Page 58 of Teacher's Pet

I let my fingers skim over the sheets, my voice laced with sarcasm.

"Should I be worried?"

My words are light, teasing.

But my throat tightens the second my gaze drops to the thick, straining outline of his cock pressing against his pants.

Noah watches me, hunts me, with darkened eyes.

"Maybe, Anastasia," he growls. "Maybe you should be very fucking worried."

He approaches slowly, deliberately, peeling off his shirt as he moves.

My breath catches.

The tie remains loosely draped around his neck; the only fabric left on his upper body.

I can’t help myself.

My hands lift, my fingertips trailing down his chest, feeling the firm ridges of muscle, the smooth planes of his stomach. My touch wanders lower, tracing the deep lines of his waist, lingering where the veins tease above his waistband-

And then I feel them.

Scars.

"That’s enough exploring," he snaps, voice sharp. "Time to give you something else to focus on."

Before I can react, he yanks the tie from around his neck and grabs my wrists in one swift movement.

My pulse spikes.

He moves with ease, with practice, binding my wrists together with a perfectly executed knot. He leaves just enough slack to tighten, or pull, at his command.

His grip is firm as he forces my arms above my head, securing them against the headboard.

"Noah, my arms-"

"You won’t be needing them," he whispers.

His tone is final.

The vulnerability sinks in immediately, a deep, electric awareness flooding through me as he steps back to admire his work, my wrists pulling against the fabric.

No give.

No escape.

And from the look in his eyes, he likes it that way.

"The women who have lain in this bed before you never knew my name."

His voice is low, steady, filled with something raw. "Their nights with me were fleeting. No expectations, no lingering attachments. One time, no repeats. That’s how it’s always been."

His eyes darken as they trace my body. "But you…"

A muscle tics in his jaw.

"You have become so fucking curious about why I want you, Anastasia." His smirk is gone now, replaced with something dangerously close to frustration. "And the truth?" He exhales, voice turning ragged, "I don’t fucking know."

---