Chapter 175 Fingered by my tutor 1

Chapter 175 Fingered by my tutor 1
Lena was late. Again.

She barely cared.

The rain had drenched her on the way, her white blouse sticking to her skin like a second, unforgiving layer. The thin fabric clung to the curve of her breasts, nipples sharply outlined beneath, bra completely transparent. Her plaid skirt wasn’t much better, hitched high up her thighs, damp and creased, as if she’d rolled out of bed and straight into the storm.

Mr. Draven’s door loomed in front of her, slightly ajar. She didn’t bother knocking. She never did.

He was seated at the desk, dark slacks crisply ironed, black shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms. His glasses sat low on his nose as he scribbled something with that precise, ruthless hand. The sharp angles of his jaw, the way his lips pressed into a thin line when he saw her — it wasn’t new. Draven’s disapproval always painted his face like that. The kind of expression that should intimidate. It never worked on her.

“You’re late.” His voice was low, steady, but the underlying tension was sharp enough to cut.

Lena dropped her soaked bag by the door and strolled in, her sneakers squeaking against the floor.

“Traffic,” she shrugged, though she hadn’t even bothered with the bus today. “Besides, it’s not like you have better company.”

Draven’s pen hit the desk with a soft click. His eyes lifted, slow, raking over her frame, and for a moment, the air in the room thickened. He didn’t blink. Didn’t move. Just sat there, watching her like a problem he had every intention of solving tonight.

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair across from him.

She plopped down with a lazy grin, crossing one leg over the other, the skirt riding up just enough to catch his eye. He didn’t react. Not yet.

“Take out your textbook.” His tone was clipped. Impersonal.

Lena leaned back, stretching her arms lazily. “Forgot it. You’re smart. I’m sure you can improvise.”

His jaw flexed. “You’re not amusing, Lena.”

“I’m not trying to be.” Her smirk said otherwise.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Draven stood, walked around the desk, and planted himself directly behind her chair. His presence loomed — tall, composed, lethal. Lena’s skin prickled under his proximity. She expected a lecture, a cold reprimand. Instead, his hand found her shoulder, fingers pressing down with slow, deliberate pressure.

“You’ve wasted enough of my time.” His breath brushed her ear. “Let’s see if you can still follow instructions.”

His hand slid from her shoulder to the nape of her neck, forcing her to straighten. She felt him lean over, his chest grazing her back as he reached for a book on the desk. He flipped it open, pages whispering against each other, and dropped it onto her lap.

“Read. Out loud.”

Lena’s lips curled. “Sure thing, Sir.”

The first few sentences spilled lazily from her mouth, but it wasn’t long before Draven’s hand descended, palm resting heavily on her thigh. Not moving. Just… there. A reminder. She tried not to falter, but her tongue stumbled.

“I said read, Lena.” His grip tightened, fingers sinking into the soft flesh.

She swallowed. “—the protagonist’s moral conflict emerges when—”

His hand slid higher, dragging the hem of her skirt along with it. Cold air kissed her inner thigh. She shivered.

“Keep going.” His voice was dark silk, dangerous and smooth.

Her breath hitched as his fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on the bare skin above her knee. She gritted her teeth, forcing her eyes on the text, though the words had started to blur.

“—when confronted with… with the—”

A sharp tug. Her legs were forced apart, his knee nudging between them, locking her in place.

“With the what?” he murmured, lips near her ear.

“The… antagonist’s… manipulative behavior,” she finished, the words almost dissolving into a gasp as his hand slid higher, fingertips teasing the crease where thigh met hip.

No panties.

He paused.

“Typical.” His tone dripped with disdain.

Lena couldn’t stop the grin stretching across her face. But that smile froze when his fingers pressed, firm and exploratory, right against her slit. The friction was maddening, rough fingertips gliding through wetness that betrayed every ounce of her fake indifference.

“You’re soaked.” His breath was a furnace against her neck. “Pathetic.”

“Guess you’re good at something after all,” she quipped.

His hand disappeared. For a moment, she thought she’d pushed too far, but then—SMACK—his palm cracked across her inner thigh, sharp and stinging.

Her gasp echoed off the walls.

“Open.” One word. Absolute.

Lena’s legs parted wider, her breath shaky now, bravado slipping.

He didn’t rush. His fingers traced the outline of her folds, slow, savoring her reactions. A feather-light stroke up and down, a gentle press at the entrance. She writhed, frustrated, but Draven’s grip on her thigh pinned her down.

“I don’t respond to brats, Lena. You’ll learn that.” His fingers slid in — two, knuckle-deep without warning.

Her body arched, mouth falling open.

“You’ll read, or you’ll count,” he murmured. “Either way, your voice will fill this room.”

Lena’s fingers gripped the book’s edges, knuckles whitening.

She tried to read.

“T-the… the protagonist’s—oh fuck—”

Draven’s fingers curled, found that spot, and pressed. Unforgiving. Unrelenting.

“Start over,” he ordered.

She did, voice trembling. Every syllable was a battle. His fingers moved in a slow, devastating rhythm, each thrust deeper, knuckles grinding against her folds, the slick sounds of her arousal filling the air. She could feel her body betraying her, hips rolling into his hand despite her stubborn mind’s resistance.

The teasing ended abruptly.

He withdrew.

Lena whimpered, furious and desperate.

“I didn’t say you could stop,” she hissed.

A dark chuckle ghosted against her skin.

“You’re in no position to demand, Lena.”

His hand returned — not soft this time. The next thrust of his fingers was brutal, claiming, stretching her open with no patience. She bit down a cry, but he caught it, one hand wrapping around her throat, tilting her head back so her gasps spilled freely.

“You want to act grown?” His pace quickened, merciless. “Then you’ll learn to take what’s given.”

Her vision blurred, the room spinning as his thumb found her clit, circling with maddening precision. She squirmed, bucking against his hand, but his grip on her throat kept her grounded, helpless, exactly where he wanted her.

“I should make you beg,” he whispered. “But you don’t deserve the choice.”

Her climax built fast, angry, impossible to stop. She choked on a scream as waves of heat crashed over her, body trembling against the desk, Draven’s fingers unrelenting until she sagged, boneless and wrecked.

He withdrew slowly, dragging his fingers out, wet and glistening. Lena shivered, breathless, humiliated and yet—aching for more.

She didn’t dare look at him. Didn’t trust herself to speak.

Draven’s fingers brushed against her lips.

“Suck.”

Her lips parted before she could think, tasting herself as his fingers pushed into her mouth. He watched, cold and collected, as she licked them clean.

“That’s the only thing you’ve excelled at tonight.”

He pulled back, grabbed a pen, and returned to his desk as if he hadn’t just fingered her into submission.

“Next time, you’ll be on time. And you’ll come prepared. Or we’ll repeat this until you learn.”

Lena stood on shaky legs, smoothing down her skirt, cheeks flushed, heart pounding. She wasn’t sure what infuriated her more — how easily he’d unraveled her, or how much she was already looking forward to their next session.

She didn’t bother saying goodbye.

Draven didn’t need her words. He’d already won.