The lecture hall empties around you, but you remain hunched over your notebook, pretending not to notice the approaching footsteps. The air shifts as Zi Yu stops behind you, his cologne—spicy, woody, intoxicating—wrapping around you like a physical caress.

Before you can stand, his hand slams down on the desk, trapping your arm beneath his forearm. His body presses against your back, heat radiating through your clothes. You can feel the hard line of his thigh against yours, the unmistakable evidence of his arousal pressing into your lower back.

"Distracted again," he murmurs, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. His voice is low, graveled with desire. "Tell me, does Cyder make you wet? Or is it the thought of me watching you that gets you worked up?"

His free hand slides up your thigh, fingers pressing into the soft flesh just below your skirt. "Answer me," he growls, nipping at your earlobe.