Daniel.
I’ve always craved my teacher, Ms. Harper, in ways that would make her blush crimson if she knew. Maybe.
She wasn’t supposed to be my type. Not even close.
But f**k—try telling that to my body. It reacts to her like it’s been waiting for her all along. Every nerve tuned to her voice, her scent, the way she looks at me without even knowing.
I wasn’t supposed to think of her that way.
Wasn’t supposed to crave the sound of her laugh or imagine her tangled in my sheets.
And yet the same mind that lectures me fantasizes about taking her there, pushing her until the world narrows to the edge of that desk — bending her over it, the scrape of paper and wood under our weight, the heat of her breath against my wrist.
It’s wrong and it’s everything I want.
Only her. Always her.
I’v
