Behind The Classroom Doors: Claimed By My Teacher.

Chapter 04: Office Lessons.

Maya's POV

I didn’t even try with the quiz. Didn’t care, didn’t lift a finger. Numbers swam across the paper like ants, and I laughed inside because I already knew how this was gonna play out. I wanted him. I wanted a reason. And now, I had one.

When Professor Ward returned the papers, he didn’t look at me at first. His voice was stern, clipped. “Some of you need to take your studies seriously. Bethel Academy isn’t a playground.” His eyes cut through the class like blades, but when they landed on mine, oh, he lingered. Just a second too long.

He dropped my paper on my desk...big red F sprawled across it, and said, “See me in my office.”

And just like that, the game moved to the next level.

***

I didn’t dress like I was going to office hours. I dressed like sin.

Short skirt that barely touched my thighs, loose white shirt with no bra underneath, glossy lips, and gum smacking slow. When I walked down the hallway, heads turned, but I didn’t care. I wanted only one pair of eyes on me.

Professor Ward’s office smelled like leather, paper, and control. Big wooden desk, shelves lined with books that probably never had a speck of dust because the man looked like he could choke somebody for disorder. He sat behind the desk, glasses low on his nose, flipping through a file.

“Close the door,” he said without looking up.

I did, dragging it shut slow just to test him. The sound echoed like a lock clicking.

“Sit.” He gestured to the chair opposite him.

I slumped into it, crossing my legs so slow the leather creaked. His eyes flicked up. Just for a second. Caught.

“You failed the quiz,” he said, finally resting the papers down. His voice was low, smooth, but stern enough to scrape against me like sandpaper. “Care to explain?”

I smirked, leaning forward, elbows on my thighs. “Math has never been my thing, Professor.”

“It needs to be,” he countered sharply. “You won’t pass this course coasting by on charm and excuses.”

Charm. He said it like it burned his tongue. But I caught the way his jaw tightened.

“Maybe,” I said, dragging my gum slow, “if I had a private tutor, I’d actually learn something.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the room felt hotter. “Miss Carpenter, don’t play games with me.”

“Oh, I don’t play games,” I whispered, leaning back, crossing my arms under my breasts just so the shirt shifted. “I win them.”

He stood suddenly, pacing behind the desk like he needed space from me. His hands braced against the wood, knuckles tight. “This is serious. You think everything is about pushing boundaries, but this...”

“Is exactly that,” I cut him off, tilting my head. “Boundaries.”

I stood too, slow, walking to his desk, letting my hips sway. I placed my hand on the polished surface, leaning in close. His eyes lifted, locking with mine.

“You smell too good for a married man, Professor,” I said, dropping it like poison wrapped in sugar.

His nostrils flared, and for the first time, his mask cracked. He rounded the desk in two strides, towering over me, his chest just inches from mine.

“Enough.” His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. Firm. Hot. Too firm. The kind of grip that said I could break you if I wanted.

But oh God, it only made me wetter.

I licked my lips, slow, staring right up at him. “Make me stop.”

His breathing changed. Heavy. Unsteady. He stared at me like I was a cliff edge and he’d been standing too close. His hand slid from my wrist to my waist, pressing me back against the desk. The wood dug into my thighs, but I didn’t move. I wanted him closer.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he growled, voice like gravel.

I smirked, brushing my lips dangerously close to his. “Oh, I know exactly what I’m doing.”

Our breaths mixed. His hand pressed into my hip, fingers digging like he was trying to stop himself but couldn’t. His other hand lifted, catching my chin, forcing my eyes up.

I was drowning in his gaze.

“Say you want this to stop,” he whispered.

“I want you to stop lying,” I shot back

The silence was suffocating. He leaned in, lips just inches from mine. My whole body was trembling....not with fear, but with hunger. I could smell his cologne, warm and intoxicating. My chest brushed his. His hand slid higher, dangerously close to where my shirt gaped.

And then...

Buzz.

His phone. Loud, sharp, slicing through the air like a blade. He froze. Pulled back.

The screen lit up on the desk: Wife.

I watched his eyes flick to it, then back to me. For the first time, he looked shaken. Torn.

He let go of me instantly, stepping back like I’d burned him. “Get out,” he said, voice harsh.

I laughed, soft, biting my lip. “What’s wrong, Professor? Afraid you might like it?”

His jaw clenched, his hand gripping the desk so tight his knuckles whitened. “Out. Now.”

I slid off the desk, smoothing my skirt, swaying my hips as I walked to the door. I stopped at the frame, looking back with a smirk.

“Poor Professor Ward,” I said, chewing my gum slow. “You think you’re in control. But I already lit the match. Let’s see how long before you burn.”

And then I left, leaving the scent of my perfume tangled in his office.

I walked down the hallway, heart still racing, thighs pressed together to ease the ache he left there. I wasn’t scared. I wasn’t ashamed.

I was addicted.

And I knew he was too.