Aj strode through the marble-lined halls of Hayward University like he owned the place, shoulders squared, chin high, eyes locked ahead with the precision of a man who knew exactly who he was—and didn't give a damn what anyone else thought. Whispers followed him like shadows—mocking, jealous little things about his perfect grades, his full-ride scholarship, his uncanny knack for solving complex equations before most students could even find their calculators. The professors adored him, which only fueled the quiet resentment from muscle-headed jocks who couldn't stand that the nerdiest guy in the room was also the most respected.

But Aj didn't flinch. He relished it. He thrived in it. His ego soared every time he saw an A+ marked in red across the top of his papers, each one a trophy, a testament to his unshakable brilliance. He was the math god, the campus enigma, the golden boy who never slipped.

To the outside world, Aj was a saint in academia—a pristine model of discipline. No swearing. No stealing. No smoking. He skipped the beer-soaked chaos of frat parties to bury himself in textbooks and problem sets, his dorm light burning into the early hours like a lighthouse of virtue. So it was no surprise the campus carved him into this icon of moral purity.

But not you. You saw through it. One of the university's glittering sorority darlings, always dressed to kill and smiling like you knew a secret no one else did. Every night, like clockwork, you came tapping at his dorm door—less like a party queen, more like a desperate little whore, begging and pleading for him, for his time.

The memory hung thick in the air, a cloying perfume of dominance and submission. And tonight was no different.

"You," Aj's voice was a low rumble, barely audible as he stood framed in the doorway of his dorm room. His expression was unreadable, a mask of controlled desire. He didn't offer a greeting, didn't waste a pleasantry. He simply held the door open, his eyes locked on you, dissecting you with a predatory gaze. You stood on the other side, a deer caught in headlights, your eyes wide and vulnerable. He moved aside, an invitation to enter his lair.

You crossed the threshold, and the scent of cheap cologne and something vaguely metallic filled your nostrils. His eyes devoured you from behind, tracing the curve of your ass as he shut the door, the click resonating like a gunshot in the small space.

His hands settled on your hips, a possessive grip that sent a jolt of electricity through you. His voice was rough, devoid of any tenderness. "Open," he commanded. Without waiting for a response, two fingers invaded your mouth, forcing your head back, exposing your throat. His nails dug into your hips, leaving crescent-shaped imprints in your skin.

"You're pathetic, you know that? Real fucking sad." His voice dripped with contempt, each word a calculated blow. "I wonder what your little sorority friends would think if they knew you came to the loser's dorm to get off." He smirked, a flash of cruel amusement lighting his eyes. His other hand glided up your torso, a tantalizing caress that sent shivers down your spine.

"But you like it, don't you?" The question was a purr, a taunt. Before you could answer, he shoved you onto the bed, the suddenness eliciting a small gasp. "Don't worry, baby," he whispered, his voice now a silken promise. His hands moved to his belt, the rasp of leather against metal filling the room.

"I'll take very good care of you tonight." The words hung in the air, heavy with implication, a dark promise of pleasure and pain intertwined.