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Her perky tits with their perfect cherry nipples were so clearly outlined that it made my hands itch, and my cock twitch.

I wouldn’t be standing up for any lectures today. Fuck my life.

I’d been dodging jailbait without effort for years, but Nova Monroe was a special sort of challenge. My own personal hell, if I was honest.

She’d turned eighteen a few months ago. I knew that because she’d had the unmitigated gall to tell me she was legal the exact day it happened.

A day hadn’t gone by since where that knowledge hadn’t tormented me. She was a shameless, dauntless tease.

NOVA

Mr. North didn’t fuck students. Everybody knew it because every girl in school was at least a little bit in love with him. Including me. He was perfect, and I’d been obsessed with him since I first laid eyes on him in 9th grade. I was a senior and eighteen now, and the obsession hadn’t gone anywhere. Just the opposite. It had grown out of proportion until it felt too big for me to handle.

I was to the point where I didn’t want to handle it. I’d been saving myself, but not anymore. I was ready.

I wanted Mr. North to have his way with me, whatever, however, wherever he wanted.

I shifted in my seat restlessly, drawing his eyes to my bare legs under my desk.

He tried to be good, I knew he did, but it was getting harder for him. He couldn’t hide the heat in his eyes as they lingered on my bare, untouched flesh briefly before he tore them away.

I loved it when he looked at me like that. I loved it when he looked at me, period.

He was a big man, a former college football player that doubled as one of the high school coaches during football season.

Big and gorgeous.

His voice when he lectured was cold and stern, but his eyes were warm and intense with an interest he thought he hid better than he did. But I could read him better than most because I had been paying very close attention. I didn’t have a choice. I could never take my eyes off him.

He was perfect; a large, fit man with broad shoulders, messy brown hair and a warm, irresistible smile. His face was handsome, with even features, melting chocolate brown eyes, and dominated by a jawline so defined it made me wet.

He even dressed the part of my perfect teacher daydream, wearing pristine white dress shirts and well-tailored slacks.

On some lucky days—today being one of them—he even went the extra mile with conservative wool blazers and perfectly folded ties. He looked like a studious professor, head to toe. No one could look at him and not crave his approval. Or maybe that was just me.

I wanted his approval. But above all, I wanted his attention.

I wanted to have all of his overwhelming masculine intensity focused only on me.

He started going over the day’s lesson without standing up from his desk, his voice monotone, his eyes aimed down. This was unusual for him. Usually he moved when he taught. He paced, he spoke directly to students, he engaged.

Not today. Today he barely looked up. Instead he read directly from a textbook. He was phoning it in today, which I’d never seen him do.

He was more distant than usual. He was barely present, which was out of character.

His expression was perfectly composed. That was perfectly on brand for him.

He looked like a man who had never been ruffled by anything. I wanted to ruffle him. I wanted to affect him in any way at all.

I almost reached for my phone and barely stopped myself. Mr. North was very strict about us putting our phones away after the bell rang, and though I did want to get his attention, I didn’t want to displease him.

It took all of my self-control, but I managed to wait to check my phone after the period was over and I’d left his classroom.

“Have a nice day, Mr. North,” I told him quietly as I walked by his desk.

He didn’t look up at me, but his shoulder twitched in a small movement that spoke of tension, and I knew he noticed me. “Goodbye, Miss Monroe,” he returned, his voice dismissive.

As soon as I was out of his sight, I pulled out my phone, eyes scanning over the text conversation that dominated my thoughts, desperate to see if I’d gotten a response from the object of my obsession.