Teacher x Student. Femdom. Badboy x Badgirl.
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"Admit it, bad boys do it better."
"Only if you admit, bad boys love to be punished."
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Zach Wilson
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In the halls of a seemingly perfect high school, where popularity and power reign...
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Did this boy just peck my cheek?
The smirk lingering on his lips told me that he indeed did.
I literally had to fist my hands to stop myself from grabbing him by his hair and smashing my lips onto his.
And then have him bent on my knees with his ass red. Well, not on my knees because he is big. I guess the table will work.
This boy is going to be the death of me.
I silently walk towards the couch and with nothing else to do I turn on the TV.
"So, what are you cooking?" I ask while selecting a good channel.
"You're gonna have to wait." He answers with a grin.
"mmh can't wait."
A sudden sound of thunder pushes me to think about Chris. Did he arrive safely? I sigh and take out my phone to message him, asking if he arrived safely.
A minute later my phone dings and I read from the notification that he arrived safely.
"What are we watching?" Zach asks standing behind the couch I was sitting in.
"Wwe?" I laugh jumping from channel to channel in hopes for a good movie.
"Hell yes! I'll be right back with the food." He exclaims then jog back to the kitchen. I chuckle at his eagerness.
A minute later, a steaming hot plate is placed in front of me, and then the couch dips beside me.
"What's this?" I ask looking at the new dish, one I've never seen before let alone eaten.
"Oh- It's called Michino."
I take a bite and almost moan at the taste. "Are you looking for a part-time job?" I say jokingly.
He chuckles, "If you're the boss then, definitely."
I roll my eyes, chuckling, "Don't you get tired of flirting so much?"
He laughs shaking his head. "Never with you, ma'am."
"So who's your favorite porn star?" He asks after a minute.
I almost choke on my food. With his nonchalant tone, I was seriously questioning if my ears had heard him right.
"I think you meant to ask who's your favorite wrestler."
"You can answer that too." He shrugs with a smirk.
Pretending to think, "Why, Manuel Ferrara, of course," I answered after a second.
"Why him?" he asks confusedly.
A slow smirk formed on my lips, "Our dirtiness matches." I wink.
His eyes drop to my lips like he was intently anticipating the words to slip by, "Like?" He asks unconsciously licking his lips.
