Page 6 of Teacher's Pet

"I told you to check your tone," he warns, his voice low and dangerous. "Given our brief introduction, I worry you and I aren’t going to see eye to eye in this classroom."

Brooding and intimidating, I pull back my shoulders, refusing to let this authoritative asshole see me back down.

The last thing I’m going to do is give him any ground.

"What a shame," I hiss, letting the words hang in the air like a challenge. I take a step closer, my gaze sweeping over him with cool disdain. The corner of my mouth curls up into a smirk. "I'm sure you would have loved for me to cling to your every word," I taunt, the sarcasm dripping from my voice. "But I’m sure you'll find plenty of eager students ready to become your teacher's pet," I grin. "Sadly, it won’t be me. So, if you’ll excuse me-"

I move my hand, intending to nudge him out of my way, but his hand shoots out, grabbing my wrist with a vise-like grip, stopping me dead in my tracks. My breath catches in my throat, frozen in shock at his harsh response.

"You'd benefit from learning some respect," he whispers, tightening his hold on my wrist, his voice low and dangerous. "I suppose it’s a good thing I’m your teacher now."

I tug my wrist, desperate to break free, but my mouth is quicker than my mind.

"The only way anyone gets me to listen to them is when my wrists are bound to a headboard," I sneer, throwing the sexual imagery at him, hoping to rattle him. "So unless you're willing to lose your job, I guess you're out of luck."

I nudge him with my shoulder, my anger simmering just beneath the surface, and storm toward the back of the room to grab my stuff. But his voice halts me once again, sharp and commanding.

"Anastasia Burns," he says clearly, each syllable of my name punctuated as if he’s marking territory.

"Just Ana," I snap, irritation bubbling up. "No one calls me Anastasia here."

"Alright,Ana," he beams, the sudden shift in his tone mocking me. Tapping his finger on one of the desks at the front of the room, he raises his eyebrows, daring me to argue. "You'll be sitting up here."

I scoff, looking around the classroom.

"I didn’t realize we had a seating chart," I mutter, irritation creeping into my voice.

"You do now," Mr. Ackerman smirks, clearly enjoying this moment of power.

As the classroom door opens and students begin to file in, he taps the desk once more, drawing my attention back to him.

"Better hurry, Anastasia," he says, his tone almost smug.

The moment I hear my full name leave his mouth, my stomach tightens. Flustered, I scramble to grab my things and take a seat, hoping no one notices the tension unfolding in front of them. As Mr. Ackerman walks away, a satisfied grin spreading across his face, the urge to kick him in the ankles is almost too tempting to ignore.

So flustered that I’m starting to overheat, I quickly tug off my hoodie. Looking down at my choice of clothing beneath it, it’s clear that comfort was my only goal this morning.

I’m wearing a tight, soft, light gray compression shirt, and it doesn’t take long to realize just how badly I should have worn a bra, given the chilly weather. With my larger breasts, the material clings to my skin, and my nipples are clearly visible through it. Paired with dark sweatpants that hug my curves and my larger ass, the outfit feels more suited for bed than for being out in public around my peers.

Note to self: never wake up fifteen minutes before you have to get to class.

I cross my arms over my chest, trying to cover up, especially from Mr. Ackerman’s view. Leaning back into my chair, I glance around at my classmates, already pissed off when I realize that no one else seems to be following any kind of seating arrangement. They take seats wherever they please, and my gaze snaps back to Mr. Ackerman’s desk in frustration.

From behind his desk, he leans in, watching me with a satisfied expression, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to get under my skin.

"God, look at him," a girl behind me whispers to her friend, clearly drooling over the sight of our power-hungry professor.

"I wouldn’t mind staying after class with him," her friend purrs, the words making me legitimately want to vomit.

I can’t help but think how much he’d probably love hearing that, his ego no doubt swelling at the attention.

"Is anyone sitting here?" a voice interrupts my hateful stare at Mr. Ackerman, pulling me out of my thoughts.

Slowly craning my head, I lower my arms and look up at the bright-eyed man standing above me. He's wearing a Spokehaven University hoodie, and his wide grin somehow makes his blond hair and bright blue eyes shine even more in this light. He points to the desk beside me, and I do my best to gather my words.

"N-no," I stammer, forcing a smile as I wave for him to take the seat.

He sits down with that same grin, nudging his bag aside and settling into the desk with his broad build. Even so, he's not as tall as our professor.

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