Chapter 490 | Extra Credit

Chapter 490: 490 | Extra Credit

The voice. She’d pitched it higher than normal, breathy and young and deliberate, a perfect imitation of a student who knows she’s in trouble and finds the prospect exciting rather than frightening. The green eyes tracked me from the classroom door to the front of the room with the focus of someone who had been building toward this moment for hours.

I pulled the swivel chair out from behind the teacher’s desk and sat down. The oak surface between us carried the weight of every fantasy she’d constructed since the first time I mentioned detention to her in a hallway. I picked up the red pen and clicked it once.

"You’re the one in detention, Fitzgerald. Not me."

Aurora’s thighs pressed together beneath the desk. I saw the movement. She saw me see it. Her lips parted and her tongue touched the corner of her mouth, wetting the red lipstick.

"I didn’t do anything wrong."

"You’ve been disrupting the other students."

"How?"

I leaned back in the chair. Let my eyes travel from the red ribbons in her orange hair down across the shirt that couldn’t contain her, past the tie hanging between her breasts, across the bare strip of stomach, down the grey skirt to where it ended well above mid-thigh, across the lace bands of the stockings, all the way to the red toenails pressing against the tile floor.

"The outfit, for starters."

Aurora uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way. The skirt rode higher. The stocking tops peeked into full view. Between the lace bands and the hem of the skirt, three inches of bare, tanned thigh caught the overhead light.

"It’s within dress code, Mr. Monroe."

"It’s within your definition of dress code. Administration would disagree."

"Administration isn’t here." Aurora’s eyes dropped to the desk between us, then came back up through her lashes. "Just you and me. After hours. With the door closed."

The hallway sounds continued outside the windows. Distant voices. A locker slamming. The squeak of sneakers on linoleum. The Sanctum had populated the environment with just enough ambient life to create exactly what Aurora wanted: the illusion of potential discovery without actual risk. Someone could walk past and glance through the window at any moment. They wouldn’t because the Sanctum controlled the simulation, but the possibility hummed in the air like static electricity.

Aurora lived for this. The edge. The performance. The knife-thin space between getting caught and getting away with it.

I clicked the red pen again. "Stand up."

Aurora’s chair scraped against the floor. She rose from the student desk and stood in the center aisle between the rows, hands behind her back, chin slightly lowered. The pose was submission wrapped in defiance. She looked up at me through those lashes, green eyes burning, the twin ponytails framing her face in a way that should have been ridiculous but instead registered as the most aggressively sexual thing I’d seen all night, and I had spent the past two hours watching two different women lose their minds.

"Come here."

She walked forward. Each step landed heel-toe with the kind of control that came from years of reading people and knowing exactly which movement produced the desired response. The skirt swayed. The shirt strained. The tie swung between her breasts. She stopped in front of the teacher’s desk and placed both palms flat on the oak surface, leaning forward enough that the shirt gaped and I could see down into the black lace bra to the swell of her breasts, which had already started responding to proximity. A bead of milk formed at her right nipple, visible through the thin white fabric as a spreading dark spot.

"Professor said I was disruptive." Aurora’s voice dropped half an octave, the breathy act cracking to reveal the real woman underneath, the one who’d spent forty minutes with her hand between her legs while watching me take Naomi apart on a beach. Her pupils were blown wide. Her breathing came too fast for someone standing still. "What’s my punishment?"

I stood from the chair and walked around the desk until I stood behind her. Aurora’s shoulders rose and fell with unsteady breaths. The twin ponytails hung down her back, red ribbons catching the institutional light. The skirt barely covered anything from this angle. The stockings created a frame around the backs of her thighs that directed the eye upward like an arrow.

I leaned close enough that my lips brushed the shell of her ear. Her whole body shivered.

"You’ve been touching yourself during class, Fitzgerald."

Aurora’s breath caught.

"All period. Through both lectures. Hand under the desk where you thought I couldn’t see." I placed my palm flat on the small of her back, just above the waistband of the grey skirt. Her skin burned through the shirt fabric. "Were you wet the whole time?"

She didn’t answer. Her fingers curled against the oak desk.

I slid my hand down over the curve of her ass through the thin skirt. The fabric bunched against my wrist. My palm found the back of her thigh where stocking met skin, and I traced the lace band with my thumb.

"I asked you a question."

"Yes." The word came out wrecked. Raw. The schoolgirl voice was gone. This was Aurora Fitzgerald at her most honest, the version that existed behind every performance and every game, the version that needed to be told what to do because controlling everything was exhausting and she had found exactly one person in two years of academy life who she trusted enough to hand the wheel to. "The whole time. Since the beach."

My hand slipped beneath the skirt hem and found what I expected. Aurora was not wearing underwear. The realization hit my bloodstream like a shot of espresso mixed with lightning. She was soaked, had been soaked for the better part of an hour, the inside of her thighs slick and warm and evidence of exactly how thoroughly my performance with Naomi and Belle had wrecked her composure.

Aurora made a sound when my fingers found her. A sharp, bitten-off noise that she caught behind her teeth and held prisoner. Her hips pushed back against my hand.

"That’s extra credit, Mr. Monroe." Her voice shook. Her hands gripped the desk hard enough that her knuckles went white. "I’m a very good student."

I pressed two fingers inside her and Aurora’s forehead dropped to the oak surface.