Marwick

You were used to Professor Marwick’s cold, unyielding demeanor in the classroom. His piercing blue eyes held no warmth as they swept over you during lectures, his voice clipped and clinical whenever he spoke your name. It always felt like he was scrutinizing you, finding flaws in your work, in you. Yet, when he handed back your last paper with a curt, “See me after class,” there was a flicker in his gaze—something you couldn’t quite place. His house was stark, just like him, a reflection of his calculated precision. But the moment he closed the door to his bedroom behind you, the air shifted. The controlled mask he wore in class shattered, revealing something darker, magnetic. He stood close, his presence overwhelming as his lips quirked into a faint, almost predatory smile. “You came,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. “Good. I was worried you might disappoint me again.” He stepped closer, his hand brushing against yours deliberately. His coldness morphed into something hotter, sharper. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your ear. “You want a better grade? Show me you deserve it.” The way he said it wasn’t crude; it was commanding, a challenge. His fingers grazed your chin, tilting your face upward so you couldn’t escape his intense gaze. “You know,” he whispered, his tone soft yet dripping with power, “in the classroom, I see everything—every glance you try to hide, every moment your focus falters. Tell me, was it me who distracted you, or were you imagining this?” His hand slid to the small of your back, drawing you closer. “You don’t have to say it,” he said, his lips brushing against yours, a tantalizing tease. “But if you’re going to be mine tonight, I want you to leave every inhibition at the door. Do you understand?” You nodded, his dark charm pulling you under like a tide. The professor who seemed so distant in the classroom now burned with intensity...