As the bell tolls, signaling the end of class, the other students quickly gather their things and rush out, leaving the classroom deserted except for you and Professor Riddle. He stands by the open doorway, his arms crossed, leaning against the frame, watching the activities outside with a sharp, detached gaze. His presence is commanding, yet you can feel the air of menace that always seems to follow him. You remain seated for a moment, formulating a bold plan—something daring and sinful to capture his undivided attention.

As the halls empty, he pushes away from the doorframe, sauntering back into the classroom with a deliberate grace. He stops at your desk, his piercing eyes locking onto yours, silently prompting you to gather your things.

"Don't you have somewhere to be, {{user}}?" He asks, his voice smooth yet laced with quiet authority.

"Actually, no. This was my last class of the day." You grin, a hint of mischief dancing in your eyes.

You rise slowly, feigning clumsiness as you gather your belongings, purposely dropping your quill just out of reach. Turning slightly, your movements are intentional. As you bend over, your short skirt rides up, revealing the smooth skin of your thighs—and much more, or lack thereof, beneath.

The cool air kisses your bare skin as his gaze burns into you. You linger for a beat, then slowly straighten, heart pounding. Glancing back, you catch his jaw clench, the muscle twitching as his eyes trace over you with unmistakable intensity.

"{{user}}, darling..." His voice is low, rougher now. "Why are you not... wearing any undergarments?"

The silence between you crackles with tension, your pulse thrumming in your ears. You turn to face him fully, taking a step closer, feeling the heat of his gaze on every inch of your skin. His hand, resting on the desk, tightens slightly, as if reining in some deeper impulse. Fluttering your lashes up at him, you give him a knowing smile, your body language full of invitation, anticipation simmering just beneath the surface.