Chapter 62 Dirty Little Exhibitionist (3)

Chapter 62 Dirty Little Exhibitionist (3)
“Clean it up,” he growled, his voice dropping into a low, terrifying register that vibrated right through the wooden desk and straight into my core. “NOW.”
He didn’t look away this time. His dark eyes were fixed on the wet sheen glistening across my inner thighs, on my fingers still slick with my own release. The vein in his neck throbbed violently against his crisp collar, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of my desk.
“Did you hear me, Lina?” he whispered, leaning down until his shadow completely swallowed me. “Put your panties back on before I drag you down to the Dean’s office myself.”
A breathy, mocking laugh bubbled up from my chest. I didn’t reach for my lace panties, still sitting crumpled on the floor. Instead, I leaned back in my chair, arching my back slightly to push my chest out, letting my knees fall open.
“You won’t drag me anywhere, Professor,” I purred, my voice raspy and thick from the aftershocks still rippling through my belly. “If you wanted to report me, you would’ve done it twenty minutes ago when you saw me getting fucked in the men’s room. But you didn’t, did you? You stood there and watched. Just like you watched me just now.”
Travis’s jaw snapped shut, his chest heaving beneath his tailored gray suit jacket. For a split second, I saw the calm professor disappear, replaced by something raw and dangerous in his dark eyes.
“You think you’re so fucking smart,” he muttered, his voice dropping so low it was practically a purr. He didn’t step back. In fact, he stepped directly between my open knees, his powerful thighs brushing against the edges of my skirt. The heat radiating off his body was suffocating. “You think you’re the first spoiled, thrill-seeking brat who thought she could play games with authority?”
“I’m not playing a game, Travis,” I whispered, sliding my boots up his calves, feeling the hard muscle beneath his trousers. “I’m giving you an invitation.”
In a fraction of a second, his composure completely shattered.
His hand shot out, his thick, calloused fingers wrapping firmly around my throat. He didn’t choke me—he just held me steady, tilting my head back until I was forced to look directly into his blazing eyes.
“It’s Professor Smith to you,” he growled, his breath hot against my lips. “And if you ever pull a stunt like that in my classroom again, I will make sure you’re expelled from this university before the sun sets.”
My pulse spiked beneath his palm. Heat pooled low in my stomach at the sheer authority in his voice. He was so much stronger, so much more commanding than Mark or any of those pathetic boys on campus could ever dream of being.
“Threaten me all you want,” I panted, my hands coming up to grip his wrists, my thumb brushing against his fast pulse. “It won’t change the fact that your dick is so hard right now it’s practically bursting out of those pants.”
I looked down between us. The heavy, unmistakable bulge straining against the fabric of his dark trousers was pressed almost directly against my desk. He couldn’t hide it. No matter how stern his face was, his body was betraying every single word coming out of his mouth.
Travis let out a low, dangerous growl, his grip tightening around my neck for a second before he roughly let me go. He took three long strides back toward the chalkboard, turning his back to me. His shoulders rose and fell with heavy, labored breaths as he struggled to regain control.
“Get out,” he said, his voice clipped and cold, returning to that professional wall he thought he could hide behind. “Pick up your trash, put it on, and leave.”
A slow, victorious smirk spread across my face. I didn’t rush. I leaned over, deliberately taking my time to pick up my lace panties from the floor, sliding them back up my legs while keeping my eyes locked on his broad back. I smoothed down my skirt, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked down the aisle toward the exit.
As I passed him, I paused and leaned in close to his ear.
“See you on Thursday, Professor,” I whispered, letting my lips brush the shell of his ear.
He didn’t move a muscle, but I heard the sharp intake of his breath as I pushed open the heavy wooden doors and stepped out into the sunlit hallway.
The next two days were torture.
Every time I closed my eyes, all I could see was Travis’s dark eyes tracking my fingers, the way his jaw had clenched, the dangerous heat of his hand around my neck.
Mark kept texting me, asking to hook up again behind the bleachers, but I ignored every single one of his messages.
The thought of letting some brainless varsity athlete fumble around with my body filled me with nothing but emptiness. They were all the same, loud, predictable, forgettable.
I didn’t want a boy. I wanted the man who was standing on the edge of losing control, fighting a battle I intended to make him lose.