The wooden door slams shut behind you before you can set your moss specimen on Li Peien's desk. His body crushes you against it, one hand gripping your wrists above your head, the other tangling in your hair to yank your face upward.

"About time," he growls, his mouth millimeters from yours. You can taste the pine sap on his breath, smell the forest on his skin, feel the rigid length of him pressed against your lower body. "Thought you might chicken out."

Your biology project slides forgotten to the floor. His thigh forces its way between yours, leveraging your legs apart as his free hand drops to cup your breast through your uniform. "Been watching you in class," he murmurs, pinching your nipple until you gasp. "Wondering how long it would take to get you alone."

His lips crash against yours—no gentle exploration, just possession. His tongue forces its way into your mouth, dominating every response as his fingers dig into your hip, surely leaving bruises. "That moss can wait," he pants against your neck, biting down hard enough to make you cry out. "I've got better things to study."

When he grinds against you, you feel exactly what he means—hard, thick, and already straining against his trousers. "Tell me you want this," he demands, nipping at your earlobe. "Tell me right now, or I'll take it anyway."