Tease Me, Sir [Completed]

Chapter 12: His Favorite Punishment

If Maxine thought avoiding Noah Castellano would make him back off, she was painfully mistaken.

Because instead of giving her space, he made sure she felt his presence in the worst way possible—by making her life a living hell in front of everyone.

And he was enjoying it.

"Miss Nievez."

His voice sliced through the classroom like a blade, and Maxine's stomach dropped.

Here we go again.

She looked up, only to find Noah's cold, impassive gaze locked onto her.

"Since you seem to have more interesting things to focus on than this lecture," he said smoothly, "perhaps you'd like to answer the question I just asked."

The entire class went silent.

Every pair of eyes landed on her.

Maxine clenched her jaw, heat creeping up her neck. She had been paying attention. But of course, that didn't matter—not when he was set on making her suffer.

She swallowed. "Could you repeat the question, sir?"

A slow smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it disappeared just as quickly.

He leaned against his desk, arms crossed, his patience mocking. "I'm sure you were listening, Miss Nievez."

Bastard.

Maxine's hands curled into fists beneath the desk.

This was personal.

She knew it.

He knew it.

But everyone else? They only saw a strict professor calling out a distracted student.

"Uhh," Josh muttered beside her, glancing at her warily. "It was about the author's use of duality, Max."

Noah's sharp gaze flicked to Josh, and his mouth pressed into a firm line. "Mr. Evans, unless you'd like to answer in her place, I suggest you stay quiet."

Josh raised his hands in surrender, sinking into his seat. "Damn, okay."

Maxine gritted her teeth.

Fine. If this was how he wanted to play, she'd play.

"The author uses duality to highlight the contrast between perception and reality," she said evenly, refusing to break eye contact. "It's a recurring theme—what's shown to the world versus what's hidden beneath."

Something flickered in Noah's eyes.

She knew that look.

Approval.

And worse—satisfaction.

But of course, he wasn't going to let her have it that easy.

"Good," he said, tapping a finger against the desk. "Now elaborate. You have two minutes."

Her stomach clenched.

Two minutes? That was ridiculous.

She knew it. The class knew it.

But no one dared to challenge him.

Not when it was her he was targeting.

Maxine lifted her chin. "On duality specifically or—"

"Time's already running, Miss Nievez."

A few students sucked in their breaths.

She swore she saw Bea mouth damn from the corner of her eye.

Maxine could feel her pulse pounding in her ears, but she refused to let him see her flinch.

So she spoke.

For two straight minutes, she forced herself to analyze, to dissect, to talk even when her throat burned and her heart slammed against her ribs.

And when she was done, she braced herself for something—acknowledgment, dismissal, anything.

But Noah simply tilted his head.

"Acceptable," he said, moving on without another glance.

Just like that.

Like she was nothing.

Heat rose in her chest, a mix of frustration and something else she didn't want to name.

"You okay?" Lianne whispered beside her once class continued.

Maxine exhaled through her nose, forcing a tight smile. "Peachy."

But she wasn't.

Because when class ended and everyone shuffled out, she felt it again—his presence.

And then, just as she passed him, a ghost of a whisper—

"Your voice shakes when you're trying not to break."

Maxine froze for a split second, but she didn't stop.

She didn't turn.

She wouldn't.

Instead, she walked away, her hands trembling with rage.

If he wanted to torture her? Fine.

But two could play this game.

Maxine stormed out of the classroom, her pulse hammering in her ears.

That bastard.

Noah Castellano wasn't just punishing her—he was toying with her.

And the worst part? No one else seemed to notice.

To her friends, he was just being the strict, impossibly unattainable Professor Castellano. The cold, unreadable man they all gossiped about between classes.

But she knew better.

She felt it in the way his gaze lingered a second too long. In the way his words cut her open only to smooth over the wound just enough to keep her bleeding.

And yet, instead of fear, something else curled inside her.

Something dangerous.

Something she refused to name.

"You good, Max?"

Ashley nudged her as they walked through the hallway, her tone casual, but the concern was there.

Maxine forced a smirk. "Oh, you know. Just basking in the glow of being publicly humiliated by everyone's favorite professor."

Bea winced. "Yeah... that was brutal. I thought he likes you."

Josh scoffed. "Honestly, can we talk about how this guy lives to make our lives miserable? Like, seriously, who hurt him?"

"Oh, please," Lianne snorted. "You complain, but if he wasn't built like a Greek god, you wouldn't even care."

Jerome groaned. "Not this again."

"Oh, especially this again." Lianne smirked. "I mean, think about it. That man could ruin me, and I'd say 'thank you, sir.'"

Josh gagged. "You need therapy."

Maxine barely registered their conversation.

She was too busy trying to keep her thoughts in line.

Trying not to think about the way Noah's voice had brushed against her skin like a whisper.

Your voice shakes when you're trying not to break.

Her fists clenched.

She hated him.

Hated that he still knew her well enough to see the cracks, even when she swore she had buried them deep.

She needed to get a grip.

Maxine barely heard her friends as they continued their usual banter about Noah.

She needed a moment.

Just a breath.

"I'll catch up with you guys," she muttered, peeling away from the group. "Restroom."

Ashley waved her off, already engrossed in another debate about whether Professor Castellano had a secret billionaire double life or not.

Maxine quickened her pace down the hall, dodging students as she made her way to the empty restroom at the far end of the corridor. She stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind her—

Only for it to stop mid-swing.

Before she could react, a firm hand pushed it open, forcing her back a step.

Her pulse lurched.

Noah.

He stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind him with a quiet finality. Before Maxine could react, he was before her, his presence a suffocating weight, his gaze burning into her like a brand.

"You want me to tease you, don't you?" His voice was low, almost amused, yet laced with a dangerous edge.

Maxine's lips tightened. She'd thrown that challenge down earlier, dared him to push her. But now, with the intensity of his gaze, with the space between them dissolving into nothing, a flicker of apprehension crossed her face, quickly replaced by a defiant glint in her eyes.

His closeness pressed her against the cool tile wall. He didn't touch her, yet his presence was a cage.

"You've been torturing me in class," she said, her voice steady, a challenge in its calm.

A ghost of a smirk played on his lips. "Is that so? Why?"

His eyes flickered—just for a heartbeat—to her throat, where her pulse throbbed a frantic rhythm. Then, as if to emphasize the point, he raised his hand—a mere inch, enough to steal her breath—before resting it against the wall beside her head. The unspoken threat hung heavy in the air.

"You want special treatment from me? Yes?" His voice softened, a dangerous intimacy replacing the playful taunt.

Maxine didn't flinch. "Special treatment? From you? That's rich, Noah." She met his gaze directly, her eyes blazing with defiance. "I'd rather have a root canal."

The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by something harder, more intense. He didn't speak, but the tension between them crackled. The silence stretched, charged with unspoken desires and simmering tension. He dared to touch her, and this time, her reaction was immediate and forceful.

Before his hand could even graze her skin, she moved, stepping sideways, breaking the suffocating closeness. "Don't," she commanded, her voice low and dangerous. "Don't even think about it."

Noah exhaled, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. "So, no special treatment then?" His eyes gleamed with a mixture of challenge and something akin to respect. The game continued, but the power dynamic had shifted. The playful taunt was gone, replaced by a dangerous dance of wills, where Maxine was no longer merely reacting, but actively dictating the terms.

The moment stretched, charged with anticipation and a dangerous dance of power. Then, a flicker of caution crossed Maxine's face.

"Someone might see us," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the racing of her heart, but her eyes never wavered from his. "It's a girls' room, anyway." The suggestion wasn't a retreat, but a strategic repositioning. The game was far from over.

The air crackled with unspoken tension. Noah's eyes, dark and intense, held hers captive for a long moment, a silent battle of wills. He didn't move, didn't speak, the silence heavy with the unspoken desires and simmering anger that hung between them. Finally, a slow, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips.

"Someone might see us," he repeated, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down her spine, not from fear, but from a strange, unsettling thrill. "And what would they think, Miss Nievez?" His gaze dropped to her lips, lingering there just long enough to ignite a spark of defiance within her.

"They'd think I have excellent taste in... company," she retorted, her voice barely a whisper, but laced with a confidence that surprised even herself. She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze directly. "And impeccable timing."

He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest that vibrated through the air. "Impeccable timing? Is that a challenge?"

Maxine leaned closer, the space between them shrinking to almost nothing. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, the scent of his cologne a heady mix of danger and allure. "Perhaps," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "Or perhaps it's simply an observation."

He reached out, his fingers grazing her cheek, a feather-light touch that sent a jolt through her. She didn't flinch, didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head, offering him a slow, deliberate smile.

"You're a dangerous game, Maxine," he murmured, his voice a husky whisper against her skin. "And I'm hopelessly addicted."

The words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and veiled threats.

The line between desire and deception blurred, the boundaries between them dissolving in the charged atmosphere.

The game continued, a dangerous dance on the edge of a precipice, where a single wrong step could send them both tumbling into the abyss. But neither of them seemed inclined to stop.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against her ear, the scent of his cologne a heady mix of danger and intrigue. "But even dangerous games have rules, Maxine," he whispered, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. "And I intend to set them."

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, a feather-light touch that ignited a fire within her. She didn't pull away; instead, she tilted her head, offering him a slow, deliberate smile. "And what are your rules, Professor Castellano?" she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.

"Rule number one," he said, his voice dropping to a near-inaudible level, "no running away." His fingers moved, gently cupping her chin, tilting her face upwards so their eyes met. "Rule number two," he continued, his gaze intense, "no pretending you don't want this."

Maxine's heart pounded against her ribs. He was right; she didn't want to pretend. But the admission felt like a surrender, a dangerous concession in a game where the stakes were far higher than she'd initially anticipated.

"And rule number three?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear, sending a wave of heat through her. "Rule number three," he whispered, his voice a husky murmur, "obey me."

The word hung in the air, a challenge, a command, a promise. Maxine's breath hitched in her throat. Obedience was the last thing she intended to offer him, yet the thought of defying him, of refusing his unspoken demand, sent a thrill of rebellion through her veins.

She closed her eyes, the image of his face, so close, so intense, burned into her mind. The game had escalated, the stakes were higher, and the line between desire and danger had completely vanished. She was playing with fire, and she knew, with a terrifying certainty, that she was far from ready to stop. The rules, as he had stated, were his to set. But the game itself? That was still very much in play.

She opened her eyes, her gaze locking with his. The intensity of his stare was unnerving, yet strangely exhilarating. He was close, impossibly close, his presence a tangible force that both threatened and captivated her. The scent of his cologne, a heady mix of sandalwood and something darker, more primal, filled her senses.

"And what happens if I don't obey?" she whispered, her voice barely audible above the frantic rhythm of her heart. The question hung in the air, a challenge, a test.

A slow smile curved his lips, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Then," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against her ear, "the consequences will be... interesting." His fingers tightened slightly on her chin, a subtle shift in pressure that sent a shiver down her spine. "And I assure you, Miss Nievez," he continued, his voice dropping to a near-whisper, "I'm very good at dispensing consequences."

His thumb brushed against her lower lip, a feather-light touch that sent a wave of heat through her. She didn't pull away; instead, she leaned into his touch, a dangerous game of defiance and surrender playing out between them.

"I like interesting," she breathed, her voice barely a whisper. The words were a challenge, a provocation, a dangerous dance on the edge of a precipice. She was playing with fire, and she knew, with a terrifying certainty, that she was far from ready to stop.

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that sent shivers down her spine. "Good," he murmured, his gaze intense, unwavering. "Because I intend to make this... very interesting indeed."

He leaned in, his lips a hair's breadth from hers, the unspoken promise hanging heavy in the air. The game continued, a dangerous dance of power and desire, where the rules were constantly shifting, and the stakes were impossibly high.

Maxine knew, with a chilling certainty, that she was in over her head, yet the thrill of the danger, the intoxicating allure of the unknown, kept her enthralled. She was caught in his web, and she wasn't sure she wanted to escape.

Instead of a full kiss, he brushed his lips against hers—a fleeting touch, a mere peck that lingered only a second before he pulled away.

The contact, though brief, ignited a firestorm within her, leaving her breathless and wanting more. It was a cruel act of torture, a deliberate torment designed to leave her craving, yearning, desperate.

He studied her face, his gaze lingering on her parted lips, the faint flush on her cheeks, the slight tremor in her breath. He saw the desire burning in her eyes, the frustration simmering beneath the surface. And a slow, predatory smile curved his lips.

"Interesting," he murmured, his voice low and husky, a dangerous amusement in his tone. "Very interesting indeed." He paused, his eyes twinkling with a mixture of amusement and something darker, something akin to satisfaction. "But not quite enough, is it, Miss Nievez?"

He didn't wait for a response. With a final, lingering look that sent shivers down her spine, he turned and left, the click of the door echoing in the sudden silence.

Maxine stood there, frozen, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her lips.

The frustration, the longing, the burning desire—it all threatened to consume her. He'd left her wanting, dangling on the edge of something incredible, something forbidden, something dangerous. And he knew it.

He'd done it deliberately, a calculated act of cruelty designed to leave her yearning for more, to keep her hooked, to ensure she'd be back for another round of this dangerous game.

She ran a hand across her lips, the phantom sensation of his touch still vivid. The anger, the frustration, the burning desire—it warred within her, a chaotic storm of conflicting emotions.

She hated him for this, hated the power he held over her, hated the way he could toy with her emotions, leaving her breathless and wanting more.

But even as the anger flared, another emotion stirred within her—a dangerous, exhilarating thrill. She was playing a game with a master manipulator, and she knew, with a chilling certainty, that she was far from ready to quit.

The game, it seemed, was far from over.