Page 115 of Teacher's Pet

Under the desk, Ana stays perfectly still. Her grip around my cock tightens, holding me in place, her breath coming out in short, shaky gasps.

Fuck.

I don’t move.

She doesn’t move.

And the worst part?

I’m still throbbing, still aching, still teetering on the edge of release with no fucking escape.

“He has nothing better to do. Next time, don’t ask.” Walker smirks, a shit-eating grin plastered across his face as he shuts the door behind him.

The bastard is always the instigator, always the one stirring the pot just to watch it boil over.

Students start pulling out their materials, settling in, but Walker? He takes his time, circling Ana’s empty desk like a fucking vulture.

“Where did our sweet Ana run off to?” he sneers.

My hands curl into fists, trembling with rage the longer I look at him.

“How the hell am I supposed to know?” I snap, teeth clenched, barely holding myself together.

Ana doesn’t stop.

Ignoring the situation entirely, her lips wrap around my cock again, her head bobbing slowly, silently, stealing my tension with every sinful stroke.

My fingers clamp around the back of her neck, but all I feel is her smug little smile pressing into my skin.

God.

She feels so fucking amazing.

Walker takes another step toward my desk, still grinning, still running his mouth.

“It’s just funny,” he muses, voice dripping with amusement. “She never leaves her stuff behind. You never know what she could be getting up to.”

His smirk widens.

“A leash would be a worthy investment for that one.”

My jaw tightens. My patience snaps.

“You’re right,” I hiss, pressing the button on her toy, letting the adrenaline surging through my veins take over.

Ana jolts beneath the desk, her fingers digging into my thighs. My cock twitches, seconds from spilling over the edge, and I know, judging by the way she clings to me, the way her tiny whimpers vibrate against my skin, she’s already falling apart, soaking through those lace panties she thought would survive the day.

“She really does need some discipline,” I murmur, my voice thick with restraint. “As do you.”

Walker raises a brow, but the warning in my tone must strike something in him because his cocky stance falters.

“Now sit down,” I command, voice even, deadly. “And get some work done before I send you to the dean for intruding on my prep period.”

Scoffing, the little bastard finally backs off, dropping into his seat with minimal lip.

Tapping a pencil against my desk, I drown out the quiet, filthy sounds beneath me, fighting against the need clawing its way through my body.

More students funnel in. The clock ticks by, painfully slow. The walls close in, leaving us with nowhere to go.

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