Chapter 2: After Class Detention
The hallway clock ticked past 4:05 PM.
Room 3C sat in silence, dimmed by the dying sunlight streaming through dusty blinds. The school's echo had gone still — no clattering lockers, no squeaking shoes. Just the sound of a single red pen scratching softly against lined paper.
Ms. Vaughn sat at her desk, grading essays with mechanical precision, but her mind wasn't on the fragmented metaphors of high schoolers. Her jaw was tense. Her glasses, usually secure, slipped lower than usual. She pushed them back up, irritated with herself more than the essays.
She knew he was still here.
Aiden Cross.
He hadn't spoken since class ended. Hadn't moved, either. He sat in the back corner of her classroom like a shadow—silent, coiled, dangerous. His blazer was off. His sleeves were rolled. His legs were spread with the kind of arrogance only a boy with nothing to lose could wear like a crown.
She should have thrown him out.
Instead, she gave him detention.
Now he was watching her.
"I thought detention involved some kind of punishment," he said suddenly, voice deep and low.
She didn't look up. "Your punishment is silence. Consider it a mercy."
He chuckled, the sound rough and intimate. "You like having me quiet, Ms. Vaughn?"
She finally glanced up—just briefly. Mistake.
His shirt clung to his chest, the shape of his arms like carved stone under linen. His eyes gleamed with something far beyond rebellion. Hunger, yes. But also control. Something primal and unafraid.
"You're here because you broke rules," she said flatly.
"Maybe," he murmured, standing slowly. "But I think you want them broken."
He started walking. Deliberate. Slow. The soft click of his shoes echoed across the classroom tile.
"I suggest you sit down," she said, sharper now.
He didn't.
He came to a stop in front of her desk, looking down at her. His hand rested on the wooden edge. She tried not to stare at his fingers—long, veined, confident.
"You said silence was punishment," he said softly. "But you're the one who's been quiet all class. Avoiding eye contact. Adjusting your blouse every time I smirk. Trying not to cross your legs too tightly."
She stood. Too fast.
"I said, that's enough."
But she didn't move away.
He tilted his head. "Tell me to leave."
"I just did."
"No," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "Tell me like you mean it."
She opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
"Say it," he murmured, stepping closer. "Say you don't want me to touch you."
His hand came up, slow, fingers brushing her waist—just enough to test her.
Her breath caught.
Still, she didn't stop him.
His lips brushed the shell of her ear.
"Say you don't want this."
And with a sharp intake of breath, she broke.
She grabbed his collar, pulled him down, and kissed him — hard.
Her fingers clutched his shirt like a lifeline, her lips opening for him instantly. His hands slid around her hips, gripping her ass, pulling her body against his. Her thighs tightened. She moaned into his mouth before she could help herself.
They broke apart only for a second. Just to breathe.
Her glasses fell to the floor. She didn't bother to pick them up.
"You're playing with fire," she gasped, voice trembling between want and guilt.
He spun her around, pinned her to the desk.
"Good," he growled. "Let it burn."
His mouth was on her neck, biting, tasting, leaving red impressions down her throat. She whimpered, arching against him. His hands tore open her blouse. Buttons scattered across the floor like marbles. Her black lace bra exposed the top of her breasts, already rising and falling too fast.
"You wore lace for me," he whispered.
"I—shut up—" she panted, but her head rolled back as he kissed down her cleavage, tugging the lace down and exposing her nipples.
He took one in his mouth, sucking hard. She gasped, her knees buckling slightly.
He pulled her skirt up. Thigh-highs. Tiny black panties.
"You were ready for this," he said, almost laughing.
"You think—oh fuck—"
He dropped to his knees, hooked his fingers into the sides of her panties, and dragged them down slowly. She braced herself on the desk behind her, biting her lip. Her thighs parted before she could even pretend to resist.
His tongue found her.
She moaned, loud and shameless. He licked deep, slow strokes at first, teasing her folds, then faster, tongue flicking over her clit until her hips were grinding against his mouth.
Her hands gripped his hair.
"Oh my god—Aiden—Aiden—"
He sucked harder, fingers working inside her now. Her thighs trembled. Her head fell back. She screamed.
She came in waves, shaking, trying not to collapse as he stood, licking her taste off his lips.
"Turn around," he said.
She obeyed.
He bent her over the desk, her cheek pressed to the wood. Her skirt bunched at her waist. Her ass was round and perfect, thighs still slick from her climax.
"Say you want me to fuck you."
She hesitated. Just a moment.
"I want you to fuck me," she whispered, ashamed and raw.
He pulled his belt free, unzipped his pants, and without warning, entered her in one slow, brutal thrust.
She cried out, hands clawing at the desk. He gripped her hips and thrust again, harder.
"Louder," he growled.
"Fuck—Aiden—please—"
He pounded her, hips slapping her ass with each deep stroke. Her moans filled the room. Her body clenched around him, soaked and eager. Her face twisted in a mix of pleasure and humiliation.
"You like being used, don't you?" he said in her ear.
She whimpered. "Yes—yes—fuck—"
He reached around, rubbed her clit again. She came instantly, screaming his name, her body writhing beneath him.
He thrust faster. Deeper.
When he was close, he pulled her up against him, one hand gripping her throat, the other on her hip.
"Where do you want it?" he whispered.
She was gasping, lips parted, too gone to speak.
So he came inside her, moaning her name, hips jerking as he emptied himself deep within.
They collapsed together onto the desk. Sweating. Breathing. Silent.
Minutes passed before either of them moved.
She sat up slowly, pushing hair out of her face. Her mascara had run. Her bra hung half-loose. Her skirt was crooked. She didn't bother fixing any of it.
"This… never happened," she whispered.
He smirked.
"It happened," he said. "And you'll want it again."
He buttoned his shirt slowly, grabbed his blazer, and walked out.
She didn't stop him.
End of Chapter 2
Next: Chapter 3 – "Chemistry Can Burn" (Ms. Linton's chapter)