After The Bell Rings

Chapter Ten - The Rules We Follow

Olivia’s POV

I couldn’t sleep.

My fingers kept brushing over my lips, swollen from his kiss—my first kiss. And it wasn’t soft or slow or gentle like I always imagined. No, it was everything else. Rough. Consuming. Dominating.

Nick Reed didn’t ask for permission.

He took.

And the worst part was—I let him. I wanted him to.

Even now, hours later, my body still felt warm where his hands had been. My skin was overly sensitive, my thoughts clouded. I couldn’t stop playing it all in my head—the way his eyes darkened when I begged for more, the way his voice lowered when he told me the rules. The rules.

Those damn rules.

No love. No feelings. Just s*x.

He made that clear. This wasn’t a relationship. It would never be.

There was no place for soft touches or whispered promises, no room for affection. Just his control. His dominance. His need.

And mine.

Because despite the warning bells in my head, I agreed. I said yes. And not because I was naive. Not because I was desperate. But because I didn’t know what I was feeling. This strange obsession… this ache I’d never known before… it scared me more than the rules themselves.

I had never felt anything for anyone. Never wanted anyone.

Until Nick.

And now… I’d do anything to feel him again.

Even if it meant giving him control over every part of me.

Even if it meant hiding this forever.

⸻

The next morning, I stood in front of my mirror, staring at my reflection. My heart was pounding.

He told me not to wear panties. I didn’t.

I slipped into the smallest skirt I owned—a soft plaid that barely brushed mid-thigh. A black cropped top clung to my chest, riding up just enough to expose a sliver of skin every time I moved. I looked nothing like the quiet, well-behaved girl everyone thought I was.

And for the first time in my life, I didn’t care.

Because I knew he’d see me. All of me.

And he’d know I obeyed.

The classroom buzzed with idle conversation before the lecture began, but I sat still—silent in my seat, my back straight, my thighs pressed tightly together. Not from modesty. From pressure. From heat. From something coiled so tightly inside me I wasn’t sure how long I could contain it.

Nick Reed wasn’t late. He never was. Punctual to the second. Always composed, always in control.

And today, I realized something. Control wasn’t just something he demanded. It was something he emanated. Like a pulse. It rolled off him in waves that made the air feel too thick, made my breath come too shallow.

When he walked in, the entire atmosphere shifted. People looked up. Eyes followed him. They always did. But his?

His found mine.

One single moment. One burning look. And my lungs forgot how to function.

I wore exactly what he asked for.

A tiny black crop top that barely hugged the curves of my waist, and a short, pleated skirt that flirted with my thighs with every small movement. Underneath? Nothing. Because he told me not to.

“Tomorrow, don’t wear any.”

I hadn’t.

I didn’t expect him to notice. Not here. Not in a classroom full of students.

But I should’ve known better.

Halfway through the lecture, his footsteps echoed as he moved away from the board. He walked to my row—deliberately. Slowly. Each step sending sparks through me. His voice continued—something about narrative structure, symbolism—but I could barely process the words. I could only feel him getting closer.

Then, he stopped.

Right next to me.

He leaned down, one strong hand braced on my desk, his voice still steady for the class—but his mouth was inches from my ear when he spoke.

“Spread your legs. Let me see if you listened to me,” he murmured, his voice low and dark. “Or today will be worse for you.”

I froze. My pulse crashed in my ears. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t breathe. I hesitated for a heartbeat—then I obeyed.

Quietly. Slowly. I let my thighs part under the desk, the skirt riding up with the motion. Air kissed bare skin and my entire body flushed.

He straightened and walked back to the front like nothing had happened.

But I saw it.

The clench in his jaw. The flicker in his eyes when he stole a glance back at me.

He saw everything.

And he liked what he saw.

He didn’t need to say a word. The subtle lift of one corner of his mouth—barely there—said everything.

The next twenty minutes dragged on, every second stretching like silk across hot coals. I could barely focus. Every tiny shift of my hips, every flutter of my skirt made me burn with awareness. I was exposed. Vulnerable. Wanting. And the worst part? I wanted more.

Every time his eyes swept across the room, I tensed. Wondering if he’d call on me. Wondering if this was the moment he’d single me out. Tease me. Punish me. Pull me aside.

And then he did.

Class ended. Students rose slowly, like it was just another ordinary day. My knees were shaky as I stood. But before I could leave, his voice sliced through the low murmur.

“Olivia.”

Just my name. That’s all he said.

But it was the first time I’d heard him speak it out loud in two weeks. And it rooted me to the floor.

I turned slowly, my bag clutched tight to my chest. He stood near the desk, sleeves rolled, his fingers adjusting the strap of his watch like nothing was out of place.

“Stay.”

One word. One command.

The last student filed out, and the door clicked shut behind them. Suddenly, we were alone.

The tension between us pressed like hands against my skin.

I didn’t move.

“Lock the door,” he added. “And come here.”

My legs moved without conscious thought. I reached out and turned the lock, the sound echoing in the empty room like a promise.

When I turned around, he was watching me—his eyes dragging down my body like he owned every inch of it.

“Let me see,” he said.

I blinked. “See…?”

“You know what.”

My stomach flipped.

He stepped forward, brushed my hair gently behind my ear with the back of his hand. The motion was soft—almost tender—but his voice was steel.

“I gave you rules, Olivia. You agreed to all of them. Or did you forget?”

“I didn’t forget,” I breathed.

“Then lift your skirt.”

My fingers shook. I gripped the hem, heart hammering as I slowly, slowly raised it. Inch by inch, I revealed what I hadn’t worn. The air hit my skin, and I saw it in his eyes—the possessive flare. The hunger. The control.

He didn’t touch me.

He just stared.

And I loved it.

“I’m going to wreck you,” he said quietly, voice thick with promise. “But not here. Not yet. You’re not ready.”

My lips parted, and I barely held back the sound that almost escaped me.

“Turn around,” he ordered. “Hands on the desk.”

I obeyed, placing my palms flat against the cold wood. I was trembling. From fear? From need?

Then his hand came down on me.

Firm. Hot. The crack of it stole my breath.

Again.

And again.

Each slap sent a sting through my skin and a heat between my legs that I didn’t understand—but craved. My eyes fluttered closed. I gasped.

“You like following orders, don’t you?” he growled, his mouth near my ear. “You want to be good for me.”

“Yes,” I whispered, nearly broken. “I want to be good for you.”

He pressed against me for one second—just one. I felt everything. His hardness. His restraint. His power.

Then—footsteps.

Quick. Sharp.

Someone was coming.

He pulled away instantly. “Fix your skirt.”

I scrambled, pulling the fabric down just in time.

A knock.

Nick’s voice was calm. The door opened. A colleague’s voice—asking about a meeting. Nick responded like nothing was amiss. Smooth. Casual.

I stood behind him, breathless and undone, the burn on my skin still fresh.

The door shut.

He turned back to me.

“Go,” he said. “Before I forget I’m supposed to wait.”

I didn’t argue.

But as I walked away, my legs barely working, my heart pounded with a single, burning truth:

There was no turning back.