Office Hours: Extra Credit

Chapter Four

The door slammed behind me, cutting off the noise of the outside world. I was home. I kicked off my shoes at the door, the click of them landing too loud in the silence. My father’s voice carried from the dining room, warm and inviting, as always.

“Ava? Is that you?”

I didn’t answer. I straightened my shoulders, took a breath, and walked to the dining room.

The table was set, as always. The china gleamed, silverware polished. Everything was perfect. My father, in his crisp white shirt and black trousers, sat at the head, his hands folded in front of him. My mother was already seated, her gaze lifting from her phone as I entered, her smile warm.

“Ava, how was your day?” my father asked, his voice as smooth and comforting as ever. The man was a saint in the eyes of the world, a respected figure. He had no idea what had just happened to me. What I'd done.

“Fine,” I said, my voice too tight. “Quiet.”

“Good,” he replied. “Good. I spoke with Director Johnson earlier. He said you’re doing well. Your grades are excellent. Keep it up.”

I nodded, sitting down as I tried to swallow the lump in my throat. The air felt thick—like it was pressing on me from all sides. My father’s voice was too calm, too normal.

“So, how was your meeting with Professor Wolfe?” he asked. My mother looked up, waiting for my response. “I know you were disappointed with your grade.”

I froze my fork halfway to my mouth. The world seemed to slow.

“Professor Wolfe?” My voice barely sounded like my own. “Yeah... he helped me with the essay.”

My father smiled approvingly, nodding. “Good man. Devoted. Focused. I can tell he really cares about his students.”

I felt the walls closing in. “He’s a good teacher,” I managed, my hands trembling as I set my fork down.

“And how did the review go?” My father continued, unaware of the turmoil that was crashing inside me. “He didn’t say anything about... any concerns, did he?”

“No,” I said, my voice thin. “Nothing.”

I couldn’t breathe. The air felt too thick, too heavy, like I was suffocating. Every breath reminded me of the taste of him in my mouth, the feel of him inside me. I could still feel him, even here, even now.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” My mother’s voice cut through my thoughts, but it felt distant. Like she wasn’t even in the room.

I forced a smile, a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

My father nodded, his gaze softening. “It’s good to see you doing well, Ava. I know it’s hard sometimes. But you’ve got to keep working hard. God rewards discipline, remember?”

I nodded, my fingers gripping the edge of the table so hard that my knuckles turned white. God wouldn’t reward me. Not after what I’d done. Not after what he’d made me feel.

Dinner went by quickly with polite conversation. Each word felt sharp and painful, like a knife to my chest. My throat was tight with the things I couldn’t say. My mind was elsewhere—far away, stuck in a room with a man who had ruined me.

My father was still talking, his voice a soft drone in the background. I felt sick. My stomach churned with every word he said. But I couldn’t stop thinking about Damon.

You’re gonna sit across from him tonight—full of my c*m.

I almost choked on my food.

After what felt like hours, the meal ended. My father cleared his plate with his usual quiet efficiency, and my mother began to chat about the church event they had planned for next week. But all I could hear was Damon’s voice. All I could see was his face, his smirk, his hands.

“Sweetheart,” my father said, interrupting my thoughts. “You’re awfully quiet tonight. Are you sure everything’s alright?”

I blinked, forcing myself to look at him, to smile. To be the perfect daughter. “I’m fine, really. Just... tired.”

He patted my hand gently. “You’re a good girl, Ava. Don’t forget that.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. The words felt too heavy in my mouth.

*****

I returned to my room feeling guilty. I felt guilty knowing that I had just lied to my parents. I had never lied to them before, except for that one time when I accidentally smashed my dad's newly bought MacBook. I was only nine years old, and I lied to cover up what I had done. However, guilt consumed me for hours until I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran to my dad, bawling my eyes out, and confessed.

I took a few lashes from my mom and then that was it. That was the day I realized I wasn't very good at hiding a bad deed or covering up a lie.

I pulled out the essay sheet I was to redo and submit it soon. I sat at my desk, staring at the clean white sheet in front of me. The instructions he’d given echoed in my ears, still warm like his breath had been on my neck hours ago. I could still feel the weight of him, the stretch, the heat.

My hand trembled as I picked up my pen.

Just focus, Ava.

You’ve done this a thousand times. You aced this class before he walked in and flipped your world upside down.

I inhaled sharply and started writing.

Question one—done. Smooth, perfect. I followed his notes word for word.

Question two—flawless. Textbook. I could already hear his low murmur, “Good girl.”

But then I looked at the third question.

My vision blurred, and my heart slowed until it was the only thing I could hear.

I held my breath.

Then I wrote a sentence that made no sense. Just... scribbles. Meaningless trash. I stared at it, stunned at my own hand, as it moved on its own to question four. Garbage again. Five—more nonsense. Six, seven, eight, nine—

By ten, my pen finally stopped. The tip hovered over the page, ink bleeding into a small dot.

I dropped it.

What the hell was I doing?

I sat back in my chair, chest rising and falling with shallow, panicked breaths. I stared at the ruined paper, at my name written neatly at the top like I was still pretending to be the girl I used to be. The perfect one. The genius. The golden girl.

I looked around my room—trophies lined the shelves, medals hung from push pins hammered into the wall. Framed certificates are stacked high on my desk. I’d built my entire life around being the best. The smartest. The unstoppable Ava Clarke.

I was the top student. Always the highest achiever. I was every teacher’s favorite. I was the one they pointed at during assemblies and said, "Be like her."

And I just willingly tanked the only chance I had to fix a C. My only C ever.

Why?

Because of him.

Because Professor Damon Wolfe pulled me into his world with one look. One word. One filthy promise.

“You want your A, Ava? Get on your knees.”

And I did.

I let him bend me over that desk. Let him f**k me like I was something to use. I took it, every inch, every thrust. And I came for him. I broke for him. And I’d never come back from that.

It wasn’t just s*x.

It was the way he looked at me while doing it—like he owned me now. Like I was his to corrupt, ruin, destroy.

And the worst part?

I wanted him to.

I should be freaking out. I should be crying. I should be terrified that I just threw away my perfect GPA for a man I barely know.

But all I could think about was how full I felt. How he filled me so deep I couldn’t walk straight afterward. How my panties were still damp, hours later, just remembering how he moaned when he came inside me.

God.

I pressed my thighs together, and I hated how my body responded—how wet I still was, how I craved him like an addiction.

What the hell is wrong with me?

He gave me a choice after wrecking me. Rewrite the essay and earn my grade back. I could have done it. Easily.

But instead, I wrote gibberish. Sabotaged it on purpose.

Because I want him to fail me again.

I want to be called to his office again. I want to walk in and see that door lock behind me. I want to see that look in his eyes—the one that says I don’t belong to myself anymore.

I belong to him.

I reached down under the desk, slipping my hand between my thighs, biting my lip to keep from making a sound.

Still soaked.

Still his.

And I knew—I f*****g knew—that if he gave me the same choice again, I’d take it. Over and over again.

Fuck the grades.

Fuck the title.

Fuck the future.

I just wanted to feel him split me open again.

I wanted to be the perfect student on paper—and his filthy little secret when the doors closed.

And I’d ruin every perfect thing I ever built to taste that again.