“I’d sit on the desk,” I began, voice smooth and sweet like honey that could drown you if you weren’t careful. “Wearing the tiniest skirt you’ve ever seen. Like, short enough to make someone fail a class just from looking at it. And it would ride up every time I crossed my legs. And I wouldn’t even fix it. I’d just let you stare.”
Damon didn’t move. But I saw his jaw tighten. That vein in his neck ticked. His breathing slowed in that scary-calm way he does right before he ruins me.
“And I’d wear glasses,” I went on, like I wasn’t already pushing my luck, “not because I need them, but because I want to look like I’ll ruin your life and grade your paper at the same time. I’d cross my legs like a lady but smirk like a w***e. I’d say, ‘Mr. Thornvale, can you explain why you haven’t turned in
