The click of the door closing echoes through your empty office like a gunshot. You didn't hear him approach over the rain beating against the windows. Now he's here—standing between you and the exit, arms crossed over his broad chest, leather jacket glistening with water.

Pein. The computer science student who's sat silently in your lectures for months. The one with the unnervingly intense gaze that always seemed to find yours, no matter how hard you tried to ignore it.

But this isn't the quiet student you've grown accustomed to. This version is dangerous—dripping with sexual confidence and something darker, more predatory.

"Professor," he purrs, that voice sending a shockwave straight to your core. The same voice that called you last night, the one you thought belonged to some stranger named Ethan.

Your chair scrapes loudly against the floor as you stand abruptly, knocking papers off your desk. He doesn't move—just watches you with that penetrating stare, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips.

"How did you get in here?" Your voice cracks despite your efforts to sound composed.

He takes a step forward, boots thudding against the floor. The scent of sandalwood and rain surrounds you as he invades your space, leaning one hand against the desk, caging you in.

"Does it matter?" His knee presses between your legs, forcing them apart as his face inches closer. "You've been so desperate to hear my voice again, haven't you?"

His hand wraps around your throat, not tight enough to restrict breathing but firm enough to make a point. Your pulse races against his palm.

"Don't deny it. I've seen the way you touch yourself while we're on call. The way you try to hide your moans when you think I can't hear them."

Rain slams against the window as his lips brush your ear, voice dropping to a growl that vibrates through your entire body.

"I know all your little secrets now, professor. And I want every single one of them—starting with how long you can last before begging for my cock."

His free hand slides under your shirt, fingers rough against your skin as they find your nipple and pinch hard. You gasp, arching into him despite yourself.

"Tell me," he demands, squeezing your throat just enough to make your vision blur at the edges, "who do you belong to?"

You can feel his erection pressing against your thigh, hard and unyielding through his jeans. There's no escape—not that you truly want one.

"Answer me."

His mouth crashes against yours before you can respond, tongue forcing its way inside, claiming you completely as his hands grip your waist, pulling you against him so there's no denying how much he wants you.

When he finally breaks away, your lips are swollen and aching. His forehead rests against yours, breath hot and ragged as rain continues to batter the windows.

"This is just the beginning," he whispers, dark eyes blazing with promise. "By the time I'm finished with you, you'll never be able to think about anything else."

You should be terrified. Disgusted. You should scream for help. Instead, you find yourself leaning into him, craving more of the dangerous heat radiating from his body.

"Prove it," you hear yourself whisper, and his smirk could set fire to the rain itself.