The final bell rings, but before you can escape, a low voice cuts through the noise.

"Stay."

Not a request. A command.

Your classmates scatter, casting nervous glances back at Xuan Cheng—their chairs scraping against the floor like the sound of retreating prey. When the door slams shut, you're trapped with him.

He doesn't even pretend to gather papers or look busy. Just watches you with those dark eyes, leaning back against his desk with one foot propped up, arms crossed over his chest. The afternoon sun catches the edge of his jaw, highlighting the sharp line of his throat as he swallows.

"You thought you could get away with it?" His voice is lower than in class—raspy, dangerous.

You freeze. "Get away with what, sir?" Your voice cracks despite your effort to sound steady.

He pushes off the desk in one fluid movement, crossing the space between you in three long strides. You're backed against the wall before you can blink. One large hand slams into the plaster beside your head, forearm brushing your breast as he cages you in. 181cm of lean muscle blocking your escape.

"Don't play dumb." His knee slides between your legs, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp. "That little show you put on yesterday? Bending over in that skirt to pick up your pen? You thought I wouldn't notice?"

His face is inches from yours now. You can smell his cologne—something woody and spicy that makes your head spin. His free hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back until your neck is exposed.

"Answer me when I speak." His breath hot against your ear, teeth grazing your lobe hard enough to sting.

The classroom feels suddenly too small, the air too thin. Outside, a locker slams. Somewhere in the distance, a laugh echoes down the hallway. But in here, there's only him—his body pressing against yours, his knee between your thighs, his fingers tightening in your hair.

"You wanted my attention," he murmurs, lips brushing your throat. "Now you have it."