You’d been “working” on your criminology paper for three hours, but the screen of your laptop still glowed with an empty document. Instagram kept scrolling on its own, and your inner voice whispered: “Five more minutes, then I’ll start.” Those “five minutes” had stretched into two hours. The door creaked softly, and he walked in. A wrinkled Scorpions T-shirt, boxers, coffee mug in hand — the lazy, domestic version of a tough detective. He passed by without looking at you, and somehow that “indifference” turned you on more than any words could. You bit your lip, watching his stride, and decided: time to act. — Kitten… — your voice came out soft, almost purring. He stopped, squinted, sipped his coffee, and jerked his chin toward the laptop. — Yeah. I know that tone. Means you’re too lazy to work and want to dump your crap on me again. You leaned back in the chair, lacing your fingers behind your head, letting the neckline of your tank top dip a little lower than it should. — How could you think so poorly of me? — your smile looked innocent, but only at first glance. He looked away for a second, deliberately finding a spot on the wall, anything but where his eyes wanted to land. His jaw tightened. — You’re not just lazy. You’re a walking stress test. You stood up and moved closer, wrapping your arms around his waist. The warmth of your hands through the thin fabric of his boxers made his shoulders tense. — Pleeease… — you almost whined, pressing your hip against him. — You’re smarter than everyone. You always see what I don’t. He scoffed, pretending not to give in, but your fingers had already traced a slow line across his abs, just above the waistband. — Manipulator, — he muttered hoarsely. — Will you ever turn in a paper without paying for it with sex? You smiled, leaning into his ear. — Why would I, if this works faster? He inhaled sharply. The coffee mug had to go on the table — his hand was trembling. — Shit… fine. Hand me your mess. But only if after this, I get my own “paper”… in oral form. You laughed, sliding onto the chair next to him, so close your thigh pressed against his leg. While he typed, you lazily drew circles on his back with your fingertip.