured it would look good if he saw that she’d started it. All she wanted was to impress him. To prove herself. She knew she had the talent, and he was fully appreciating it.

As her day wrapped up, she found herself swirling through the halls towards his office, a completed assignment in hand. Considering their class trip was only in a matter of days, she figured he’d be too busy to see her.

She approached the oak door and knocked, hearing his voice on the other side telling her to come in.

She opened the door, and his eyes fell on her immediately. On her pretty yellow dress and the hem that fell to the middle of her thighs. Her hair was in its usual ponytail held together with a pale blue scrunchie. He liked watching it swish through the air as she walked.

“Hi,” she said softly, while his expression was hard. “I finished another assignment. Do you have time?”

Technically? No. He had a pressing amount of things to grade. But the hope on her face and the way she looked so fucking pretty made it impossible for him to turn her away.

He moved his work aside, clearing his mind so that she was the only thing on it. “Take a seat.”

She took a deep breath and entered the room fully, leaving the door open which was a detail he didn’t miss. She placed the assignment in his hand and he felt the urge to read it immediately. To be wrapped up in her thoughts.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” His voice rolled through her ears like a steady stream tumbling over smooth rocks.

“I felt inspired.”

“By what?” He tilted his head.

“Not what,” she whispered, holding his gaze. “Who.”

A sliver of a smile touched his lips before it was gone without a trace. “Okay, then. Who?”

“You.”

“Me.” He parroted as if he didn’t believe her.

“You always have inspired me, but hearing what drives you and how you came to teach made me want to work harder. To give history as much as you’ve given it.”

He felt something warm him. He was almost bashful at her praise, where usually it would inflame his ego. But coming from her, from her earnest and sweet heart. It was different.

“I’m glad you find my teachings useful.”

“They really helped with this paper.”

“How did you find it?”

She mulled over her thoughts. Endearing. Intriguing. Enriching. “The perfect amount of challenging. It made me think but my thoughts came naturally.”

“Good.” He pursed his lips. “I knew you’d apply all that I’ve taught you and pull through.”

“And I hope you enjoy it as much as my last one.”

“I’m sure I will. Come and see me tomorrow after your last class and I’ll give you my notes.”

She liked the idea of hearing his musings on her own work. He saw her potential and her drive. Enjoyed what she handed in and told her how much and why.

“Tomorrow.” She smiled a little, standing and slinging her bag up to her shoulder. “I can’t wait.”

There was something in her tone at the sentiment. The hue of it. A soft, wispy colour as pretty as her dress. He wondered if it was flirtation but quickly threw the idea aside.

He couldn’t wish for such things with his student, no matter what signals she sent him. But she was his little teacher’s pet now, and something about having that claim on her was driving him mad.

After a grueling study session in her well-loved nook of the library, she went home to pack for the trip to Naples. There was a checklist criteria for what to bring and what to leave behind.

She threw some of her favourite summer dresses into her suitcase, a few pairs of shoes, and a few extra outfits of baggy jeans and band t-shirts.

She had class with Professor Styles the next day, in which he’d handed out light material in preparation for the trip. Essential knowledge and ground rules.

It seemed he viewed the whole ordeal as a burden. An annoyance. He was taking twenty students away, with only one other member of the faculty joining to help him out. A teacher, who happened to be from Naples, would be staying with their family between class adventures.

He’d rather be sunbathing in Naples than traipsing around ancient ruins with students he despised. Mostly.

He didn’t acknowledge her for the whole lecture, save an initial glance as she’d taken her usual seat. But he’d almost switch off any form of warmth he had towards her when they were in the class environment.

He was his usual grumpy self, impatient with everyone and snapping at anyone who was talking when he was.

She had a free period to end her day, and she used it to finish up some assignments for her other classes as well as work on one of the extra ones he had given her. It was about half done, but she knew to prioritise her other class papers over this one.

She made her way to his office again, and this time it somehow meant more. She felt the weight of entering his space, and it was because of how he seemed to change around her.

That icy demeanour of him melted just enough for her to see the genuine man that lay beneath it.

She knocked, waiting for him to tell her to enter before opening the door. His outfit palette today was soft browns and beige, his glasses perched on his nose while his eyes gleamed behind them.

He looked at her briefly before nodding to the seat and turning back to his work, his expensive ballpoint pen twirling between his fingers. She stared at the bright yellow pen with a smile, noting how it was the exact opposite of his mood; bright, sunny, and cheerful.

She sat in the chair and realised that she felt less and less nervous with every moment she spent alone with him. She’d never felt uncomfortable around him per se, but his intimidating nature was a constant reminder that she couldn’t want him. Shouldn’t want him. But she did.

His jaw worked on a piece of gum, and he frowned as he adjusted his glasses and continued writing on whatever he was working on.

She decided to get comfortable, settling deeper into the chair, figuring he was deeply enthralled with his work. She eyed the bookshelf to her left and scanned his personal library.

She didn’t even realise that he was trying to get her attention, too focused on his book collection, searching for clues as to who he was. Who he was outside of this office, outside of his profession.

“Violet?”

“Hm?” She turned to face him.

He retrieved her assignment from under a stack of other ones he was grading. “I’m wondering why every assignment you’ve given me hasn’t been as good as these last few.”

Oh. Her brows raised. It was a compliment to her most recent work while putting down everything else she’d given him prior to these. She’d always had the drive and passion, but it was evident that something had changed.

“I guess I just felt more inspired. I’ve enjoyed these topics a lot and felt compelled to do them well.” She frowned. “I thought I’d done well with every other assignment, though.”

“You did—obviously, as I passed you. You clearly didn’t do them as well, however, hence my praise.”

“That’s very nice to hear, especially from you.”

His lips quirked at her sheer and utter adoration for him. She valued what he had to say, looked up to him, and the influence he’d had in the younger demographic of Ancient History.

“Well, you deserve it. You work hard, and you’re driven by your passion. That’s rare to come by.”

She could only imagine what he himself was like as a student however many years ago. Like her, he’d studied at Oxford, and after not too long in the field, had felt the need to come back but as part of the faculty.

“Thank you.” She replied, unsure of what else to say. She felt like she was being pinned to her seat by his searing gaze and she wriggled in it, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

“Help me with this itinerary for the trip.”

“The itinerary?”

“It’s mostly done. There’s a bunch of books and brochures here, if you see anything you’d particularly like to do, add it to the timesheet and make it work.”

She gawked at him like he’d grown three heads. Her? Help him with the itinerary for the class trip?

“Isn’t this your job?” She felt brave enough to ask. “Like, am I allowed to be doing this?”

“Yes it is, and yes you are.” His tone was so final that she didn’t feel a ribbon of unease lace through her mind.

She scooted forward so that she could use the desk, while he sat at the other side and graded papers. She scanned through the travel brochures and circled things she thought could be educationally beneficial, and eventually started going through the itinerary.

She loved planning and organising, and she wondered if he knew that. Maybe he’d picked up on how pedantic she was about her own class planners and thought this little job would be fun for her. He wasn’t even marginally wrong.

Over her work, she risked quick glances at him. Ones that dared to adventure over his posture, his stern, and concentrated expression. The way he chewed on the tip of his pen, how he would take off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

He was so endearing and she found herself watching him more and more, getting lost in how effortlessly beautiful he was.

He was still grouchy and short with her when she asked questions, and she had smiled whenever he’d huff and grumble under his breath at whatever he was grading.

“You seem particularly melancholy today.” She observed softly, and his eyes flashed to hers before he placed his pen down and laced his fingers together, leaning forward on the desk.

“Am I always melancholy?”

“I think so.”

“And you’re always vibrant.”

As bad as his mood appeared, he seemed to enjoy her company.

She mulled over the itinerary that he’d drafted, editing bits here and there. She had a sprawl of books on his desk, scanning through top tourist spots and mapping out the best walking routes.

There was a moment where he took a break, stretching his arms high over his head with a soft groan she almost missed. She hadn’t even realised that she was looking at him, enamoured and intrigued by his display of exhaustion when he always seemed so energised.

“Stop staring.” He stared at her over the frame of his glasses, his head tilted down.

She blushed, looking down at the itinerary. “I’m not.”

“I saw you.”

“Sorry.”

He watched as she focused a little too hard on a not-so-interesting book and he smiled. He’d called her out, as if he hadn’t been staring at her, too.

She hadn’t realised the time, unknowingly lost in her work for almost two hours. His pager beeped and he checked it, flipping his pen between his fingers as he read.

He reached over, grabbing the itinerary, pretty much complete, and nodding as he scanned it. He could see the depth and excitement that she had added to it and he suppressed a smile.

“I’ll go over this tonight.”

“I added a few different things there. Restaurants, as well as some historical sights and important cultural landmarks.”

He nodded, impressed. “Very good, thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“As for the next assignment, I want that tomorrow.”

“We fly to Naples tomorrow.” She frowned,

“I know.”

His icy and cold guise returned. He was her professor demanding something, and she could hardly turn him down. The paper was half done and lucky for her, it wouldn’t be difficult to complete.

“Okay.” She nodded, standing and gathering her things. “It’ll be all yours tomorrow.”

He didn’t respond, turning back to his work. She’d learned to decipher his cues, and took his silence as her own time to leave. She had a lot to do before their trip and she took one last glance at his solemn expression before leaving.

As she closed the door, his eyes went up to the door. Then to the chair where she’d been sitting. His office now felt like a void of who he wanted to be. Influential, important, inspiring. All things that he rarely felt while he was stuck in an old classroom all day.

But then students like her came along. The ones alight with wonder and fascination that wanted to have his success touch them. They weren’t in his class simply because it was a requirement. They were in his class because they were eager to harbour influence of their own.

She spent all night going over her pack list, finalising her outfits and essentials for a couple of nights away. She dotted back to her paper often, wanting to have it complete. She struggled to wrap up her conclusion, and no later fell asleep on her bed, surrounded by her books and topic materials.

Her alarm went off, shrilling deep in her skull. She groaned, killing the sound and stretching. Checking the time, she noted that she only had a matter of hours until she needed to be at Heathrow airport.

She was in some type of trance as she got herself ready. She showered, ate a light breakfast, and readied her luggage. At the last minute, she grabbed the assignment that needed to be done and shoved it into her purse.

After securing a seat on the train, she got to work on it. Tossing back and forth between an abundance of different conclusions. Why did preservation matter? Why were artifacts archived how they were? How were stories of history pieced together?

All such basic questions to her whirring mind, and yet she struggled to encapsulate her thoughts in the unique way that she knew he loved. With a sigh, she put it away. She’d finish it on the flight.

After she arrived at the airport, she headed towards check-in, her small turquoise suitcase in tow. That's when she saw him, and she stopped dead in the hustle of travelers.

She had never seen him so paired back. He was dressed far more casual than his dress pants and sweaters and suits. But he was no less fashionable. She eyed his black, loose fitted pants, the worn vans on his feet, and yellow-stained sunglasses. As loose as his pants were, his t-shirt was anything but. A graphic white one that hugged him and left little to one's imagination.

And tattoos. Lots of them.

She'd only ever seen the cross on his hand and the inklings of something on his wrist. But she could see that his full arm was covered with them. Smatterings of ink, personal depictions, and dedications.

The ship on his upper arm rippled as his muscles flexed, his designer suitcase in his hand.

He looked grumpy, like always. However, the yellow sunnies over his eyes concealed some of his irritation.

His eyes found hers and he peered at her as she approached. She smiled, shy and suddenly nervous about this trip, and moreover, him.

She noticed that the rest of her class was already present, and Charlie wrapped his arm around her shoulder as he greeted her. Professor Styles' mouth twisted at the physical touch between the two before clearing his throat.

No one was paying attention until he stuck his fingers into his mouth and released an ear-piercing whistle, quieting down and facing him.

“Roll call. Be quiet.”

It took some time for every student to settle down, far too excited and chatty to keep quiet enough for him to call out everyone's name to confirm their presence.

As he called out Violet’s name, she raised her hand and watched his expression sour at Charlie's arm still wrapped around her.

Not wanting to be inappropriate, she slowly stepped away from Charlie, who was far too concerned with scoping out the other girls who were around.

They gathered, waiting in line to check in per Professor Styles’ instructions. He handed out the finalised itinerary that they had both worked on, and now everyone had their own copies. She wanted to approach him, but he was busy keeping everyone organised while the other teacher talked at the front desk.

It wasn’t until they were on air side, that he found her in line for coffee and pursed his lips.

“Did you finish the assignment?”

“Almost.”

He raised a brow, his arms crossed and accentuating his muscles and how inked they were. “Almost?”

“Yes, almost.” She affirmed, not missing his look of surprise at her tone, but she continued. “I’ll finish it on the flight.”

“We’ll be in the sky for five hours, Violet. I expect it to be done, so don’t get distracted.”

She almost snorted. What could possibly distract her on a flight? And right on cue, Charlie popped up next to her with a cheeky grin.

“How’s it hangin’, sir?” His grin widened as he stared at their disgruntled professor.

“Fine.” He grumbled, staring Charlie down before looking at Violet. “I want it before we land.”

As he sauntered off, Charlie released a sharp breath. “You’d think he’d crack a smile considering the fact that we’re going on holiday.”

“Of course, you’d see this as a holiday.”

“I heard our hotel has a pool.” He bumped his hip against hers.

She gave him a fake smile, worming out of his hold. “Can’t wait.”

Half way through the flight, she’d found herself polishing off her paper, just how he ordered. The conclusion was strong and unwavering, her skill and passion shining through each word.

She’d managed to avoid sitting next to Charlie, instead, she was next to two girls she enjoyed talking to, although they were a bit quiet during class and outside of it, it was so different. Everyone seemed to busy themselves with studying the itinerary for the trip, bubbling with excitement.

She read over her paper twice, thoroughly proud of it, and she couldn’t wait to have her favourite professor read it. She knew he was a few rows back, and stood, remembering that he wanted it before they landed.

Standing with a stretch, she made her way towards the back, scanning the faces for his, and finding those expressive eyes almost immediately. He was sitting alone in a row of three seats, and she wondered if he’d just gotten lucky or paid for three tickets.

His attention had been on a book before he’d found her eyes. She didn’t get the chance to study the cover of it before he was tucking it away and staring up at her expectably as she came to a halt by his row.

“Yes?”

She held up the completed paper with a look of triumph. “It’s done.”

He felt at odd sensation of pride wash over him. To be fair, he had given her quite a lot to do. And for her to finish it within such a small frame of time, while maintaining the immaculate value of her work, was an incredible feat.

So, he actually smiled. It was small but big enough that his dimples indented his cheeks a little.

“Attagirl. I knew you could do it.”

Her cheeks flushed at his praise and his smile. Two glimmeringly beautiful facets of him that she’d never seen, especially the latter. Fuck, his smile. So soft and serene and dreamy. It was verging on heartbreaking that he didn’t wear it more.

“I hope it’s good.”

“Knowing you… it will be.”

“You’re too kind.” She said bashfully.

He flipped through the assignment, nodding his head with pursed lips. He opened his mouth to say something, gesturing to the empty seat next to him before the sound that accompanied the lighting of the seatbelt signal interrupted him.

He sighed, adjusting his glasses before buckling up. “You better get back to your seat.”

She nodded, unaware that it took everything within him to not invite her to sit on his lap.

They landed in Naples in the early hours of the afternoon, and were shuffled onto a waiting bus towards their first destination of the trip. Professor Styles had done a roll call and had already lost all patience with the loud group he was stuck with.

Their luggage was sent to their hotel, where they’d be turning in after their activities. They were given a tour of the huge city. The driver pointed out landmarks as they passed them.

The expanse of the ocean was pristine cerulean, invitingly crisp, the shore framed with exquisite buildings that crawled up the steep cliffsides. It was bright. Awash with blues and yellows and pinks and reds. Hues that depicted such a lively city so well.

Violet practically had her face pressed up against her window in the bus, admiring how glorious it was. It was densely packed with culture and entertainment and history. She was itching to get out and explore, smell the fresh air and taste the experiences on her tongue.

Their first tourist spot was the National Archaeological Museum. Professor Styles separated his students into two groups, one with him, and one with the other teacher.

To her delight, she was with him, and by the look in his eyes, he was just as happy about it. Maybe he even planned it that way. What he didn’t plan on, however, was Charlie sneaking into his group so that he could be with Violet. He gritted his teeth and tried to ignore the flash of irritation that almost blinded him.

The museum was phenomenal. Showcasing historical artefacts that had been unearthed by many. There was an abundance of exhibitions, which they were led through by their professor.

She took photos on her disposable camera, one of which had him in the frame, and she wouldn’t realise until she got her film developed.

Following the tour of the largest part of the museum, he turned to face the group. He had noticed Charlie being a nuisance, especially towards Violet and he made a point to ask her about it if he got her alone. He cleared his mind, trying to remain professional but struggling when she was staring at him like she was.

“Archaeologists and historians work together to teach the world about history. About daily lives, historical events, and structures. They excavate the history, and we tell its story. I hope you all feel inspired by what we’ve seen today because I want you to choose a piece and include it in your assignment.”

The group murmured, gathering their notebooks and fluttering around the exhibitions, attempting to find one that could merge in with the topic seamlessly.

Violet found herself on the second floor of the impressive building, completely enamoured with how beautiful it all was. Rich with history and chronicles of the past.

She found a detailed model of what Pompeii had been in its prime. Detailed, intricate and precise. Her eyes wandered the tiny streets where people walked thousands of years ago.

It changed her perspective, seeing it all laid out in front of her gave it so much more weight in her heart. She felt the passion and interest wrap warmly around her like how the Italian sun had kissed her skin; new, inviting, and blissful.

She took a few pictures of it, wanting something to refer back to just in case. As she stared through the lens, she felt a presence behind her. Her professor, stood tall and intimidating, though his expression was composed yet warm.

“It’s impressive, isn’t it?” He nodded towards the model.

“It’s amazing.” She breathed, sharply aware of him standing next to her.

His shoulder brushed hers and she froze. She wanted his touch. Wanted him to out his hands on her and praise her. She hadn’t stopped thinking about when he reached out and brushed her hair away in his office.

“Is he bothering you?”

It appeared that their minds were in two separate places. Her, desperate for his attention, and him, desperate to keep Charlie’s attention off of her.

“Who—Charlie?”

“Because if he is,” he continued, frowning. “He can do his assignment back home.”

And perhaps knowing that she and Charlie shared a night together, sending him away wouldn’t be strictly for her benefit. He felt protective over her, and yeah, he was jealous. He wanted her and he hated to admit it. But seeing her here, in this city, in this room, felt like the final nail in the coffin.

“It’s fine, I can handle him.”

If only she knew how much he saw the depth in that statement.

“Okay, just let me know.”

“Why?” She was perplexed. His tone was almost… territorial. It was more than a teacher protecting his student.

“Because I want to take care of you.”

Her eyes fluttered as they found his, and she felt a rush of arousal spark between her legs at the sheer hunger on his face and in his tone. Fuck. This couldn’t happen. He was her professor.

This was far from appropriate but the way he was looking at her like he wanted to devour and savour her at the same time was driving her wild.

She didn’t know how to respond, but let him take her hand and lead her towards some shelves in the back of the room. They housed artifacts from Pompeii, preserved from excavation sites.

She barely had a chance to look before he was leading her on towards the Gabinetto Segreto. She frowned, halting.

“What is this?”

“My favourite exhibition.” His eyes told her nothing but mischief, and he made sure the coast was clear before ushering her in.

She was taken aback. His favourite exhibition threw all inhibition out of their minds. Sexually graphic paintings, carvings, molds, and statues. Incredibly erotic and lewd.

He watched her in the room, thankfully empty of any other museum visitors. She approached a particularly sensual painting, framed in deep marble, a woman on top of a man, both in seated positions.

“What do you think?” He asked her, his veins thrumming with life and excitement.

Her cheeks were warm, and she was very aware of his gaze on her in the room full of sexual depictions. “I think… people have always had fascinations about bodies. About sex. It’s humanising to see it depicted so early in human civilisation.”

Was it normal for that to turn him on so much? She was clearly feeling the intensity of the room and yet was in her mind enough to give him an answer that reflected her passion for his class.

“Mm.. and how does it make you feel?” His voice was so low as he came to stand behind her.

“Feel?”

“To be surrounded by ancient erotic art. How does it make you feel?”

She let out a shaky sigh, unsure of how to answer. She felt lightheaded and heated and knew the only way to quell it was to have some attention between her legs.

He picked up on her silence, thinking maybe she couldn’t gauge what kind of response he was wanting. “I’ll start. It makes me feel like recreating every piece of art in here.”

Her eyes widened at his confession, feeling so shocked that he would go in that direction but so pleased that he did. Was he just as deep in lust for her as she was for him?

“Me too.” She breathed out, and he swore lowly.

“These were all excavated from Pompeii and Herculaneum. They were kept in brothels, homes—anywhere, really. They had an appreciation for erotica and displaying it. So they allotted this space in the museum. For a time, they only allowed men to come in here and view it.”

She could listen to him talk for hours, and then she realised that she did. And loved every millisecond of it. How his lips caressed words, how he spoke a few octaves lower than most, but it was still a milky and warm voice that rang through her ears.

“Lucky me.” She smiled. He wondered how she truly felt. Aside from the obvious, she found it almost funny to think that people thousands of years ago were fortifying lands and yet found a common ground in sexual art.

He huffed out a laugh and her heart just about stopped at the noise. “Not as lucky as whoever had this hanging on their wall.”

He pointed to a large painting of a couple embracing, his skin golden against the woman’s fair skin. The preservation was amazing, aside from slight erosion of the colour and some cracks near the bottom.

“It’s very intimate.” She observed. It was—like everything else in the room—sexual. But the strokes of paint were soft, their hold on each other even more so. Love. Care.

He wanted to know if someone had held her like that. So gentle, savouring every inch of skin. Worshiping her like the piece of art that she was.

After a filling dinner at a nearby restaurant, they all found themselves at their hotel. They gathered their room keys, and each partnered up to share a room for the trip. As Violet and her professor were the last two standing in the lobby, they eyed each other awkwardly.

“This has to be a mistake.” He frowned, staring at the concierge. The other teacher was staying close by with family. Harry was sure that he’d requested his own room in the hotel. This couldn’t be happening. “Is there another room available?”

“I’m afraid not, sir.”

He sighed, clenching his jaw. He wanted to hole up in his room and order expensive wine and listen to music. Now he had to face the reality that he’d be sharing a room. With her. Maybe he’d sleep out in the hallway.

Instead of making a scene and taking out his frustration onto the person at reception, he stared at Violet, whose eyes were wide with what appeared to be apprehension.

“I can find another hotel to stay at.” He said lowly to her.

“With the number of people you’re caring for, I would advise against that, Sir. The nearest hotels are also fully booked.”

Harry glared at the concierge. The concept of staying in the same room as one of his students was a harsh pill to swallow. A jarring sensation. He was being faced with one of his deepest fantasies but now all he felt was that he was a creep.

He sighed, and met her eyes. “Come on.”

She blinked away her surprise and followed him. She could see how tense he was as his knuckle jabbed the button to call the elevator. She bit her lip and stared at him.

“Professor—”

“I swear to you I demanded a separate room.”

She frowned, seeing the worry in his eyes. He thought she saw this as something he had planned out. He felt sick about it.

“It’s out of your control. They clearly messed up the bookings, it’s fine.” She assured him, although her nerves were shooting through the roof. She had no idea how the night was going to go, or the rest of this trip, for that matter.

They arrived at their room and he took a deep breath before opening it. It was lavish, thought she expected him to book nothing less. A small seating and kitchen area, and a set of double doors that must have led off to the bedroom.

He located his duffel bag dropped off by the staff and rummaged through it. “I’ll take the couch.”

She stood awkwardly in the room. “Oh, okay.”

He took his toiletry bag, sauntering into the en suite in the bedroom. “Just gonna shower.”

Her eyes followed him, his tense body language putting her on edge. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable. Once she heard the shower turn on, she quickly changed into her sleepwear, soft silk pants, and an old t-shirt.

To keep herself busy and keep her anxiety at bay, she began working on her assignment for the class trip. Taking notes and jotting down observations she’d made. She was cozied up on the window seat, overlooking the city with a soaring heart.

He came out, his hair dripping, wetting his white t-shirt. The grey sweats on his bottom half left her speechless. Now, this was the most dressed down she’d ever seen him.

“We should get some sleep.” He said, eyeing the notebook in her hand.

“Yeah, o—of course.”

“And don’t worry I… I’ll see about getting another room tomorrow. Surely they’ll have a free one by then.”

“I don’t mind.” She blurted out, worried that he thought she was seeing him as utterly inappropriate. “It’s not… I mean, it is kinda weird but this whole mix-up is out of our control. We’re adults. We’ll make it work.”

“You’re right.” He huffed out a breath, seemingly relaxed at that. They could make it work. It was going to be a mission to shelf his attraction to her, but he kept putting on his professional hat, even though her wandering gaze was warming him up inside.

“I’ll see you in the morning.” She breezed past him, and he could smell her sweet scent.

“Good night, Violet.”

She paused at the door, about to close them when she turned back to look at him with a sultry expression that made his dick hard.

“Sweet dreams, professor.”

Suffice it to say, his dreams were anything but.

“Listen up! I’m not in the mood to repeat myself.”

It had been an eventful morning and they hadn’t even left the hotel yet. They were piled into a bus, and Charlie was sitting next to Violet, chatting her ear off.

She couldn’t keep her eyes off her professor's disgruntled expression. How she’d seen more of him than any student had before.

How he’d hidden his smile when she offered to make him coffee that morning, how his voice was far deeper after sleep.

How he’d effortlessly slipped back into his cold and disheartening demeanour after he’d gotten dressed. A pair of grey slacks and a light blue dress shirt. She tried to brush it off and pretend it didn’t bother her, but she wanted his warmth and all he gave her was soft glimpses of it before he shut her out again.

“Remember what we are here for. Keep your minds open and explore this unique opportunity. I won’t be supplying material when we return to class, so gather everything you need today. Is that understood?”

The students nodded, hearing him loud and clear. Violet checked that she had her notebook and disposable camera on hand, feeling inspired to make this assignment her best one yet.

Pompeii was everything she had dreamt of and everything she never knew she could experience. It was a phenomenal sight to see. To really walk the streets which had been wandered down before. Where lives had fled as Mount Vesuvius unleashed its wrath, coughing up poisonous ash and spewing deadly lava.

She trudged through the fallen streets, imagining what it must have been like. Danger looming. Harrowing screams. Grasping for valuables as they fled.

Her disposable camera seldom left her hands, and the click of her taking shots set off Charlie’s impatient streak in him.

“Let me give you a personal tour.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively.

“I really want to focus on this.”

“Come on, Violet. You’ll have way more fun with me.”

She sighed as he attempted to take the camera from her hands. “Charlie, please. It was one night and it won’t happen again. Let it go.”

“Why the sudden switch up?” He frowned.

“I just… I want to focus on passing this assignment, okay?” And she was bored of him. Another, far more intriguing man has eclipsed her every thought.

“Fine by me. I’ll show someone else around.” He sauntered off and she glared at his back.

She rolled her eyes and tried to focus on the task at hand. At being in such a beautiful place, struck by such a disaster.

The class had all spread out by that point, and she fought to stay by herself. She worked best that way, alone with her thoughts. No pressure to fake her interest in anything aside from the historical site before her.

She sat at the edge of a small field, framed by stone arches and fallen buildings, crumbling walls. She began to sketch out the scene before her, listening to music on her Walkman, lost in her work as Duran Duran blessed her ears.

She felt the presence of someone sitting next to her, and she looked up, surprised to see her grumpy professor. His mouth moved as it formed words and she frowned, pulling her headphones off.

“I’m sorry?”

He looked amused, albeit annoyed that he had to repeat himself. “I said, I didn’t know that you could draw.”

She smiled sheepishly, staring down at her drawing. “It’s just a rough sketch. I’m a visual learner, so it helps, gives me something to refer back to if I need it.”

“It’s pretty good. You could incorporate it into the assignment.” He seemed impressed.

“That’s allowed?”

“Only because I said so.”

She bit her lip to hide her smile, although he saw her cheeks become a stunning shade of pink that he associated only with her. Like saturated carnations or his favourite ice cream, boysenberry with strawberry swirls.

She was worming her way into his brain like a rotten apple and he could only sit and watch the decay.

“I just called the hotel. They’re still fully booked—”

“Last night wasn’t horrible.” She said. “We both kept to ourselves and slept well. Unless you want a turn in the bed tonight.”

It was his turn to blush now, and she didn’t miss it.

“The couch is fine.” He grumbled, embarrassed.

She wanted to tease him. To tug that soft side of him out. But a large part of her knew he’d reprimand her for it. Use his authority on her. Not that she’d mind, but it wasn’t a way to get through to him in the slightest.

“What’s on the itinerary, then?”

He shot her a look. “You should know, considering you did it.”

She laughed. “I wasn’t sure if you’d like what I chose. If I remember correctly, I put us down for an afternoon of relaxing at the beach and self-appointed activities.”

“I never did ask what self-appointed entails.”

“Well, it could entail a number of things. Exploring the city, working on papers, grading papers,” she leaned in towards him. “Anything, it’s just downtime.”

“Downtime.” He parroted.

“That’s a completely foreign concept for you, isn’t it?”

He stifled a laugh and nodded. “Any and all free time I have is spent on you,” he cleared his throat, “my classes, I mean.”

“Maybe take some time to relax today, then. Even if just for a few hours before dinner.”

“I’ll try.” He sighed, staring down at her Walkman. “You always carry that thing around.”

He was a lot more observant of her than he was ever going to admit. And they both picked up on it. He stared at her red and white sundress for a time, wondering if she’d worn it just for him to agonise over. He had been all fucking morning. He pushed his glasses further up his nose.

As she opened her mouth to respond, he stood with a gruff, “I need to check in with everyone else. Keep working.”

She did, the sun browning her skin, her tiny sundress the only thing he could think about as he talked with other students and showed them around.

She ventured Pompeii some more, taking pictures, penciling quick sketches, and let her eyes wander over to him whenever she thought he wasn’t looking. But he always was, and they both looked away quickly.

Charlie seemed to forget all about the rejection she’d given him by the time they were at the beach and lounging on sunbeds. Violet had taken a dip, but was mostly into reclining in her little yellow bikini.

She slipped her shades up onto her head as she took in the scene before her. Most of the students had joined them, a few had ventured into the city.

But it was a rarity any of them got to see the sun and sand like this, so they practically melted in the experience, vowing to never leave.

She let her eyes scan the beach, her book tucked into her side on a dog-eared page. She enjoyed people-watching. Seeing her fellow students thrive under the golden sun, and seeing families make memories.

And Professor Styles. Stretched out on a sunbed far from everyone else. Yellow swimming shorts, bronzed skin, decorated in tattoos, both arms flexed as he stretched them above his head.

Her mouth dried at the sight. How toned and prominent he was. She could easily imagine herself sitting on top of him, mapping out each tattoo, licking, kissing, biting. Admiring.

As if he could sense her eyes on him, he looked up, a lone finger sliding his shades down to look at her. And lip quirked up on one side in a subtle smirk that made her toes curl. So, he got especially cocky when he was half-naked.

She tried to turn her attention back onto her book, but it was an effort to think of anything else other than him. She craved his touch, even though all he had given her was a whisp of it in his office.

They were dangling themselves in front of each other, temptation and lust awry, waiting for who would take the plunge first.

Following a game of cat and mouse, trying to catch each other’s eyes, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for dinner at a local restaurant.

She beat him to the room, grabbing a quick shower, almost ready by the time he entered the room.

He could smell her sweet perfume as he entered the room, the air humid from a long shower. She was sitting at the vanity in the bedroom, swiping mascara on her wispy lashes.

Her eyes met his in the mirror, disappointed to find him dressed in a t-shirt, those same yellow shorts allowing her to see his tattooed thigh.

“How was your downtime?” She asked him.

He came up behind her, still watching each other in the mirror. “It was good. Although, a girl was gawking at me the whole time. Didn’t think my body was that atrocious.”

He was teasing her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it, and so she played along.

“I’m sure atrocious was the last thing on her mind.”

“You think so?”

“Maybe you should have asked her.”

“I thought about it.”

She held her breath. “Did you?”

“Mm. Thought about inviting her over to my sunbed… asking her what had captured her attention. I knew what she was thinking but I just wanted to hear her say it.”

“Say what?” She breathed out. His eyes were so intense. Molten and demanding, holding hers with such a ferocity that she felt it between her legs.

He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Now Violet, when have I ever given you the answers to a test?”

She released a shaky sigh, tilting her head away from him, allowing him access to her neck.

He smirked at her eagerness. “You’re a bad girl. Finish getting ready.”

“Then stop distracting me.”

He growled deep in his chest, taking a step away from her. “Don’t talk back, Violet. Ever.”

He sauntered into the bathroom, locking the door with a click. She fanned herself with her hand, quickly slipping on a white summer dress and heading downstairs to hang with her classmates.

Everyone was unaware of the fact that she and their professor were sharing a room, and she cringed to think about how they’d react if they found out.

The attraction they had for each other was undeniable, but she saw it as harmless flirting. Until… he touched her. Until he took her into that erotic room. Until he told her not to talk back. She was fucked.

He led them to the restaurant, pointing out architectural phenomena, and different historical sites for them to make note of. He looked so pretty that it hurt. Light pink dress pants and a matching blazer, a white singlet underneath. His glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, his curls falling down on his forehead messily.

She lagged behind, and he noticed, subtly falling back, She was stopping to take pictures of different buildings, in awe of the structures and local ways of life.

He slowed his pace, keeping close to her just in case. She wasn’t overly warm towards anyone else in the class, and it made him feel glad in the sense that she focused on his class, but he couldn’t help but wonder if she had many friends outside of class.

Perhaps that’s why he was so protective over her. How territorial and irrational he became towards her. How enamoured by her he was. Buy her words and her confidence, whether in corduroy pants or little sun dresses.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, trying to appear relaxed, but he was crawling out of his fucking skin. He needed her. Wanted her. Had to have her. He just didn’t know how to do so. He sucked at talking to women, but he knew how to fuck.

Just getting them on their backs was the hardest part for him. He had never struggled with men, but women terrified him for some reason. Especially women like her.

He kept watching her like she’d drop a clue behind a step on the cobbled street.

And when he noticed that one of her sneakers had become untied, he felt his heart begin to race.

The group was further ahead, and he fell into step beside her, grabbing her hand to garner her attention.

She turned to look at him with wide eyes, her camera clicked, and as she spun around, his face fell perfectly into the frame. But the two of them were too focused on his touch to notice.

“Your lace is untied.” He explained simply, his touch gone.

She looked down, “oh.”

“Let me,” he knelt down on the ground, lifting her foot up onto his raised knee. She gasped at the feel of his fingers wrapped around her ankle. How they softly caressed her skin before they got to work tying her lace.

His ringed fingers were a wonder to watch. So precise and nimble. She felt her cheeks tinge pink as she stared down at him on his knee for her. And when he looked up, it was almost as if he was in awe. Worshipping.

His hand slid up her ankle, cupping her calf and sliding higher. And then he dropped his touch, realising how inappropriate he was being.

“Thank you, professor.”

His jaw clenched slightly before he stood, adjusting his suit jacket. “We should catch up with the others.”

They were the last to enter the restaurant, and the universe pushed them together once again with two remaining seats. Next to each other.

Her leg was still burning from his touch and she wanted to experience it over every inch of skin on her body.

It was a wonder she could even focus on eating. He was so powerful in his presence. Even when she wasn’t looking at him she could feel him. This tar-thick sensation next to her, begging to be pulled in, begging to have her attention.

He ate his meal in silence, drinking a cider, offering bits to the conversation here and there.

She was a nervous wreck. She could smell his cologne. How it was sweet and spicy and sultry all at once.

At some point, restless and on edge, she crossed her leg, her foot accidentally nudging his ankle. He shot her a look through the corner of his eye, his mouth on his drink.

She blushed, apologising to him under her breath. But he moved his leg towards hers a little before retracting. Intrigued, she extended her foot out again, letting it trace up his leg.

“Careful.” He warned lowly.

She stared up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “Or what?”

“You don’t want to start trouble with your professor, do you?”

She pursed her lips. “Maybe I do.”

“I pegged you for a good student, Violet. Perhaps I was wrong.”

“I’m a good girl where it counts, professor.”

“Then be a good girl and go settle the bill. We need to get an early night.”

He handed her his card, watching as she stood and went to pay. He eyed her thighs at the hem of her dress, remembering how soft she’d felt as he tied her shoelace. How lulled her expression became when she was teasing him under the table.

He thought about how it felt to be kneeling before her. How if he leaned forward just a little, he’d be able to see up her dress. See the colour of her panties. Flick his tongue out and get a long-awaited taste.

He skipped the dessert menu because he knew nothing would satisfy the sweet tooth he had. Only she could quell the craving.

Fuck. He couldn’t share a room with her tonight. Not unless he wanted to fuck her against every surface of it.

The walk back to the hotel was tense for the two of them. They tried to avoid each other, she tried to spark conversation with other students, while he conversed with the other professor who was probably triple his age and insufferable to talk to.

He felt especially creepy when he realised the most interesting conversations he’d ever held had been with a student of his. One who was ten years his junior.

The other professor split off, heading to his family home while Harry was in charge of leading everyone back to the hotel.

He was back to his short and curt self, subdued by his own thoughts. She eyed him, wondering if he regretted getting so comfortable with her. Because she sure as hell didn’t regret anything.

Everyone parted ways, heading to their designated rooms, while she lagged behind, completely on edge.

Their eyes met as they leaned on opposite walls in the hallway. Waiting. Gauging.

“I should find somewhere else to stay tonight.” His voice broke through the tension.

Her heart dropped and she started to panic at the prospect of him leaving her. “You don’t need to do that.”

He sighed, torn. “Violet…”

“I promise I’ll behave. You won’t even know I’m here.”

He watched her, internally debating. Could he behave? And would she stay true to her word? It was later in the evening now, and he hardly felt like trudging around the city until he found an available room.

He sighed again and nodded, entering the room wordlessly. She followed after him, watching as he stripped off his jacket and ran his hands through his hair.

She slipped into the bedroom, and as she went to close the door, decided to leave it slightly ajar. An invitation.

He sat on the couch, spreading his arms along the back. His mind was a jumbled mess, the only clarity were liquified swirls of violet skies that gave him a sense of constant.

His eyes found movement in the gap of the bedroom door and his mouth went dry. Violet pulled her tiny white dress over her head, her matching white bra and panties revealed to his hungry stare.

She pulled her hair free from its ponytail, the yellow ribbon falling to the ground in a tiny silk puddle.

She bent over, unlacing her sneakers before pulling them off. He knew he had to look away. But he couldn’t. He was staring directly between her legs. The softness of her hips and her thighs. His stomach clenched.

Reaching back, still facing away, she unclasped her bra and let that fall to the floor carelessly. He internally begged her to turn around. But he knew that if he saw her bare tits it would be game over. He already felt like he was going to finish in his pants.

And then she stepped out of view, appearing moments later in a white silk camisole and matching shorts. He looked away quickly as she exited the bedroom, trying to hide the fact that she’d put on that show just for him.

“Can you please help me?” her sweet voice caressed his ears.

He still didn’t look at her. “With?”

“My necklace.” She came to stand in front of him. “It’s tangled.”

He eyed the dainty jewelry around her neck and wondered how his hand would look in its place.

“Do you ever take yours off?” She nodded to the cross pendant dangling from his neck.

“No. It stays on. Always.”

“Even when you—”

“Turn around, Violet.”

She giggled and turned while he stood, his body shaking with desire. She scooped up her hair out of the way, a few strands tangled in the clasp of her necklace.

“You like doing that, don’t you?”

“Doing what?”

“Teasing me and acting oblivious to it.” His fingers began to unwork the tangles of her necklace.

“How do I tease you?”

“Well, the little show you just put on is a great place to start.”

She smirked. “I don’t know what you mean.”

He growled and brought his hand around, cupping her throat and encouraging her to lean fully against him.

“Don’t make me out to be a fucking pervert, Violet. Prance around in your tiny little shorts all you want, just as long as you know that you’re doing so for me.”

“We’re not in the classroom anymore, professor. No need to boss me around.”

“Brat.” He said through his teeth. “I’m always the boss.”

She gasped out in the authority in his tone, at the sureness in his actions. His hand around her throat just like she’d imagined a million times while he taught a class.

“I know you daydream about me.” He whispered in her ear. “I can see your mind wander when you’re sitting at the front of my class. You think about all the things you want me to do to you.”

“That’s a bold assumption.” She continued to tease him.

“Mmm.” He rumbled in her ear. “And I bet you’re wet right now.”

“You’re wrong.” She whimpered.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Prove it.”

She stepped away, staring up at him. “H—How?”

He feigned a bored expression, shoving his hands into his pockets with a sigh. “You’re a smart girl, Violet. Figure it out.”

All confidence she had was shredded away by his condescending tone and she released a shaky breath. Prove it? She sat down on the couch, finding his eyes willingly.

Fuck. This was everything the both of them had been daydreaming about. Releasing the tension that had been building between them ever since she started his class.

He would have stopped her if she didn’t want this. And she wouldn’t have given him a show if she didn’t’ want it. She slipped a hand down her shorts, her eyes lulling while his widened at the scene.

Her fingers found her core, throbbing and wet already. She whimpered, trying to look unfazed but he could see how much her legs were shaking.

“That’s a good girl. Let me see.”

She retracted her hand from the silk of her shorts and displayed her fingers, glistening with her excitement.

He grabbed her wrist, investigating the wetness. He tutted. “Now, what are we going to do about this, hm?” His eyes met hers and she melted.

“I don’t know.”

His gaze hardened on hers. “Part of your studies have been based on problem-solving, Violet. I know I’ve been doing my job right. The question is: have you been a good student?”

“Yes,” she whispered, shaking.

“Is that so? Then tell me how we solve this problem that you have.”

“Problem…?”

“You’re sitting in front of your professor, dripping for him. Tell me how we can fix it before you make a mess.”

She swallowed, her mouth dry. “Touch me.”

“Raise your voice when you’re speaking to me.”

She cleared her throat, mildly embarrassed. “Touch me.”

“Touch you? I could fail you for this behaviour that you’re displaying. I can’t think of one reason not to.”

“Please,” she whispered, “please, touch me.”

He sat on the coffee table opposite her. “I can’t risk it… we can’t—”

“Please. Just once, it’s all I will ever ask of you.”

He stared at her, his expression disgruntled. Like she was causing him actual annoyance by asking him such a thing.

“Fuck it.”

He took her fingers past his lips, saturated with her wetness, and sucked on them. Cleaning them and tasting her. Heavenly and sinful.

She gasped as he did so, unable to even wrap her head around what was happening before his lips met hers, his hand on the nape of her neck.

“Kiss me.” He ordered against her and she obliged, whimpering as his tongue found hers.

He stood and leaned over her, pushing her back into the couch. He pulled away momentarily, as much as it pained him.

“You want this?”

She nodded, leaning forward to kiss him but he shook his head.

“Words, Violet. I need to hear you say it.”

“I want you.” She assured him, glad to finally have the words leave her mouth.

“Show me,” he breathed out. “Show me how much you want me.”

He sat back on the table again, leaving her panting and shaking while he slipped his glasses from his face. She bit her lip, finding every ounce of courage that she had before slowly slipping her shorts down her legs.

His eyes never left hers as she got herself comfortable, and he untangled her shorts from her ankle, his cock hardening further when she giggled playfully.

She spread her legs a little, her hand finding its way back between them. He hissed as she played with herself, and he could hear how wet she was as well as see it.

He leaned forward, his hands on her thighs. “Are you this wet for me during class?”

She shook her head slowly.

“Are you lying to me?” His hands smoothed up her legs and he could feel how hard she was shaking having his touch on her.

“No…”

“Mm...” His hands found her sensitive inner thighs and her legs spread further, enticing him in. “I think you’re lying, Violet.” His thumb brushed her sensitive clit and she gasped. “I think…” A little more pressure. “You sit in my class, fantasising about me.” Small circles. “And then you go home, get yourself off and imagine that it’s me doing it.”

“Please—”

“Am I wrong?”

“Fuck,” she cried out as his fingers built up speed and pressure. “No, you’re not wrong.”

“I never am.” He smirked, pulling her so that she was laying down flat on the couch.

His mouth found her cunt in a deep kiss and she rolled her hips up towards him, his hands cupping under her thighs to keep her where he wanted her.

Her back arched at the sensation of his mouth. So wet and hot and skilled. She’d known how good he was with his mouth, as she’d listened to him talk for hours. But this was something else, and she knew she’d never look at his lips the same again.

His brow was furrowed in concentration, and he moaned against her, loving how sweet she tasted. How she was shaking and he’d only just gotten started.

His tongue found her clit in delicate flicks, sucking and nibbling it until she was gasping.

The straps of her camisole fell down her shoulders, and her tits came into his view. Her nipples were pebbled from the cool air and he reached up, pinching and squeezing them with deft fingers.

All he could think of was the fact that she was lightyears better than anything he’d viewed in Gabinetto Segreto. But he knew that before he’d seen her naked.

His ears were ringing with how good she felt and he couldn’t wait to feel her wrapped around his cock. God, he’d grasp onto the feeling forever. He could already see himself begging shamelessly at her knees for a pity fuck.

Her hands came down and entwined with his curls, determined to make a mess of them. She had spent far too many hours admiring the perfect shape of them and the precise middle parting.

He groaned as she pulled them, his eyes finding her blissful expression. He ate her like he’d never had a satisfying meal in all his years. After tasting her, it felt like he hadn’t. And nothing would ever suffice again.

She brought Gabinetto Segreto fucking shame.

He gave her a finger, testing the waters with what she could take. Her body went lax before tightening up in pleasure. His jaw dropped at how warm and snug she was.

“Oh, pet. You’re going to get me addicted to this pretty little pussy, aren’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up in desperation. The way he was talking to her. Encouraging her and talking her through it. It was all so surreal.

“Professor…”

“What?” He pulled away, annoyed to have her interrupt.

“It’s okay.”

He frowned. “What?

“I—It’s okay. You don’t have to…”

“Don’t have to what?” He was getting pissed off now.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“What, make you come?” He frowned further, bewildered.

“It’s hard for me to do that.”

His eyes softened and he crawled up her body, his hand cradling her jaw tenderly. “Has anyone ever made you come, pet?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Just my vibrator.”

He pouted a little. “That’s a shame, isn’t it? I bet you get so creamy… so relaxed and soft.”

She could feel his hands massaging her body, but she felt lightheaded with how he was talking to her.

“I can make you come, pet. As many times as you want.”

“I don’t know how.”

“You don’t have to do a thing. You just lay back and let your professor look after you, okay? You deserve it after all of your hard work. I’m very impressed.”

“Really?” Her eyes were wide.

“Really. Daddy’s going to reward you, now. Would you like that?”

Her eyes lulled the second that word fell from his mouth.

“Yes.”

“My good little pet.”

His mouth found her core again, reveling in her taste and the feel of her. He helped her relax enough that she could simply feel the pleasure and nothing else. She had been so stuck in her mind but now all she could fathom was pure bliss.

He gave her two fingers, massaging a spot inside of her that she had not discovered before. It was overwhelmingly intense. Pressure and sensitivity and euphoria.

“Relax, Violet. Can you do that for me?”

She focused on keeping relaxed, but almost laughed at his request. How could she relax with his head between her thighs?

She must have done a good enough job because he moaned, closing his eyes and kissing her cunt almost romantically.

He wanted to watch her. To guide her and talk her through it. He came up, licking inside of her mouth, sucking on her tongue.

You’re doing so well.

So sweet for me.

You’re milking my fingers, pet.

Breathe, that’s it.

He could tell she was close and he was watching her in awe. Watching her write in pleasure that only he had ever been able to entice from her. He was far too in his head to feel smug about it, but he knew he’d come back to that later.

“Oh…”

“That’s right,” he coerced. “You’re gonna come all over my fingers, I can feel it. Fuck, do it on my tongue instead.”

He swiftly placed his mouth on her again, paying all of his attention to her clit while his fingers worked inside of her. She was pulsing and it drove him to take her harder, moaning against her.

His arm tensed, the veins in it prominent, snaking around his muscles. He couldn’t fathom why the men before him hadn’t got her here like this. He was addicted to everything about her. Her body and her mind. Her jaw dropped in pleasure.

His mouth latched onto her clit ferociously, and the intensity of it knocked her over the edge of bliss. She writhed around, crying out as it overwhelmed her. He pinned her down, helping her ride the wave.

“Thaaat’s it, pet. What a good girl.” He soothed her as she came down.

She gasped out, grabbing his wrist as he slowly fucked her with his fingers.

“Fuck.” She smiled, meeting his eyes.

“How did that feel, hm?” He checked in, his mouth and chin drenched in her. He kissed her inner thighs, pulling away.

“So good.”

“Yeah?” He came over her. “Let’s get rid of this, shall we?”

She barely had time to register what was going on before he ripped her silk camisole from her body, discarding it behind the couch.

“Hey!” She yelled out. “That was expensive.”

“Daddy will buy you another one.” He promised, his eyes falling over her bare breasts. “Fuck, look at you. Gorgeous little thing.”

She moaned as he gripped her breasts, toying with her nipples. He spat down on her chest, wiping his spit around her tits with a devilish grin.

“You’ll let me do what I want, won’t you, pet?”

“Yes.” She whispered, meaning it.

“The next time you’re in my class,” he pinched her nipple. “I’m gonna make you sit on my lap. Make you read out your paper while I play with your clit and fill your cunt with my cock. Make you cream all over me while everyone watches.”

“Professor—”

He stood abruptly, ridding of his shirt and pants, allowing her to see him as bare as she’d ever seen him. His inked torso and arms. His strong thighs and toned tummy. She felt her insides melt and warp.

He grabbed her hand and placed it over his clothed cock, hard and throbbing.

“Feel what you do to me?” He asked, wrapping his hand around her throat to hold her still while her hand felt him. “I get so hard every time I see you. I can’t fucking stand it.”

Her mouth was watering and she shifted forward, kissing along his length. He growled lowly, feeling his cock twitch and his balls tighten.

“You’re a naughty pet. Come to my class in those tiny dresses because you know I think about pinning you against the wall and slipping inside of you.”

“I wish you would.” Her eyes were wide, staring at his.

He tilted his head, gripping her hair in his fist, his rings catching. “You do, don’t you? Little whore.”

She nodded eagerly, whimpering when he pushed her face forcefully against his crotch. He leaned down, his fingers finding her pussy, slick from her orgasm. He hummed, gathering her wetness and spreading it along his covered cock.

“Messy girl. Clean me up.”

“Make me.”

He glared darkly, his nostrils flaring at her disobedience. He gripped her hair hard enough that tears formed, and he moved his hand to pinch her jaw until she opened it.

“Tongue out.” He barked and she slowly did as she was asked. “Wasn’t so hard, was it? Now, clean me up or I’ll fuck my fist and make you watch.”

He spat on her tongue and she hummed, swallowing before leaning forward and licking off her wetness from his crotch. His brow furrowed at the sight. His feisty little pet.

She sucked on the tip of him over his boxers, and he whimpered before pushing her away. He quickly rid of his boxers, impatient. He had to be inside her. He prided himself in his ability to last but that seemed to be irrelevant when it came to her. Just looking at her naked and pouting was enough to set him off.

She reached for his cock, hard, a bead of pre-come on the tip. He throbbed in her palm, so hot and ready for him. He ran his hands through his hair, his body tingling.

She took him past her lips, her eyes fluttering. His head fell back on his neck as she took his tip, sucking and flicking her tongue against the slit. He encouraged her, his hand tangling into her hair.

“Take more.” He rasped, moaning loudly when she fit half of him in.

She used her hand to work on what she couldn’t fit yet. He was losing it, spitting down on his cock to get it nice and wet before forcing her to take all of him.

She choked on him, her eyes watering as she gagged.

“Fuck,” he gritted his teeth, his abs flexing as he pushed his hips forward.

Tears streamed down her face, smudging her mascara. His thumb wiped under her eyes, smearing it further. He wanted to destroy her.

He took her throat in slow, rolling thrusts, allowing her to breathe and watching when she tapped his thigh when she needed a break.

She picked up her pace, and his knees buckled. He attempted to pull away but her hands wound around his thighs, holding him in place.

“Pet,” he whined, “you gotta stop.”

She eyed him mischievously, moving her mouth harder. Faster.

He swore, grabbing her hair and practically ripping her from him. He threw her back and slapped her cheek before gripping her jaw and pressing his face against hers.

“You’re a fucking brat, you know that?”

She giggled, her cheek stinging, but it fuelled her arousal.

He clenched his jaw, holding hers harder. “You promised you’d behave.”

The feral rage in his eyes made her gulp. She did not fear him, per se, but feared what he’d do to her as punishment. Feared that she’d like it too much.

She wanted him warmed up to her. But she wasn’t sure that he was capable of that.

“I am behaving, professor.”

“I don’t think you are.”

She frowned, pouting. His expression softened, loving how she looked all vulnerable when she did that little face.

He cupped her reddened cheek, looking at her wet eyes and swollen lips from his cock.

She opened her mouth to protest, to apoligise, or to plead. She wasn’t sure.

“I—”

“Shh.. sit back and take my cock, pet.”

The willingness in her eyes melted him and she fell onto her back, pressing her legs together with her knees bent and swaying them side to side.

He took a step forward, fisting his cock with a shaky breath. He had fantasised about this for so long and now that it was finally happening, he couldn’t believe it.

“You look so good.” He complimented, his voice low. His hands ran down her body, feeling every inch and every curve. He settled over her, hitching her leg high over his hip.

“So do you.” She breathed out, her hands running down his sides, feeling the muscles flex.

“You were made for fucking.” He spoke his thoughts, running the tip of his cock between her slick folds. “Made to take me. Made to be used by me.”

She whimpered, rolling her hips up. “Take me. Use me.”

He kissed her, pushing his hips forward a little. She made a soft sound as he pushed inside of her, able to take the tip of him before her body tensed.

“You’re so big.” She whimpered, wide eyes staring up at him.

“You can take it.”

He held her in place, pushing forward and breaking through her tightness. She gasped as she took half of him, and he reached down, rubbing her clit to lessen the sting.

She mewled softly, her body relaxing as he slowly took her. He pushed all the way in, and he swore quietly as she rippled around him.

“Attagirl.” He praised. “I knew you could do it.”

“Oh… my god.” She moaned, her eyes watering at how fucking good he felt. He was so big that she felt him everywhere. He was pressed snugly against that spot he’d found not long before and the pressure of it was blinding.

It was the fact that they definitely should not be doing this that made it feel so much fucking better.

“I’m going to move now.” He informed her, retracting his hips until only his head remained inside of her. He slammed back in forcefully and she cried out, her back arching.

He didn’t stop. He screwed into her relentlessly, pounding her down into the couch. She couldn’t get a single breath in with how hard he was fucking her. His touch never left her clit, until he wrapped his arms around her and stood, holding her up as he fucked up into her.

She bit into his neck, his skin warm and damp beneath her. Her nails embedded themselves into his shoulders, trying to hold on as he took her.

He pressed her against the wall, his head dropping back with a growl. She watched him in awe. The sheer power he exerted on her body was blinding. He was so in control, so feral and animalistic but in control nonetheless.

She had never had someone fuck her like this. He was confident in the classroom, but having him even more so while he was naked and inside of her was something she never knew that she’d experience.

She gripped onto his hair, near on sobbing as he took her. “Professor…”

“Harry.” He gritted out, his curls a mess.

“H—Harry, please.”

“Please, what?” He breathed out, grunting. “Tell me—fuck—tell me what you need.”

“Touch me.”

His hand wound around her throat, his gaze searing on hers. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, pet.”

“My clit.” She whispered out. “I need it, please.”

“Fuck, say my name again.” He huffed, staring at her desperately.

“Please, Harry. I need it.”

He groaned, pushing two fingers in her mouth until she gagged, getting them wet. Then he connected his fingers to her clit and rubbed in delicious circles. Her toes curled, her hands raking down his shoulders and sides as he took her.

“You like that?” He checked, knowing full well she loved it with how tight her pussy was around him.

She nodded, whimpering as he slapped his hips against her.

“Yeah, you do, don’t you? Your pretty little cunt is squeezing me like a fist. Dirty girl letting me use you like this.”

He placed her on her shaky legs, slipping down to his knees. He aided her in placing a leg over his shoulder, opening her up to him. He latched onto her core with a loud moan.

“Taste so good.” He said between licks, her core trembling around his tongue. “Love feeling how my big cock is destroying your pussy.”

He ate her, addicted. He held her up as her body became weak with pleasure. His fingers found her core, fucking her with two fingers while his mouth sucked and nibbled and licked her clit.

She looked down at his face, seeing his eyes closed as he ate her. He was enjoying it just as much as she was. Her professor was on his knees for her.

From tying her shoelace to eating her out in a matter of hours.

He loved being able to taste his cock while he ate her. Able to taste where he’d claimed her and destroyed her. His dick twitched, missing the warmth of her. Wanting to spread his cum inside of her and watch it leak out.

He grabbed her, bending her over the window seat. She stared at the view of the ocean as he stared at the view of her.

“Spread your legs.” He ordered.

She bit her lip, looking back at him. She pressed her legs together and wiggled her ass.

He glared, slapping her ass. “Whore.” Another slap, to which she cried out, clawing at the window. “I said open your fucking legs.”

He kicked her legs open forcefully, spreading her cheeks and staring at her dripping cunt. She moaned as he massaged her skin, his thumb dipping to press against the tight opening of her ass.

He spat down on it, massaging gently before he bent his knees, guiding his cock back to her drenched heat.

She held back her pleasured cries as he fucked her, his skin slapping mercilessly against hers. His thumb played with her ass, watching as she moaned and flowered open to him. His to use.

“Good girl.” He praised. “Take me so fucking well. You love having my big dick fill you up, don’t you?”

She whimpered, rolling her hips back against her thrusts.

He slapped her side. “Don’t you?”

“Y‑Yes, Harry!”

He grabbed her by her throat, pulling her back while he kept fucking her. His lips found her ear, biting on the lobe.

“Call me daddy.” He growled. “Call me daddy and I’ll let you come again.”

She could feel the swirls of it blooming and she swore, her walls clenching around him.

“Please, daddy.” She whimpered, loving calling him something so naughty. “Please let me come.”

“You need daddy to rub your pretty little clit? Huh?”

“Fuck, please, yes I need it.” She gasped, her tits bouncing, drawing his attention to them. He played with her nipples. Twisting and tugging before his touch veered south, finding her clit with an expert touch.

She exploded around him, her body growing lax against him. He allowed her to melt onto the floor, not stopping his thrusts as he helped her through her orgasm. He screwed her on the ground, grunting animalistically in her ear.

They were sweaty messes, writing and naked on the floor as he took her, feral and obsessed. He lifted her ass up, taking her harder and harder, his hands gripped tightly onto her hips.

She clawed at the carpet beneath her, trying to hold onto anything that would keep her steady against his intense thrusts. The sheer power he had was astonishing.

He picked her up, sweeping knick-knacks and a lamp off a side table with a smash, throwing her against the newly cleared surface. Her chest was pressed against the cool wood, and he quickly began fucking her again.

Her knees betrayed her, and he spun her around, sitting her up on the side table. She wrapped her legs around his waist, their bodies pressed tightly together, sweaty and needy.

He pinned her back to the wall, his hand around her throat. They watched where they were connected before locking eyes, moaning before kissing with an intensity that made her toes curl.

He couldn’t get enough of her. His body was wound so tight with arousal, the feeling of finally having her driving him wild.

“Fuck,” he panted, “so fucking good.”

She purposely pulsed her cunt around him, his head going dizzy.

“St—god, you have to stop.”

The expression he wore was hardly an incentive to stop, and she did it more.

“Stop, stop.”

Pulling back, much to her dismay, voiced with a displeased moan, he stepped back from her. He grabbed his cock in his fist, playing with himself while she sat there watching. Desperately writhing, her chest heaving.

She whimpered as he fucked himself harder, the pleasure displayed clearly on his face. She shuffled forward a little, wanting to be the only form of bliss he felt.

He glared. “Did I say that you could move?”

“No, but—”

“Do as you’re told or I will come all over my hand while you watch.”

She bit her tongue, settling back into place with a pout. He chuckled lightly, his stomach tightening at the sight. He wanted to come so fucking bad but he wasn’t done with her.

“Get on all fours, pet.” He instructed, his fist still wrapped tight around himself.

She slowly lowered herself to the floor, on her knees in Infront of him before getting on her hands as well, on all fours just like he asked. He smiled proudly at her, watching her wait for the next instruction.

“I want you to crawl to the bedroom for me.” He purred. “Slowly.”

She bit her lip, hiding her smile, trying to remain unfazed. She did as he asked, just as she always had. Always wanting to impress him. He stalked behind her, watching the way her hips were shaped, watching how her ass swayed as she crawled, watching how her hair fell over her shoulders. She looked back to meet his eyes before picking up her pace a little.

He felt something spike in his bloodstream, and he ran after her, grunting as he picked her up and threw her onto the bed.

“You’re a fucking tease.” He chastised her as he followed. She crawled away, curled up at the top of the bed. “You want to run, pet?”

She shook her head, a mischievous smile lighting up her face as he narrowed his eyes.

“I better make sure you stay put.”

She watched as he went out to the lounge, fishing through his duffel bag before heading back to the bedroom. He began wringing a sage green tie between his hands, eyeing her.

He made his way towards her, gauging her expression. “Give me your hands.”

She did as she was told, mesmerised.

“Good girl.”

He tied her wrists up, not too tight, but tight enough that she wouldn’t slip out. Then he tied them to the white iron headboard, her arms stretched up. He couldn’t resist reaching down to bite and lick her nipples until she was whining and begging him to take her.

“You want this cock?” He shuffled forward until he was kneeling over her chest.

She nodded eagerly and he gripped the hair on top of her head. “Open your mouth. Taste your pussy on my cock before I give it to you again.”

She opened, her eyes fluttering when he pushed his dick into her mouth, all the way, not letting her adapt to his size. Just letting her taste him. Feel him.

“So pretty with your mouth full, aren’t you?”

She choked, her eyes prickling with tears that threatened to roll over before he pulled away. And then he was flipping her over, pulling her up onto her knees and elbows and fucking her so brutally that she feared the whole hotel would hear.

He made noises that were animalistic. Feral and unhinged. He fucked her so hard that neither of them could see straight. Hitting her so deep she could feel it in her throat.

He wasn’t sure he could last much longer, and he wanted to hold her. He moved her to her side, spooning behind her. He lifted her outer leg up, slipping his throbbing cock into her drenched heat with a deep, rolling moan.

His fingers found her clit again, and she reached back to kiss him messily. Their tongues met, wet and unashamed. He wanted her to come again, and his cock screwed into her relentlessly while he drew tight circles on her clit.

“Come for me.” He panted. “Please. I need it. Give me another one, all over my cock. You can do it, pet.”

She whimpered, her brow furrowed as he growled, taking her harder than he had all night. Her orgasm shattered her before she knew it was upon her.

She keeled forward, and he wound his arms around her to keep her steady while she came, crying out his name so loud that he had to give her two of his fingers to bite down on.

He swore at how tight she became when she climaxed, her walls pulsing and clenching around him. He fought to hold on, but his body was overworked and she felt so fucking good.

With a whine, he untied her hands and gently moved her onto her back, slipping inside of her with a long sigh. He took her, deep and slow and with a fluidity that had her legs shaking.

He wanted to come staring into her eyes. With her legs wrapped around his waist. His name was on her lips as he pounded into her relentlessly.

“Will you tease me again?” He asked her, his eyes searing.

“Yes.” She gasped out.

“You’re my little fuck toy.” He was a mess. “Mine to fuck and fill with my cum. Reward you for your hard work in my class. Make you come every time you pass.”

“All yours.” She breathed out, desperate to get him there. “I’m your dirty secret, professor.”

“Can’t fucking stand how you make me feel. Filthy fucking girl. Tell me you want my cum.”

“I want your cum, professor.”

“How bad do you want it?”

“I need it so bad. Please, fill me up with it.”

He growled out her name, burying his head in her neck and biting on the skin. His orgasm rocked through him, and he fucked her through it, not caring when she cried out in discomfort.

He wanted this. To fill her. Claim her. Stake his mark seeing as she’d sought after him. Teased him and poked until he gave in. He’d rip every one of those sundresses off her for a taste of how magical she was.

Like visiting all seven wonders of the world and discovering millions of new ones all at once.

***