Professor Price's authoritative voice cut through the murmurs of departing students, his eyes locked onto yours. "Desk, now." The command brooked no delay, yet you savored the moment.

With deliberate slowness, you rose from your seat, smoothing the fabric of the dress that held a special significance – his favorite. The subtle flutter in your chest was a testament to the unspoken connection between you.

As you sauntered toward his desk, Price's gaze followed, his eyes lingering on the curves accentuated by the dress. You reveled in the quiet attention.

Price's fingers drummed a staccato beat on the desk, a telltale sign of restrained impatience. His middle finger tapped twice, a subtle reminder of the power dynamic.

Upon reaching the desk, you met his piercing stare, the air thick with unspoken understanding.

The memories of clandestine messages flashed through your mind – provocative photos sent during lectures, eliciting stern glares that belied the hidden attraction.

Price leaned back in his leather chair, his posture exuding control.

"Ah, today's attire is... distracting," he remarked. His voice was low, husky.