Katherine Whitmore—Kat to the world, but only Kitten in the darkest corners of her mind—had a reputation on campus. Not that she minded. She liked the attention. No, she craved it. She fed off the gasps of the buttoned-up girls when she walked into class five minutes late, smelling like vanilla and sin. The low hum of boys whispering to each other when her hips swayed past their desks. She thrived under their gaze, but they were all background noise to the one pair of eyes she really wanted on her.

Professor Mason.

God, he was everything. Mid-thirties. Dark, sharp eyes that seemed to undress ideas—and Kat, if she was lucky. That clean-cut, tweed-jacket look that barely concealed the body of someone who clearly knew how to handle more than a novel. His voice was low, steady, and it made her thighs clench every time he read Shakespeare aloud. The way he said “Desdemona” was practically an orgasm.

Kat sat in the front row every Monday and Thursday, legs crossed, her tiny black denim skirt riding up just enough to make Mason pause exactly once per class. She noticed. She lived for that moment.

Her white crop top clung to her like a lover, the fabric barely brushing the underside of her free, perky breasts. She shifted every now and then, “adjusting” in her seat so the hem flirted with gravity. But no wardrobe malfunctions. Not yet. She didn’t want to flash him. She wanted to earn his stare. His touch. His devotion.

And she had a plan.

Next Thursday was midterm feedback. Office hours. Students were “strongly encouraged” to come in for one-on-one discussion. She was going to show up at the very end of the day, just as his door would be about to close. With a paper that had some… very specific questions.

That night, the one before her “feedback,” Kat couldn’t sleep.

The dorm was mostly quiet except for the occasional slam of a door or a distant laugh in the hallway. Her roommates were out—blessedly—and the whole place was soaked in dim yellow light from the cracked bathroom door.

She lay on her bed in nothing but her fishnets and a black silk robe, the sash loose around her waist. Her red hair spilled around her like fire, her freckles kissed by the soft glow of her string lights.

She rolled onto her stomach, her bare thighs stretching long and slow behind her. Her body was aching, restless, and her mind kept cycling back to his voice, the way it curled around her name. Miss Whitmore. The subtle tension in his jaw when she leaned in close. That deep breath he took when she crossed her legs under the desk.

Her hand crept down between her legs, barely brushing against her inner thigh. A shiver rippled through her. “Fuck,” she whispered into the pillow. “You don’t even know what you’re doing to me, Professor.”

But he would.

Tomorrow, she’d wear something even shorter. She’d sit closer. Maybe “accidentally” drop her pen under the desk and come up slow. See if he could still pretend to be noble after that.

She bit her lip, then rolled over and reached for her Polaroid camera on the nightstand. The click and whirr of it calmed her, comforted her like a ritual. She turned to the full-length mirror leaning against the wall and let the robe slide from her shoulders. Naked now except for the netted fabric hugging her thighs.

Click. She snapped a photo of herself on her knees, her curves spilling forward, her breasts heavy and flushed, nipples tight in the cool air.

Click. On all fours, her back arched, her ass up, face turned just slightly toward the lens, her hair falling over one eye like a secret.

She spread her legs wider. Teased her fingers across the slick heat between them. Closed her eyes and pictured his mouth—firm, demanding—covering hers, that voice growling low praises in her ear.

“Kat,” she whispered aloud. “Such a bad little girl.”

Click. She dragged her fingers lower, teasing herself slowly now, spreading open for the lens like she imagined spreading for him. She thought about slipping under his desk tomorrow, his chair creaking back as he watched her crawl closer. Thought about unzipping his slacks, about the weight of him in her mouth, about his fingers tangled in her red curls.

“Oh, fuck…” she moaned, legs trembling. Her free hand gripped the sheets as she worked herself faster, eyes locked on her own reflection, pupils wide, lips parted, her body flushed and wild.

Click.

She pictured his cock stretching her lips, her throat, the salty taste of him, his hand covering her mouth to keep her quiet while students passed by his office door.

She came hard, biting the pillow, her back arching off the bed, thighs twitching as her moan spilled out into the silence.

She lay there afterward, sweaty, satisfied, a pile of sticky Polaroids scattered across the bed like forbidden secrets.

“Tomorrow,” she whispered, curling into herself, eyelids heavy. “You’re mine, Professor Mason.”

And with that, Kat fell into sleep, dreams full of books and desks and the sinful promise of office hours.

The morning sun bled gold through her dorm window, but Kat had fire in her veins.

She stood before her mirror like a goddess preparing for war—her uniform sharp, sinful, and impossible to ignore. The red-and-black pleated skirt barely skimmed the curve of her ass, swishing playfully with every step, but if she so much as bent an inch, it would betray everything. And that was the point. No underwear today. No barriers. No hesitations.

Her fishnets traced every curve of her thighs, hugging her like a lover, leading the eye up—higher—to where the fabric stopped and flesh began. She slipped on her favorite black boots, the thigh-high ones with the perfect pointed heel, the ones that made her legs look lethal.

Her crop top was soft, black, and sheer enough to suggest just how hard her nipples had gotten in the morning air. It clung to her taut stomach, her lean waist, her full breasts, daring gravity to make a move. Her curves were on display—strategically framed, never cheap. Her body was a masterpiece, and today, she was hanging it in his private gallery.

She leaned in to do her makeup, darkening her lashes until they cast shadows across her cheeks. Her blue eyes burned—sharp, wicked, wanting. Her lips she painted last, slowly dragging the wine-red color across them like she already had something filthy in mind.

They looked hungry. They looked needy. They looked like they were meant to wrap around Professor Mason’s cock.

She grinned at her reflection. Her pulse throbbed between her legs, already slick and aching. She was practically vibrating.

No one could stop her now.

The walk across campus was a performance, and she knew her audience. Girls gave her side-eyes and whispered, clutching their oversized sweatshirts like armor. The boys weren’t as subtle—some whistled, some just stared, mouths slightly parted. One guy in a hoodie muttered “fuck me” under his breath as she passed.

Kat smiled sweetly and blew him a kiss.

Let them look. Let them talk.

They didn’t matter.

He did.

She reached the English department and climbed the stairs with purpose, her heels clicking like a countdown. Her paper was clutched in her hand, but it wasn’t her grade she was here for. It was the man behind the desk.

She stopped in front of his door. Took one deep breath to steady her thrumming nerves. Then she knocked.

“Come in,” came that familiar, deep voice.

She opened the door slowly, slipping inside, closing it with a soft click behind her. He was seated behind his desk, glasses on, tie a little loose. His eyes flicked up from a stack of papers—and stopped.

Just stopped.

Kat smiled and walked to the student chair in front of his desk, her skirt flipping with every sway of her hips. She sat slowly, carefully, crossing her legs with deliberate grace. She knew the skirt had ridden up even more. She didn’t bother tugging it down.

She placed her midterm paper on the desk between them and leaned forward, her arms resting on the wood, her cleavage framed perfectly by the low scoop of her shirt. Her voice was smooth, silken.

“Morning, Professor Mason.”

He stared at her for half a second too long before blinking it away. His voice was steady, but his throat moved as he swallowed.

“Miss Whitmore. You’re here for feedback, I presume?”

Kat tilted her head, her blue eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Something like that.”

Kat shifted in her seat, legs crossed high, her skirt a whisper from scandal. She slid the midterm paper forward across the desk—tucked neatly inside a folder. But tucked between those pages, like forbidden fruit nestled in innocent leaves, were the Polaroids from the night before.

A calculated risk. A dare.

Professor Mason picked up the folder and opened it, his eyes scanning the first page. His brow furrowed slightly in concentration. His lips pressed into a tight line. He hadn’t looked at her again since she sat down, but that was fine. That was part of it. Let him think he was in control. Let him think this was routine.

She leaned forward on her elbows, her voice soft. “I had some questions. About the theme of… temptation. You mentioned it in your comments. I wanted to understand it better.”

His eyes flicked up to hers for a beat—hesitant, aware—but she kept her face innocent. Her voice coy. Her tongue darted over her lower lip.

“Well,” he said, shifting his weight and closing the folder for now, “temptation in Dorian Gray is about indulgence. Self-destruction through desire. The inability to resist what one knows will ruin them.”

Her pulse skipped. Goddamn.

She tilted her head. “And is it really destruction if it feels that good?”

He stood slowly, moving from behind the desk, folder still in hand. Kat tracked him with her eyes as he crossed the short distance to stand beside her. He was taller than she remembered from the classroom. Taller and closer now. The scent of his cologne—musk and cedar and old books—wrapped around her like smoke.

He opened the folder again and started flipping through her paper, about to point something out.

That’s when they fell.

The Polaroids.

A few slid out in slow, silent rebellion, fluttering to the desk like decadent little leaves. A few more tumbled to the floor, scattering around his feet. It took less than a second. But the silence that followed stretched out long and loaded.

Kat’s breath caught, but her smile was still soft. Purposefully unreadable.

Professor Mason looked down.

His fingers hovered just above one of the photos—a shot of her on all fours, back arched, mouth parted, that red hair wild around her face like a siren’s mane. Another lay just beside it, showing her thighs parted, fingers buried between them, head tipped back in a moan.

He didn’t move.

Kat shifted in her chair, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Oops.”

Still, he said nothing. But his knuckles had whitened where he gripped the folder. His eyes hadn’t left the photo.

She reached down, slowly, and picked up one of the Polaroids from the desk—this one of her kneeling, breasts full and bare, her gaze in the photo locked onto the camera with raw, unashamed hunger.

She held it up between two fingers, showing it to him like a question.

“Is this temptation, Professor?” she asked. “The kind that ruins people?”

His jaw clenched.

“I thought you might like some… extra context.”

Professor Mason stood frozen, towering beside her, the Polaroids scattered around his polished shoes like fallen sins.

His jaw was clenched so tightly the muscles jumped. He gripped the folder until it bent in his hand, his knuckles straining white. His eyes finally tore from the photographs and locked onto hers—burning, wild, furious in that way that only meant wanting. That only meant losing.

“Are those for me?” he growled, his voice low and raw—like gravel dragged across stone.

Kat’s grin bloomed slow, wicked, confident.

“Of course,” she said, her tone syrupy, too sweet to be pure. “I needed to show you, Professor… how badly I’ve been tempted. Every class. Every word. Every time you looked at me like you were pretending not to.”

He cursed under his breath—quiet, hoarse. His gaze flicked downward again, and this time he didn’t look away.

Her legs had parted wider—just slightly, but enough. Enough for him to see the slick pink between the fishnet diamonds. No panties. Just glistening, swollen proof of how much she wanted this. Of what she was offering.

His eyes dragged back up slowly. His face had shifted now—something darker stirring beneath the discipline, something animal. Unleashed.

“You’re soaked,” he muttered, almost like he couldn’t believe it.

Kat leaned back in the chair, one hand resting lightly on her thigh. “I’ve been soaked since I walked in here,” she whispered. “You like what you see, Professor?”

She licked her lips, slow and deliberate. His gaze followed her tongue like it was a command.

“You want me to show you in person? Would that help you understand temptation a little better?”

He still didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared at her like she’d flipped the world upside down and he wasn’t sure whether to fall or run.

When he finally spoke again, his voice was quieter. Rougher.

“This is what you’ve been doing instead of learning?”

Kat tilted her head, her fingers brushing her inner thigh now, just close enough to tease.

“Oh, I’ve learned a lot, Professor,” she said. “Especially how to read you. How to see the way your eyes hesitate on my thighs. How your voice dips when I lean in. You think I didn’t notice?”

She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, her skirt riding higher still.

“I notice everything.”

Kat rose slowly from the chair, every movement fluid, deliberate—a performance for him now. She took her time stepping around the desk, her boots clicking softly across the hardwood floor as she crouched to collect one of the Polaroids near his feet.

She stood upright again, holding it up between two fingers like a trophy.

It was the most explicit of them all.

She’d caught herself mid-climax in the mirror, hips arched high, her red hair wild, mouth open in a frozen moan. Her hand had been buried between her thighs, the sheen of her release glistening on her skin. The camera had caught it all—the mess, the ecstasy, the abandon.

She handed it to him boldly.

“This one…” she said, voice low, sultry, confident, “was when I imagined myself under your desk.”

She stepped closer, her chest brushing his as she looked up at him with parted lips and eyes that gleamed with mischief.

“I imagined your cock in my mouth. I imagined you gripping my hair, fucking my throat, trying not to groan while students waited outside the door.”

Mason’s breath hitched. His hand gripped the photo so hard the edges curled.

And then—God help him—he didn’t stop her when her hand slid between them. Her palm pressed against the hard, thick length straining inside his slacks.

He was rock-solid.

Kat’s fingers moved slowly, up and down, the heel of her palm grinding gently as her eyes stayed locked on his.

“You’ve been wanting this too,” she whispered. “Haven’t you?”

That’s when it broke.

He broke.

With a rough growl, Mason grabbed her wrist and spun her toward the desk. Her stomach hit the wood first, then her chest, her breasts flattening against the cool surface with a gasp. Before she could catch her breath, he wrenched her arm behind her back and pinned her there, his body hot and heavy behind hers.

“You filthy little brat,” he snarled into her ear, voice dark and full of grit. “Coming in here dripping wet, waving your sins in my face like a challenge.”

Kat moaned, her cheek pressed to the wood, her free hand bracing the edge of the desk. She arched her back, pressing her ass into him, loving how hard he felt against her bare skin through his pants.

Mason leaned over her, his breath hot against the nape of her neck.

“This is a place for learning,” he growled. “A place to become better. And here you are… so brazen. So goddamn filthy. You think you don’t need discipline?”

She gasped, grinding against him, utterly undone.

“Maybe you do,” he hissed. “Maybe you need to be punished.” Kat’s cheek stayed pressed to the desk, her breathing ragged, her red hair spilling like fire across the polished wood. Her hips arched instinctively toward him, ass high, her skirt riding up so far now it barely clung to the curve of her waist. Her soft, bare backside was exposed—inviting, irresistible.

She whimpered, grinding against the heat of him behind her.

“Please…” she whispered, her voice trembling with need. “Please, sir. Punish me.”

Mason’s breath hitched, and then he growled low and deep.

“I’ve been so fucking bad,” she moaned, pressing her thighs apart even wider, tilting her hips so he could see just how wet she was. “I deserve it. I want you to spank me.”

She twisted slightly to look back at him, her eyes gleaming with lust and submission.

“Please, sir.”

That word hit him like lightning.

He yanked the skirt up fully, exposing her perfect ass, the fishnets framing her flesh in tight diamond patterns. His palm slid over her cheek, admiring the softness, the way she trembled under his touch.

Then—crack.

The first spank landed sharp and clean.

Kat gasped, her body jerking in shock, but her moan followed fast, hungry and desperate.

Crack.

The second landed on the opposite cheek, her skin blooming with warmth beneath his hand.

“God, yes,” she whimpered. “More.”

Crack. Crack.

Each strike made her cry out louder, her breath fogging the desk. Her thighs trembled, but she kept herself open for him, needy and obedient.

“Is this what you needed, Katherine?” Mason growled, his voice tight with restraint. “This is what happens when you act like a filthy little slut in my office?”

Crack. Crack.

The last two spanks echoed in the room, sharp and satisfying. Her skin was glowing now, flushed and tender under his touch. She sobbed out a moan, writhing against the desk, her core dripping and aching for him.

“I love it,” she cried. “I love when you’re rough with me.”

His hand soothed over the red marks, possessive and warm. She was trembling now, but not from fear—from hunger. From finally getting what she wanted.

And Mason… Mason was breathing heavy behind her, his control unraveling by the second.

His voice dropped to a growl.

“Get ready, Kat. I’m not done teaching you yet.”

Professor Mason’s hand slid from her reddened cheek down between her parted thighs. She was soaked—obscene with it. Her folds glistened, her arousal smeared on the inside of her thighs and dripping over the curve of her fishnets.

He gritted his teeth, the sight of her trembling and spread across his desk enough to make him dizzy.

“You want more?” he asked darkly, voice rough with control on the verge of snapping.

“Yes,” Kat whimpered, hips twitching. “Please, sir.”

Crack.

His palm landed straight on her wet core, the sharp slap echoing through the office, skin to skin. The contact sent a shockwave through her—she cried out, loud and broken, her body convulsing as the climax slammed into her with no warning. Her back arched off the desk, her legs quivering, a desperate moan ripping from her throat.

Crack. The second smack struck the same place—her overstimulated clit—making her come again, her cry higher, wetter, raw.

Mason cursed viciously.

“Did I tell you,” he snarled, “to stain my slacks with the mess of your filthy little pussy?”

Kat could barely breathe, tears brimming in her eyes from the intensity, her body still spasming. She shook her head weakly, but her mouth opened in a ruined, breathless smile.

“No, sir,” she whispered hoarsely. “I couldn’t help it. I’m so desperate. I’m a filthy, desperate whore…and you make me soaked.”

His growl was low and dangerous—something between frustration and hunger. She heard it—the clink of his belt coming undone, the slick drag of leather slipping through his belt loops. Then the low thud as his slacks hit the floor.

She didn’t even get a moment to catch her breath before he gripped her hips and flipped her over, her back slamming gently onto the desk.

She gasped, her thighs falling open, her core still pulsing from the orgasm, exposed and needy.

Mason grabbed the hem of her tiny crop top and yanked it up, freeing her full, heavy breasts. They bounced free, nipples dark and taut from arousal. He stared at them for half a second before diving in, his mouth hot and greedy.

He nipped the underside of one breast, then closed his lips over her nipple and sucked, hard, sending lightning through her spine. She cried out, hands gripping his shoulders as her hips rocked up, searching for his hardness, rubbing against the thick bulge in his boxers.

“Fuck,” she gasped. “Please—please, I need it—need you.”

Mason growled against her chest, switching to the other breast, biting just hard enough to leave a mark.

“You’ve wanted this all semester?” he muttered, voice muffled against her skin. “Wanted to be taken like a slut across my desk?”

“Yes, sir,” she moaned, her head tossing back, her voice wrecked.

Mason pulled back just enough to look down at her—Kat sprawled across his desk like a decadent offering, her flushed skin gleaming, her breath ragged, her eyes glassy with desire. Her legs twitched, trying to close around the heat and tension, but he grabbed her thighs and spread them wide, holding her open.

“You move,” he growled, “and I stop.”

Her eyes widened, a soft gasp escaping her lips.

“You want to be a filthy little brat in my office?” he continued, dragging two fingers up the slick seam of her core, “Then you’re going to listen. You’re going to be still. Or I swear to God, I’ll leave you trembling and empty.”

Kat whimpered, trembling under his hands, forcing herself to obey, even as her hips instinctively sought more.

“Y-yes, sir,” she choked out, voice breathy.

Mason lowered himself between her thighs. And then he tasted her.

His tongue dragged slow and deliberate from her entrance to her clit, licking up every bit of her mess like it was a drug he’d been aching for. His moan vibrated against her skin, deep and satisfied.

The first flick of his tongue over her swollen clit made her hips jerk, her back arch.

“Don’t. Move,” he warned, gripping her thighs harder.

Kat bit her lip until it nearly bled, her hands white-knuckling the edges of the desk as she tried—tried—to stay still. But the way he licked her, the way his tongue circled and sucked and played with her like she was his favorite meal, it was too much.

Her moans rose—high, keening, raw.

“Fuck! Sir—please, I—I can’t—”

He sucked her clit into his mouth and growled against it.

“You taste just like I fucking thought you would,” he said, his voice thick with hunger. “But somehow better.”

Then his mouth was on her again, harder now, devouring her with purpose.

“You want to scream?” he rasped between strokes. “Then scream.”

Her body writhed—disobeying her own will—but he didn’t stop.

“You better hurry the fuck up and finish for me,” he snarled. “I want to feel this greedy little cunt come on my tongue.”

Kat shattered—her scream echoing off the walls, her legs clamping around his shoulders, her whole body shaking as wave after wave of pleasure tore through her. She was soaked, undone, a mess on his desk with her release coating his mouth and chin.

And Mason kept licking, slow now, savoring her taste like he never wanted to stop.

Kat’s thighs trembled violently as Mason’s tongue continued to work her over, even as her orgasm tore through her like a storm. He didn’t let up—not even when her body arched, not even when she gasped his name like a broken prayer. Only when her legs started to twitch uncontrollably, too sensitive to take more, did he finally slow his strokes.

He looked up at her from between her thighs, mouth slick with her release, eyes dark with possession.

“You’ll be shaking like that every time you walk out of this office,” he muttered.

And then he stood.

Without a word, he yanked her shirt the rest of the way off, tossing the soft black fabric across the room. Her breasts bounced free again, flushed and sensitive, her nipples swollen from earlier teasing.

He gave one a sharp slap—just enough to make her gasp and cry out, her body jolting in oversensitive pleasure.

“Get on your knees.”

Kat slid down from the desk, legs still weak, falling to her knees on the hardwood floor. Mason towered over her, the tension in his body stretched to its breaking point.

He gripped her fiery red curls in both hands and guided her under the desk. It was cramped, shadowed, but she didn’t care. She wanted to be there—wanted to be hidden where no one could see her, except him.

He looked down at her, eyes blazing.

“This what you wanted, Kat?” he asked, voice thick and rough. “To be on your knees for me?”

She nodded, mouth already parting in invitation, desperate.

Mason groaned low in his chest and thrust into her mouth—slow at first, then harder. She gasped around him, lips stretching, her throat tightening, but she didn’t pull away. She took it, eyes wet, lips sloppy and wide.

“This,” he growled, fingers tightening in her hair, hips rocking deeper, “this is what you’re good for now.”

Her eyes flicked up to his, watering with lust and intensity.

“This mouth,” he gritted, thrusting deeper, “was made to be used. And from now on, that’s what you’re going to do. You’re going to choke on me every. Single. Day.”

Kat moaned around him, her fingers digging into his thighs, her heart racing.

And she wanted nothing more.

Mason’s hips bucked harder now, each thrust deeper than the last, as Kat took him down her throat without hesitation. Her tongue moved expertly along the underside of him, slick and eager, and her lips sealed around him like a vice.

He moaned—deep and guttural—his control unraveling with every wet glide of her mouth.

“Yes,” he groaned, voice strained, head tipping back. “That’s it… that’s what you get.”

His grip on her hair tightened, anchoring her in place, and his hips began to drive into her mouth with brutal rhythm.

“Take it,” he growled, the words punched through clenched teeth. “Take my cock down that throat.”

Kat moaned around him, the sound vibrating along his length, making his legs tremble. Her eyes fluttered open to meet his as he looked down at her—sweat beading on his brow, jaw clenched, face twisted in raw need.

“Goddamn, you’re too good at this,” he panted, voice low and filthy. “Like you’ve been practicing just to make me lose my mind. I bet you’ve sucked more cocks than anyone here.”

She answered with action, sucking harder, faster, flattening her tongue and swallowing around him every time he drove in deep. Her throat stretched for him, no gag, just wet heat and hunger.

“Fuck—fuck, Kat,” he groaned, one hand braced against the edge of the desk, the other locked in her hair. “Look at you—down there like a slut, taking every inch like you need it.”

His thrusts became erratic now, hips jerking forward, his head thrown back as he let out a long, broken groan.

“Filthy little whore… made to choke on cock… mine now.”

Kat moaned again, her hands sliding up the backs of his thighs, pulling him deeper, begging for more without saying a word.

And Mason was right there—hovering on the edge, dizzy from the feel of her mouth, her heat, her wickedness. Everything he thought he could resist was now crashing down around him.

Mason was close—so close. Every thrust into her mouth was a war between restraint and pure, carnal need. But when Kat pulled back slightly, looking up at him with wet, swollen lips, her eyes wide and wicked, she whispered the final match to his fuse.

“Please, sir,” she begged, voice hoarse and sinful. “I want to wear you. On my face. My chest. Mark me with it.”

Mason cursed sharply, yanking himself from her mouth with a slick gasp. He fisted his cock in one hand, already glistening and furious with need. Kat stayed on her knees, her chest rising and falling, breasts flushed and heaving, her skin still glowing from his earlier touch.

“Goddamn you,” he growled, stroking hard, fast. “You want this? You want to be covered in me?”

“Yes,” she moaned. “Please—make me filthy. Make me yours.”

That was all he needed.

With a strangled groan, his hips jerked and he spilled over her—hot, thick ropes across her waiting face and chest. Kat gasped, her eyes fluttering closed, lips parted in bliss as he painted her skin, her breasts, her throat.

“Fuck—fuck, Kat,” he groaned, louder now, guttural, wild. His release hit her in pulses, and she took it all, chest rising, hands gripping her own thighs as she basked in it.

Then silence—just the echo of their breath and the lingering heat in the air.

Mason collapsed back into his chair, breathing hard, his body twitching with the aftershock.

But Kat wasn’t done.

She slid her fingers through the mess he left on her skin, slow and greedy. Then, eyes locked on his, she licked them clean—sucking each one into her mouth, moaning softly at the taste of him.

Mason just stared, chest still heaving, lips parted.

And the sight of her like that—naked, glowing, covered in him, moaning for it—had him hard again in minutes.

He didn’t speak. Just growled low and reached out, wrapping a strong hand into her hair and dragging her up onto his lap.

“On me,” he snarled. “Now.”

Kat straddled him, her thighs spreading across his lap, her slick center hovering over his length. She was still soaked, still sensitive—but more than ready.

He lined himself up with one hand and pulled her down, hard and fast.

She screamed—head falling back, mouth open, overwhelmed as he filled her in one brutal thrust. Her inner walls clenched tight, fluttering around him, her entire body arching from the stretch.

“Fuck!” she cried. “Yes—oh God, yes!”

Mason held her hips tight, grinding up into her, buried to the hilt.

“You were made for this,” he growled, teeth at her throat. “This soaked, greedy little pussy.”

Kat gasped, rocking on him, hips desperate, breasts bouncing with every rough stroke.

Kat bounced in his lap, her thighs burning with effort, her soaked core clenching around him with every stroke. She rode him like she needed him inside her to breathe, grinding deep, rolling her hips just to hear him groan. Their bodies slapped together, her slick arousal splashing against his thighs, dripping down between them in a mess neither of them cared to clean.

Mason leaned forward and took one of her breasts into his mouth, sucking hard, his teeth scraping across her tender nipple. She screamed—high and needy—arching her back, pushing her chest further into his face. He switched sides, devouring her like she was dessert, tongue circling and flicking as his hands gripped her ass, guiding her thrusts harder, faster.

Then he slapped her.

Crack.

One sharp smack on her bare cheek as she rode him, and she squealed, her voice ragged and desperate.

Another slap. Her rhythm faltered, her hips stuttering.

“Oh my God,” she cried out. “Again—do it again!”

“You think screaming like that hides anything?” he growled against her breast, voice thick with dominance. “Everyone out there knows what you are now.”

He smacked her again and she shrieked, her fingernails dragging down his back, leaving angry red trails in her wake. He hissed at the pain, but it only spurred him on.

“They’re going to hear your filthy little moans echo down the hall,” he snarled. “You want them to know, don’t you? You want them to hear what a dripping, desperate slut you are for your professor.”

“Yes,” she sobbed, riding him faster now, her hair whipping around her face, her mouth open in a constant moan. “Yes—I want them to know. I want them to hear me scream for you.”

Mason groaned, deep and savage.

“You hear that?” he growled, grabbing her hips and slamming her down harder. “That wet little cunt slapping against me? That’s the sound of you fucking your future away for cock.”

She couldn’t speak—just choked, broken moans as she bounced and clenched and begged for more.

“Say it,” he demanded. “Tell me what you are.”

“I’m your filthy girl,” she gasped. “Your wet, desperate fucktoy. I’m made for you, only you.”

His eyes blazed. “Good. Then fucking come for me.”

“Yes—yes, yes—” Kat screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of it all, her entire body unraveling in Mason’s lap. Her thighs shook, her nails raked down his back again, and her soaked, swollen core clamped down around him in spasms so intense she could barely breathe.

Mason grunted, hard and raw, slamming up into her with brutal force. Sweat rolled down his temples, jaw clenched tight, hands locked around her waist as if he could fuse her to him. He was gone, ruled by the wet slap of her against his thighs, the scent of sex thick in the air, and the sound of her losing herself on top of him.

“Fuck, Kat—fuck,” he groaned, his head falling to her shoulder. “You’re gonna make me—”

She clenched tighter, screaming in his ear, “Come in me—please, please—I need it—I want it all!”

And that was it.

With a guttural roar, Mason thrust up one final time and spilled into her, his release hot and pulsing deep inside her. His hips stuttered, his whole body tensing as wave after wave of ecstasy crashed through him.

Kat’s orgasm hit again, harder, pushed over the edge by the feeling of him emptying inside her. Her cry was hoarse, nearly broken, and she collapsed against him, their bodies shaking together, dripping with sweat, soaked in each other.

They rode the aftershocks in gasping silence, twitching and grinding slowly until it became too much. Too sensitive. Too perfect.

Mason leaned back in the chair, completely spent, Kat still straddling him—his cock still buried deep inside her.

Her head dropped to his shoulder, and she let out a ragged, breathless laugh.

“Office hours are dangerous, Professor.”

He groaned, hand sliding up her spine.

“You’ve got no idea what kind of trouble you’ve started.”