Chapter 1 Who Holds The Power

• Disclaimer: If it doesn't make sense, you're understanding it correctly. Don't fight it. The author doesn't know anything about anything.
• ​Red ink bled across the cover page of my senior thesis proposal like a fresh wound.
• ​"This intro reads like a sports broadcast, Luca," Professor Peter Kingston said. He tossed his red pen onto the cluttered desk. "It lacks academic rigor. You need a complete rewrite."
• ​I swallowed down the knot of panic in my throat. I squeezed the edge of his desk, letting my biceps strain against the tight sleeve of my polo shirt. "Come on, Professor. I spent three weeks on that draft."
• ​"And you wasted three weeks." Peter leaned back in his leather chair, resting his chin on his steepled fingers. "The athletic department might let you skate by on charm, but I do not."
• ​My father's furious voice echoed in my head, reminding me what happened to football players who lost their academic standing. I could not lose my scholarship.
• I flashed Peter my best, low-slanted smile and slowly leaned forward over the desk, invading his space until I could smell the faint scent of coffee on his breath.
• ​"There has to be another way to earn that A," I purred, lowering my voice to a murmur. "I am very flexible. Just tell me what you need from me."
• ​Peter looked up at me. His blue eyes slowly trailed down my throat, across my chest, and back up to my lips. He did not flinch.
• ​"You want an A so badly?" Peter asked softly. "Strip. Show me what you have to offer."
• ​My breath hitched. The smug grin froze on my face. I looked at the closed door of the office, then back at his steady face. I needed this grade. If this was the price, I could pay it. I had done plenty of dirty favors before.
• ​"Anything you say, Professor," I whispered.
• ​I reached for the hem of my shirt and pulled it over my head, tossing it onto his stack of research papers. Next came my belt buckle, clinking loudly in the quiet room.
• I kicked off my shoes, unzipped my jeans, and let them drop to the floor. Standing there in only my black boxer briefs, the chilly office air raised goosebumps across my skin. My heart hammered against my ribs.
• ​Peter did not rush. He simply watched me.
• ​"Everything, Luca," he instructed quietly. "Take them off."
• ​I slid the waistband down my thighs and stepped out of them completely, standing fully bare under the harsh fluorescent lights. I waited for him to grab me, to push me onto the desk, or to demand I get on my knees.
• ​Instead, Peter sat back. He picked up his coffee mug, took a slow sip, and just watched me. Five agonizing minutes passed in total silence. He didn't touch himself. He didn't touch me. He just watched the tremor in my knees as the shame began to cook me from the inside out.
• ​"Come here," Peter said smoothly.
• ​I stepped forward, my pulse hammering in my ears. He didn't stand up. He gripped my wrist with surprising strength, tugged me forward until I was straddling his lap, my bare skin sliding against the coarse fabric of his trousers. His hands rested firmly on my hips, holding me in place.
• ​"Professor..." I gasped as the heat of his body seeped into mine.
• ​"Shh," Peter murmured.
• ​His warm, rough fingers slowly traced a path up my outer thigh. Every point of contact made my muscles twitch.
• He squeezed my hip gently, his thumb dipping into the crease where my leg met my torso. A low hum escaped my throat as a sudden wave of heat surged straight to my core.
• ​He leaned close, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. "You think your body is a cheat code, don't you?"
• ​"I..." Words caught in my throat when his hand slid down between my thighs.
• ​"You wanted to trade with your body," Peter murmured as he bit my ear. "So let's trade."
• ​His palm cupped me gently through the gathering heat, his fingers moving in slow, agonizingly soft circles. The sensation was electric.
• I arched my back, my chest heaving as I pressed myself closer to his touch. He stroked up the sensitive underside, thumbing the wet tip until my vision blurred.
• ​"Please," I groaned, my fingers digging into his shoulders for balance. My body responded instantly, aching and throbbed with a desperate need for a faster rhythm.
• ​Peter did not speed up. He kept the pace agonizingly slow, teasing the head of my length with delicate pressure, coaxing every drop of arousal out of me until my knees shook on either side of his chair. He knew exactly what he was doing to me. Every soft stroke made my core tighten with unbearable tension.
• ​"You are so close, aren't you?" Peter whispered into my neck. His thumb swirled over the damp peak again, sending a sharp spark of pleasure shooting down my spine. I was riding the absolute edge of the cliff, ready to drop over into a ruinous climax.
• ​Then, his hand completely stopped moving. He left his warm palm resting lightly over my sensitive length, holding me hostage right at the point of no return.
• ​"Here are the rules, Luca," Peter said, his voice smooth and cold against my burning skin. He picked up my printed thesis proposal with his free hand and held it up between us.
• "Now, explain Chapter One. If you cannot convince me before you get your release, I am giving you an F for incompetence."
• ​My eyes widened in horror. My hips twitched on their own, begging for the slightest movement of his fingers, but he kept his hand entirely motionless. I was ten seconds away from exploding, completely at his mercy.
• ​"Start talking," Peter commanded softly, his thumb giving one tiny, excruciating wiggle against the tip.