Grade Me Harder

Chapter 5

KIAN'S POV

"A brilliant mouth. Shame it gets you in trouble."

The words slipped out low and even, but the second they left my mouth, I knew they’d hit their mark. Aria’s smirk faltered—not enough for most to notice, but I caught it. I always did.

She masked it quickly, tipping her head with that same insolent grin, lips painted the same shade as sin. “Is that your way of calling me clever, Professor?”

No, it was my way of reminding her who the f**k was in charge.

I didn’t answer right away. Just watched her.

Really watched her.

That skirt she wore was a f*****g joke—barely long enough to qualify as clothing. And the top? Thin as paper. I could see the outline of everything underneath. Every line, every dip, every curve. And yet she stood there like she didn’t give a damn, daring me to notice. Daring me not to.

And I did. I noticed everything.

The way her breath hitched when I moved closer. The flick of her lashes when my gaze dipped to her thighs again. The way her fingers gripped the edge of my desk like she wasn’t holding on at all.

But she was.

“You like pushing buttons,” I said. “You like acting untouchable.”

She shrugged one shoulder, casual. “I’m just having a conversation.”

I stepped closer, slow and deliberate, letting the silence press in. She didn’t step back. Not yet. But her spine went a little straighter. Like a challenge. Like prey pretending not to be prey.

My gaze dropped to her mouth. The shape of it. The gloss she wore just to make it shine. I could still hear the way she’d said respect is earned, like it was a game. Like she thought she had a chance at winning.

She didn’t. She’d already lost.

“You think I’m here to play with you?” I asked.

She licked her bottom lip, slow. Deliberate. “You’re the one still talking.”

My jaw ticked. Her tone. That mouth. That goddamn skirt. I wanted to bend her over my desk and teach her how dangerous games like this could get.

But I didn’t touch her.

Not yet.

Instead, I let my eyes roam again—down her neck, her collarbones, the way that shirt clung to her like a second skin. I could see her n*****s through the fabric. She knew I could. That was the point.

“You’re testing limits,” I said. “You don’t even know what mine are.”

She leaned in, voice syrupy-sweet. “Maybe I want to find out.”

“You don’t.”

“I think I do.”

She was good. Sharp tongue, quick wit, all sass and venom. But it was the way she stood still that gave her away. The way she didn’t move when I stepped closer. The way her breath caught for just a second too long.

She was waiting to see what I’d do next.

So I didn’t move.

I made her wait.

“You should be careful,” I said quietly. “Mouths like yours get people in trouble.”

She tilted her head, smile too smug for her own good. “Good thing I like trouble.”

“I don’t think you know what kind I am.”

She didn’t answer that. Just held my gaze, that smirk curving her lips like armor. But there was a flash of something behind her eyes. Something nervous. Curious. A flicker of what if.

I watched it all.

“You dress like you want attention,” I said, voice low. “And then act shocked when you get it.”

“Is this the part where you shame me for being hot?” she asked. “Very modern of you, Professor.”

My brow lifted. “I’m not shaming you. I’m warning you.”

She laughed, too loud, too bright. “So dramatic.”

“You have no idea.”

I let the silence stretch again, thick and heavy between us. My gaze flicked back to her legs—bare, toned, pressed tight together. Her skirt had inched higher, and she hadn’t bothered fixing it. Not that it would’ve helped.

“You’re trembling,” I said.

She scoffed. “I’m not.”

“You are.”

Her jaw tightened, just a fraction.

Then, softer: “Maybe the AC’s too cold.”

I stepped in close enough to feel the heat between us. She stood her ground. I respected that. But her body betrayed her—hips shifting, breath shallowing, fingers twitching on the edge of the desk.

“You act like you’re not affected,” I said, watching her. “But you keep reacting.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You act like you’re in control. But you keep staring.”

I smiled. A slow, dangerous thing. “Fair.”

We were playing the same game. Different rules.

Her tongue darted out again, wetting her lips, and f**k if that didn’t make my restraint crack. I looked at her mouth one more time, imagined what it’d sound like moaning instead of mouthing off.

“You should watch your mouth,” I said, tone dropping. “Unless you want to find out what happens when you don’t.”

Her chin lifted. “Are you threatening me?”

“No,” I said, gaze dragging down her frame like a caress. “I’m promising.”

She held my stare. Didn’t blink. Didn’t speak.

But her breathing changed.

Her n*****s were hard beneath that shirt. Her thighs clenched tighter.

And still, she stood like she had the upper hand.

Delusional little brat.

She didn’t know the half of it.

I leaned in, breath ghosting over her jaw, not touching. Never touching.

“You think you’re clever,” I said again. “You think I won’t do anything.”

She smiled like I’d just given her an award. “That’s right. You won’t.”

My hand moved—not to her, but near. I eached past her, slow and measured, fingers brushing a paper from the desk behind her. She sucked in a breath, sharp and shallow, and I knew she thought I’d touch her.

But I didn’t.

I let her wonder.

I let her want.

And then I said it, voice low, firm, final—

“You talk too much. Let’s see how well you listen.”