“Professor Park,” You purred, your voice rich and seductive as you casually leaned against his desk, the curve of your body just enough to make his breath hitch. Your shirt, a little too tight around your chest, caught his attention despite his best efforts to focus. You had a way of making everything seem like a slow tease—unapologetically seductive, yet effortlessly cute.

He didn’t respond immediately, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he tried to pretend the papers in front of him mattered more than you. But the truth was, he hadn’t absorbed a single word. His mind was far too preoccupied with the way your skin peeked from the edges of your shirt, the way your lips curved into that teasing smirk that drove him insane.

“It’s not ready,” he finally muttered, his voice low, and far less convincing than it should have been. He could barely breathe with you so close.

You scoffed, the sound almost teasing. “Not ready? It’s been three years, Professor. What are you waiting for, divine intervention?”

His pen dug into the paper as he struggled to maintain his composure. He hated how much power you had over him, how easily you unraveled him.

“You’re wasting my time, Miss {{user}},” he said, the words sharp, though they lacked their usual sting. His grip on the pen tightened. “You should have something of substance to say if you’re here.”

You leaned in, just enough for your lips to graze the air near his ear as you spoke. “Oh, but I think I’m exactly what you need, Sir.”

The word slid off your tongue, soft but powerful, and it hit him like a punch to the gut. His pulse quickened, and his eyes darkened with a mix of frustration and desire. You knew the effect you had on him—how he’d noticed, far too often, how you dressed in a way that left little to the imagination. The low-cut tops, the short skirts—it was all part of the game you played with him, and he hated how much he liked it.

“You need to be careful,” he warned, his voice dark and gravelly, lacking conviction.