“Eyes up front,Mr. Jackson!” Kilgore snaps, voice like a whip.
Jackson whips his head forward like he’s been physically struck.
Kilgore lingers a beat longer, staring directly at me.
Then—sharper than usual—he pivots back to the board.
Beside me, Landon’s mouth curves into a smirk I canfeelagainst my skin.
“Good girl,” he whispers into the shell of my ear, smug and slow. His fingers move deeper, sharper now, while the heel of his hand grinds with surgical precision. “Bet he’s imagining this. Bet he’s picturing you spread across his desk, skirt rucked up. Do you know what I would give to watch that,pretty gir?.”
The image detonates in my brain—dark, brutal, shamefully hot.
My composure shatters.
My back arches. The front legs of the chair scrape and lift off the floor. I gasp, barely stifled—until Landon’s free hand clamps over my mouth. Kilgore turns back around with those empty eyes on me, the normal clear so dark I almost whimper like a kitten purring for forgiveness.
When he leans over the standing desk, licking his lips with a nod. It hits. Hard. Like my body was waiting forhisapproval.
The orgasm crests in slow, vicious waves, pulling a whimper from my throat that dies against Landon’s palm. I bite down, tasting salt and metallic. He doesn’t flinch—just keeps moving, guiding me through every last pulse, every twitch of overstimulated muscle until my thighs tremble from the effort of staying upright.
I sag back into the seat like a ghost in my own body.
Landon chuckles beside me, the sound low and satisfied. He stretches out, casually leaning back in his chair with one arm draped lazily over the back of mine, a smug look carved across his face.
“Well, will you look at that,” he hums, nodding toward the front of the classroom.
I follow his gaze—and freeze.
Professor Kilgore stands rigid behind the lectern, voice continuing like nothing’s wrong, but his body tells a different story. His neck is flushed a soft pink, blooming just beneath his jawline and climbing toward his ears.
But that’s not what stops me. His hand—gripping the edge of the standing desk—is bone-white, knuckles strained, tendons twitching beneath skin.
The restof class drags like a fever dream. Landon scrolls through his phone with one hand while the other stays parked high on my inner thigh, fingers warm and possessive. I keep my head down, hiding the flush burning across my cheeks, pretending I’m taking diligent notes when all I’m doing is surviving minute to minute, because I was just fucking fingered in the back of my fucking forensic class like a goddamn hornied up teenager.
Besides, I think it’s better that I keep my head down because, ever since I reached that magnificent O due to Landon’s incredible fingers, Professor Kilgore’s lecture has been faster and way more aggressive than normal. He paces as he speaks, lecture spilling out of him with uncharacteristic intensity, like he’s trying to outrun his own thoughts.
I don’t dare look at him. Not really. Not when, every time I do, I’m met with those icy green eyes that pin me in place—empty but somehow too full with desire? Or disdain? Maybe a dash of rage? I can’t tell, and frankly, I don’t want to.
“Homework for Monday…” Professor Kilgore’s voice cracks like a whip against the buzz of my nerves. “Chapters fivethrough eight. Two-page analysis on the ethical implications of compromised crime scenes. Don’t copy-paste theory. I want you tothink.”
The way he spits the last word has my stomach dropping. I flinch when Landon’s hand squeezes my thigh—harder this time—like hewantsme to squirm. Like he’s proud of the chaos he’s crafted.
The second he says, “Dismissed,” I shoot out of my chair. My notes are half-scribbled, bag barely zipped, but I need out. The air feels hot and thin, like it’s burning me from the inside out. I shoulder past someone, my eyes locked on the door, heart racing.
I almost make it.
“Miss Rivera. A word?” He practically growls and I stay frozen, staring at the floor as the rest of the students escape into the hall.
“Professor Kilgore, I have my music theory class in like forty-five minutes,” I rush out, pulling the strap of my messenger bag up higher, and plastering on my brightest smile. “And I still need lunch, so…”
The last student slides out of the classroom and Professor Kilgore practically snarls, pulling a chair out in the front, middle of the room. “Sit down, Miss Rivera.”
I race down the steps almost automatically and sit down in my designated seat as Landon chuckles.
“I didn’t know you had her on such a short leash, Con?”
My body burns a cherry red, but I keep my eyes locked on the table, listening to the lazy steps of Landon. I don’t know why Conner Kilgore does this to me. He’s fucking terrifying and I feel like a trained animal, ready to roll over and show him my belly.Ready to be anything he wants, just to keep him from looking at me with those analytical eyes. It’s like he knows me down to the molecule.
