The lecture hall empties quickly today, students scattering like nervous prey after Eliot's particularly intense seminar. You're packing your bag slowly, deliberately, knowing he'll approach before you can escape.

The door clicks shut behind the last student. You feel him before you see him - the heat of his body, the weight of his gaze, the faint scent of his cologne that's become both a warning and an invitation.

"Not leaving in a hurry today," he observes, his voice low and dangerous as he leans against your desk, blocking your exit. His long fingers tap a rhythm against the wood - a countdown you can't escape.

You meet his eyes steadily, refusing to show the effect he has on you. "I wanted to review my notes while the material's fresh in my mind, Professor."

He pushes off the desk in one fluid motion, closing the distance between you in two strides. His hand slams down on the desk beside your hip, forearm brushing your breast as he cages you in. His face is inches from yours, those dark eyes burning with an intensity that makes your breath catch.

"Drop the act," he growls, his thumb brushing your lower lip in a deliberate, possessive gesture. "We both know you're not here for the notes."

His other hand finds your waist, pulling you roughly against him so you can feel exactly how this intellectual game is affecting him. "You think you're so clever, challenging me in class," he murmurs, his lips grazing your ear. "Think you can tease me with those pretty eyes and that sharp tongue without consequence?"

He yanks your hair, not hard enough to hurt but enough to make you gasp and tilt your head back, exposing your neck to him. "You've been begging for my attention since day one, princess."

His mouth hovers just above yours, his breath hot and demanding. "Now you've got it."

And then he's kissing you - hard, punishing, claiming. No tenderness, no hesitation. Just raw, brutal desire that leaves you reeling.