Teacher’s Pet

MEETING YOU

Rosa blinked.

"...How do people enjoy this?"

Someone bumped into her shoulder.

Another couple rushed past her.

A group of students from college screamed Linda's name from across the room.

Rosa quietly stepped away from the crowd.

"I just need somewhere quiet."

She wandered through the club until she found a dimly lit corner with a few empty chairs surrounding a long counter.

Compared to the dance floor, it was peaceful.

She let out a relieved sigh and sat down.

The bartender was busy serving other customers while a waiter walked over with a polite smile.

**Waiter:** "Good evening, ma'am. What can I get for you?"

Rosa looked across the rows of bottles.

She had no idea what any of them were.

She squinted.

"That one..."

She pointed toward a bottle on the left.

"The one that says... te... te..."

The waiter smiled.

**Waiter:** "Tequila?"

**Rosa:** "Yeah... that one."

**Waiter:** "A shot?"

Rosa had absolutely no clue what that meant.

She simply nodded.

"Sure."

The waiter prepared the drink and placed the small glass in front of her.

**Waiter:** "Enjoy."

Rosa reached into her handbag and pulled out a sleek black credit card.

It was her father's.

He had insisted she keep it with her.

*"Buy whatever you need."*

*"Don't hesitate."*

*"If you need books, buy books."*

*"If you need a laptop, buy one."*

*"Don't worry about money."*

Her parents had always spoiled her in quiet ways.

Not with flashy gifts.

But with trust.

Even though her family was wealthy, Rosa never talked about it.

She wore simple clothes.

Never bragged.

Never acted differently.

Most people assumed she came from an ordinary family.

She preferred it that way.

The waiter accepted the card before returning it.

Rosa looked down at the tiny glass.

"It can't be that bad..."

She took a careful sip.

The liquid burned all the way down.

Her eyes widened.

She coughed once.

"...That is awful."

She stared at the glass.

Then...

For some strange reason...

She took another sip.

"...Still awful."

Another.

"...Why do people drink this?"

Another.

"...Actually..."

She frowned.

"I don't hate it."

Half an hour later...

The waiter looked toward Rosa's side of the counter.

Five empty glasses.

Then six.

Then seven.

His smile slowly disappeared.

She raised a finger.

**Rosa:** "Another one."

The waiter hesitated.

**Waiter:** "Ma'am..."

"I think you've had enough."

Rosa tilted her head.

"I said..."

She pointed at the bottle.

"Another."

The waiter scratched the back of his neck.

Thinking quickly, he forced an awkward smile.

**Waiter:** "Unfortunately..."

"...those were the last ones."

Rosa stared at him.

For a few seconds she said nothing.

Then she narrowed her eyes.

**Rosa:** "You're a terrible liar."

The waiter blinked.

She pointed directly at the shelf.

"There are literally three bottles right there."

A nearby customer snorted with laughter.

The waiter sighed.

Before he could answer—

**Rosa:** "You know what?"

She stood up a little too quickly.

The room immediately spun around her.

She grabbed the counter to stop herself from falling.

Then she looked back at the waiter with the confidence only someone very drunk could have.

**Rosa:** "f**k you."

The words came out so naturally that she froze for half a second.

"...Did I just say that?"

The waiter looked equally surprised.

She had looked so quiet and polite when she'd walked in.

Now she was glaring at him like he'd insulted her ancestors.

She waved dismissively.

"Whatever."

Then she stumbled away.

The waiter watched her disappear into the crowd.

"...Someone should probably keep an eye on her."

---

Rosa wandered through the club without any real destination.

Everything looked blurry.

The lights were brighter.

The music somehow sounded louder than before.

She bumped into two strangers.

"M'sorry..."

She kept walking.

A group of people laughed nearby.

Someone shouted.

Someone else spilled a drink.

Rosa rubbed her forehead.

"...Why is the floor moving?"

She took another step.

Her heel caught on the edge of a rug.

She stumbled forward.

Before she could hit the ground...

A firm hand caught her by the arm.

Another steadied her shoulder.

She blinked slowly.

The person standing in front of her was tall.

Broad-shouldered.

Blond hair.

Sharp blue eyes.

He looked older than the college students around him and was dressed far more simply than most people in the club.

He helped her regain her balance.

**Man:** "Easy."

Rosa stared at him for several long seconds.

Then she frowned.

**Rosa:** "...Who the f**k are you?"

Her words slurred together.

She could barely stand straight.

The man sighed quietly.

**Man:** "Someone who's trying to stop you from face-planting into the floor."

Rosa narrowed her eyes.

"I didn't ask for help."

"No."

"You looked like gravity volunteered."

Despite himself, the corner of his mouth twitched.

**Man:** "You need water."

Rosa: I'm fine."

Man: No, you're drunk."

Rosa: I'm... professionally balanced."

Him: You almost fell."

Rosa: I was testing the floor."

She tried walking again.

She managed exactly two steps before stumbling sideways.

He caught her once more.

**Man:** "This isn't a safe place for someone like you."

Rosa immediately pulled her arm away.

Her expression hardened.

**Rosa:** "Someone like me?"

She jabbed a finger toward his chest.

"What does that even mean?"

He stayed calm.

**Man:** "Someone who's had too much to drink."

She folded her arms clumsily.

"So now you're judging me?"

"I'm trying to keep you from getting hurt."

"Oh..."

She gave him an exaggerated nod.

"Congratulations."

She pointed lazily toward him.

"You're officially annoying."

She tried to walk away again.

This time she almost collided with another group of people.

The man reached out and gently caught her wrist before she wandered deeper into the packed crowd.

His voice became more serious.

**Man:** "If you keep wandering around like this, someone could take advantage of you."

Rosa looked at his hand around her wrist.

Then back at him.

Her eyes narrowed.

**Rosa:** "And how do I know you're not one of those people?"

He immediately let go.

"You don't."

The answer caught her off guard.

He took a small step back, giving her space.

**Man:** "That's why I'm not asking you to trust me."

He looked around the crowded room.

"I'm asking you to get somewhere quieter until you're sober."

Rosa stared at him.

For a moment she didn't speak.

Then her knees almost gave out.

She caught herself against the wall.

The man reacted instantly, supporting her before she slipped.

She sighed dramatically.

Nearby, an employee noticed what was happening and unlocked a small staff lounge so Rosa could sit somewhere calm for a few minutes.

The man guided her inside and helped her onto a chair.

The room was much quieter than the club outside.

He walked over to a cooler, grabbed a bottle of water, and handed it to her.

**Man:** "Drink."

Rosa looked at the bottle suspiciously.

"...Water?"

Him: Yes."

She wrinkled her nose.

"I don't want water."

Him: You need it."

She: No."

She pushed it away.

It slipped from his hand and landed harmlessly on the couch beside them.

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

"This is going to be a long night."

He picked up another unopened bottle.

Thinking quickly, he held it out again.

Man:** "Fine."

He kept a perfectly straight face.

"It's... tequila."

Rosa's eyes lit up.

"...Really?"

The man: Absolutely."

She grabbed it immediately.

Unscrewed the cap.

Took a long drink.

Several seconds passed.

She lowered the bottle.

"...This tastes weird."

He nodded without missing a beat.

Him: Limited edition."

, he leaned back against the wall, relieved that she was finally drinking water, while outside the bass from the club continued to shake the building.

Rosa—drunk, cheeks flushed pink from tequila shots earlier —rolled onto her side and stared at him. Her eyes were glassy but intense, focused in that way they got when she’d had too much to drink: bold without filter

He was sitting against the bed —still dressed in jeans and a loose gray hoodie rolled up to his elbows. One leg bent under him; phone propped on his thigh as he scrolled through notes for tomorrow’s lesson class

She didn’t say anything.

Without warning… *she moved*.

Rosa reached over with slow, deliberate movements—her fingers brushing the screen of his phone. Without a word, she took it from his hands and set it aside on the nightstand.

The soft *thud* of plastic against wood broke the quiet.

Then she shifted—sitting up fully—and in one fluid motion, swung her leg over him. Her body straddled his lap smoothly; her thighs pressed firmly against his hips as she settled into place

His breath hitched.

Eyes snapped to hers: wide, dark pupils swallowing light brown irises. He froze—not pushing her away yet but not pulling her closer either

"W-what are you doing?" he stammered out quietly—the first time tonight anyone had ever heard that steady voice crack

His hands instinctively rose—palms open, ready to push her off. But the second his fingers touched her shoulders, she caught them.

Both wrists in one smooth motion.

Rosa pinned his hands down beside him on the mattress—softly but firmly—not rough, not aggressive… just *possessive*. Her touch sent a jolt through him

And then came that voice. Low. Thick with alcohol and something far more dangerous: desire

"*What is your name?*" she asked—not teasing yet, not flirting like this was a game—but speaking slow and deep like each syllable melted into smoke between them

The question hung in the air between their faces now only inches apart

His name was *Liam*.

But he never said it—not out loud, not yet.

He just stared at her: lips slightly parted, chest rising fast under the thin fabric of his hoodie. His heart hammered so loud he swore she could hear it—*thump-thump*—like a drum trapped behind ribs

She didn’t wait for an answer.

Instead, Rosa leaned in closer… until her breath ghosted over his mouth. Warm and sweet with leftover tequila and cherry lip balm

He can smell the tequila on her breath when she leans in, her thumb brushing slow over the back of his hand* "What is your name?" *He can't speak, just stares, and she smirks, leaning closer. "Or... do you prefer... daddy?"*

His palm presses firm to the soft curve of her waist, already bracing to step back, when she rolls her hips slow and deliberate against the hard line of him through his jeans. A sharp breath catches in his throat, his fingers tightening involuntarily instead of pushing, the heat of her seeping straight through the fabric.

*His breath catches hard when she grinds against him, the slow drag of her hips sending a hot jolt up his spine. His grip on her waist tightens instead of pushing her away, his jaw going slack as he swallows hard, every nerve ending suddenly singing.* “don’t play this game with me” he mutters, voice rough and low.

That voice… God.

Raspy. Strained like gravel under pressure. Low as midnight and twice as dangerous

For Liam, s*x had never been gentle.

It was *fire*.

A loss of control.

Something raw and intense that burned through every nerve—leaving him breathless, reckless, *hungry* in ways words couldn’t describe

The first time it happened? He’d been eighteen. A girl at a party kissed him—just a kiss—and something inside him snapped like a rubber band stretched too tight

He didn’t want sweet or soft.

No slow touches. No romantic whispers.

What he craved was rough hands on his skin… teeth grazing his neck… nails down his back hard enough to sting the next day

And when things escalated? When bodies crashed together with no patience for foreplay?

That’s when Liam came alive—not lovingly but fiercely

It was never sweet cuddles and whispered "I love yous" after—no, not for him.

Sex with him? It was *intense*. A storm of control and roughness that came out the second a woman touched him like this—like she owned his body just by sitting on his lap.

And it terrified him.

Because once he got going? He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t gentle down unless *she* made him. His hands were always too strong, his mouth too demanding—the way he kissed wasn't sweet; it was claiming, biting lips or nipping at her jawline to mark her as *his* even if they weren't together

He’d never hurt anyone on purpose… but in bed? He dominated hard