10. Chapter 10
Chapter 10
Anastasia
" A na, can you hang back? I’d love to discuss your theme for the upcoming analytic essay."
The words are casual, professional even, but the undercurrent in Noah’s voice is anything but.
Stuck in place, I bite back the urge to snap at him. I know exactly what this is.
Across from me, Walker hesitates, lingering by my desk, his confusion evident as he glances between Noah and me.
"I’ll meet up with you at lunch," I whisper, keeping my voice low. "Can you grab me something from the Baja bar?"
Walker’s eyes flicker between us again before he gives a slow nod. He’s reluctant, but he listens, finally stepping back.
"See you, Mr. Ackerman," he says, his tone laced with sarcasm, pushing the edge just enough to be noticed.
I don’t miss the way Noah’s fingers tighten around the edge of his desk, his jaw clenching so hard I half expect it to crack.
"Close the door on your way out," Noah says, forcing a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
Walker obliges, but not without a final glance in my direction. Then the door slams shut, the loud thud reverberating through the room.
And just like that, we’re alone.
Slowly, I turn my gaze to Noah, my anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
"You know I turned in that paper over the weekend," I say, my voice sharp. "There’s nothing we need to discuss."
Noah scoffs, pushing himself off his desk, stepping toward me with an air of controlled frustration. "Nothing we need to discuss?" His voice drops, amusement laced with something darker, "How about we start with what I walked in on?"
I shake my head, exhaling sharply as I reach down, grabbing my bag.
"Fuck you, Noah," I snap. "What happened here on Friday was a mistake, and you know it. At least Walker is my age-"
"You want to talk about age now?" Noah hisses, his voice sharp, cutting through the air like a blade. "You didn’t seem too concerned about age while you were riding my fingers-"
"Stop talking!" I snap, my frustration boiling over. "Walker is a good guy who did a bad thing. The last thing I need is to ruin that by letting my thirty-something English teacher give me extra credit after class."
"Thirty," Noah corrects with a dry, unimpressed tone.
"Great," I scoff. "Do you even know how old I am?"
"Nineteen," he growls, his voice low. His eyes darken, his jaw tightening as he exhales slowly. "Trust me, Ana, I am very well aware of your age."
The weight of his words hangs between us, heavy, charged with an unspoken tension.
Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I roll my eyes at him, forcing myself to look away, to ignore the heat curling in my stomach, to pretend that his presence doesn’t make my pulse hammer against my ribs.
I need to get out of here.
Before I make another mistake.
"Great, glad we established you're a shady teacher who gets off to fucking his students-"
"Unlike you, Ana, my focus is only on one person. If you think what's happening with you has happened with another one of my students, then I hate to inform you how wrong you are. You think I like the fact I fucking loved what happened Friday?" he snaps. Standing up from behind his desk, he walks toward me. "Do you think I like the fact I wanted to tear Walker apart when I saw his hands all over you?" Watching him glare down at me, all of my courage melts away. "Do you think I like the fact I want to rip that sweater right off of you and smack your ass raw for kissing that boy in front of me?" Leaning in, his front presses against mine. "Do you think I like the fact I want to grab you and feel your thighs squeeze my waist as I devour your lips in a kiss and bend you over my desk?"
Shaky breaths rattle through my chest, my body locked in place, frozen between fear and something far more dangerous.
"I-if you love it so much, Noah," I stammer, voice barely above a whisper. "Then do it."
His expression shifts, darkening. That feral hunger overtakes his features, and for a moment, I swear the air between us crackles. My pulse slams against my ribs, but my hands move faster than my mind can process.
"You have eight minutes between classes," I murmur, the words slipping from my lips like a challenge.
Slowly, deliberately, I slide my hands beneath my sweater, tugging it up just enough to reveal the soft underside of my breasts. Then, with a measured grace, I perch on the edge of my desk, spreading my legs just enough to test him, to push him.
Noah's jaw tightens. His breathing turns ragged, his body coiled with restraint. I press my foot against his chest, forcing him back just slightly. His eyes burn into me—seething, wanting, barely containing the storm I’ve set off inside him.
He exhales sharply, adjusting his cock with a muttered curse. His frustration is palpable, a tangible thing that lingers between us like an unlit fuse.
Eight minutes.
And all he can do is watch.
"Is this what you wanted, Noah?" I question as I tug the sweater up just a bit higher. Almost revealing my nipples, I creep my hand between my legs, touching my clit above the already-damp tights. "You want to feel me?" I question. " Fuck me?" I push.
Noah’s grip is ironclad as he shoves my leg down, his fingers wrapping tight around my wrists, halting my eager taunt.
"What the hell, Ana-"
"I'm wet, Noah," I purr, the confession dripping with wicked amusement.
I don’t give him a chance to react. My fingers snake behind his neck, pulling him down until my lips brush against his ear, my breath hot against his skin.
"And it’s not because of you," I whisper, letting the words cut deep before I nip his earlobe between my teeth.
The second I release him, I see it, the shift. His expression darkens into something terrifying, something primal.
"What-"
Before I can finish, his hands clamp onto my thighs, yanking me off the desk. A startled gasp slips from my lips as my arms instinctively lock around his neck. I barely have time to process before my legs wrap around his waist, and in one smooth motion, Noah drops into his chair, bringing me with him.
A sharp tug at my ponytail tilts my head back, his silent command keeping me in place. My stomach knots, not with fear, but with something far more exhilarating. I feel small against him, like a reckless child about to be punished.
His palm slides to the back of my neck, firm, unyielding. Then, with ruthless precision, he drags my body over his knees, forcing up my skirt, his fingers deftly tearing down my tights just enough to expose my ass and the unmistakable evidence of my arousal.
The air between us is electric, crackling with tension so thick it threatens to suffocate. And from the way Noah looks at me, I know, I’ve just crossed a line I can’t uncross.
Pressing his fingers to my damp folds, Noah scoffs.
"You're soaking through your underwear from Walker?" Noah questions.
Biting my lip, I laugh.
"Obviously-"
Covering my mouth with the hand that was on my neck, Noah strikes my ass the hardest he has before. Muffling my scream, his fingertips press into my cheeks as he strikes again.
"You fucking like that, Ana?" he hisses.
Striking again and again, tears well in my eyes from the pain.
"You like being a dirty slut for him?" Noah snaps. "Or do you like being my good girl, all fucking flustered and defenseless as I smack your ass for being so naughty?"
Pain flares through me, sharp and sudden, and before I can stop myself, I sink my teeth into his hand, a desperate, instinctive strike.
Noah barely flinches.
With a firm grip, he yanks my ponytail, his control absolute as he pulls my skirt and tights back into place. He forces me upright, shifting me so I straddle his lap. My body trembles, but I refuse to break. Even as the tears slip free, betraying me, I keep my chin high, my gaze locked on his.
His fingers brush against my cheeks, wiping away the evidence of my weakness. But there’s no softness in the gesture, only ownership and control.
Noah’s voice drops, low and ice-cold.
"I am not kind, Ana," he hisses. "And I do not like to share what is mine ."
The words coil around me, suffocating.
"If you want gentle touches, if you crave tenderness," he continues, his grip tightening, "then you have tempted the wrong man."
His eyes burn into me, unrelenting.
"And if you think this will ever lead to something loving, you are more foolish than I thought."
The final blow lands, sharp as a blade. The space between us is thick with something unspoken, something dangerous. But I don’t look away.
I refuse to.
Glaring at him, I let out a sigh.
"What is going on here, Noah?"
His jaw tightens, his fingers flexing as if he's trying to grasp something intangible.
"I don't know," he admits, voice rough with frustration. "And I hate how addicting it is-"
I don’t let him finish.
"So what?" I press, my tone laced with something close to disgust. "All you know is pain and power when you touch a woman?"
His eyes flicker, dark and unreadable. "It’s how I cope. How I deal with my issues-"
I scoff, the bitter taste of understanding settling heavy on my tongue.
"So, what? There’s a revolving door of women you fuck into submission?"
Silence.
Thick, suffocating silence.
His lack of denial slices deeper than I expect, and I bite back the raw anger clawing its way up my throat.
"Great," I laugh bitterly, though nothing about this is funny. "And now I’m just another name on the list. Another body to use. Just like how Cole treated me."
I shift to move off his lap, but before I can escape, his hand grips the hem of my skirt, tugging me back.
"Anastasia-"
I don’t let him finish.
My palm cuts through the air before I even think, colliding with his face in a sharp, resounding slap. The crack of it echoes through the empty classroom, a violent punctuation to everything unspoken between us.
Noah doesn’t flinch.
My breath is ragged, my hand trembling from the impact, a stinging reminder of the strike. A red imprint blooms across his cheek, a stark contrast against his skin.
But he just sits there. Breathing. Staring.
It’s like I’ve poked a wild animal with a hot prod.
Why isn’t he reacting? Why isn’t he saying anything? Why didn’t he make a sound?
I swallow hard, forcing steel into my spine.
"Whatever I allowed to happen between us is done," I snap, each word deliberate, final. "You do not own me, Noah. I can touch and fuck whoever I want. You might be used to women bending at your will, feeding your power-hungry ego, but that won’t be me."
His eyes burn into me.
But I don’t wait for his response.
Turning, I walk away.
Hoisting my bag onto my shoulder, my movements are deliberate, controlled.
Everything I don’t feel inside.
Noah doesn’t move. He just watches, silent, unreadable, as I step back, putting space between us.
"Perhaps you should have fucked me Friday when you had the chance," I say, voice low, biting. "Much easier to get what you want when I’m too drunk to get away."
The words land like a slap, sharp and venomous, but I don’t wait to see how he absorbs the hit. I turn on my heels, willing myself forward, even as my thoughts twist and tangle in my mind.
I wanted his touch. I wanted everything that’s happened. I like how he handles me. I like the power he holds.
But I can’t stomach the idea that I’m just one of many.
He made me feel special. Maybe that’s the real problem.
I don’t look back. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing hesitation in my eyes.
The moment I shut the door behind me, a sharp crash echoes from inside. The unmistakable sound of his desk contents hitting the floor.
A slow smirk tugs at my lips.
There it is, Noah. That anger.
The real question is, did I just drive him away?
Or did I just pull the beast even closer?