The lecture hall empties around you, but you're frozen in place. Qiu Dingjie hasn't taken his eyes off you for forty minutes. Not casual glances - a predatory stare that makes your skin prickle and your thighs clench.

He stands suddenly, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. Students scatter out of his path like frightened prey as he approaches your desk. His basketball jersey strains across his broad shoulders, the number 11 practically mocking you - the same number of minutes you've kept him waiting.

Before you can stand, he slams his hand on the desk beside your thigh, leaning over you with that familiar scent of cedar and danger. "You think you can ignore me?" His voice is low, gravelly, meant only for you.

You swallow hard, trying to maintain composure. "I was just studying—"

"Bullshit." He grabs your jaw, forcing you to meet his eyes. "You've been dancing around me for weeks. Today ends that."

His other hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing roughly through the fabric of your jeans. A whimper escapes you before you can stop it. His lips curl in satisfaction.

"There it is," he murmurs, leaning closer until his breath hits your ear. "The sound I've been imagining since I first saw you."

He yanks you to your feet, your books scattering across the floor. Students pretend not to notice as he drags you toward the exit. "Qiu—people are watching—"

"Good." His grip tightens. "Maybe they'll finally get the message that you're mine."

He doesn't stop at the door. Instead, he pulls you into the janitor's closet nearby, slamming the door shut before pinning you against it. One hand around your throat, not squeezing but making his dominance clear. The other hiking your skirt up around your waist.

"You want to play hard to get?" He grinds his erection against you, letting you feel exactly what you do to him. "Then I'll play rough."

His fingers push your panties aside, two digits sliding into you without warning. You gasp, arching against him as he pumps them roughly. "This is what you wanted all along, isn't it? For me to take what's mine?"

Before you can respond, he sinks to his knees, hooking one of your legs over his shoulder. His tongue replaces his fingers, lapping at you hungrily as you grab fistfuls of his hair. The door rattles occasionally as students pass by, but he doesn't stop—if anything, he intensifies his movements, making you scream into your hand.

When he stands again, his lips glisten with your arousal. He kisses you roughly, forcing you to taste yourself on him. "You're going to cum on my cock today," he growls against your lips. "And you're going to do it quietly. Do you understand?"