A disastrous book

Chapter one: Sweet dreams are made of these

Riley's POV

"Wh-What are you doing professor?" I asked in a small, shaky yet seductive voice as the large man in front of me slowly approached me, making me halt as I feel the back of my thighs hit the desk.

I was trapped.

"Miss Sinclair, I asked you a question." He said as he leaned his face closer, his mouth stopping at my ear while his arms rest on his desk, caging my small body.

"Was it true what you wrote?" He whispers in my ear, sending chills down my spine and making the small hairs on my neck rise due to feeling his warm breath.

"Hmm?" He lightly nudged my ear with his nose when I didn't answer.

"I- You weren't meant to read that." I stuttered, my chest heaving up and down, my face probably flushed.

He inches his head back a bit to look in my eyes, his slowly trailing my face, reaching my lips, then going down to my chest.

He reaches his finger and very delicately pulls at the front of my collar, revealing a bit more cleavage while I silently gasp at his action.

"That may be true" he said, eyes still fixed on my chest, "but I had a feeling that you wanted me to read." He taunted, finally looking back at my face.

I was speechless, and the look on my face probably amused him when a slight smirk appeared on his handsome face.

"Whether I was meant to read it or not, doesn't matter now." He started, "what matters is what you wrote. And may I say, miss Sinclair" he smoothly tucked in a stray lock of my hair behind my ear and placed his thumb on the side of my head, gently tapping it, "you have very, very dirty thoughts running through that pretty little head of yours."

He suddenly grabbed my thighs and lifted me to sit on his desk, him nestling himself between my legs so our bodies were completely pressed against each other, while his large hand wrapped around my neck and lightly squeezed.

I gasped loudly this time. Gone was his calm and collected demeanor, and it was soon replaced with an angry, rough one that he was apparently trying to keep under control.

"Isn't this what you wanted?" He taunted, squeezing my neck when I didn't answer.

"You think I haven't noticed the way you look at me in class?" He whispers and I quickly turn my head to look away. He chuckles before grabbing my jaw with his thumb and index finger from the same hand that is still engulfing my neck, making me look at him.

"Eyes on me when I'm talking to you." He says harshly. "Why so quiet now, hmm?" He taunts. "You always have something to say."

His other hand reaches to the back of my head and grabs a fistful of my hair. I moan in pain as tears of humiliation well up in my eyes.

"You think I haven't noticed all those tiny skirts and revealing tops you wear?" He continues, his finger swiping a stray tear away from my cheek.

"All this time I thought you were trying to impress some loser that probably doesn't deserve your time of day" he confesses, "but I was wrong, wasn't I?"

I gulp, too afraid to admit that everything he said was the complete truth.

He leaned so ours faces were inches apart, our noses touching, breathing in each other.

"Those were for me." He whispers so quietly, if I haven't been so close to him I probably wouldn't have even heard him.

A moment of silence passes while we stare at each other. The glint of mischievousness and taunting no longer in his eyes, but rather something more deep, more intense, more sincere.