I stood in front of the massive mahogany desk, my skin tingling where the cool office air hit my bare chest. I felt exposed, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Professor Roman didn't follow me immediately. Instead, he took his time, slowly re-adjusting his stance, looking at me with a predatory calm that made my knees feel like water.

"Hands on the edge of the desk, Isabelle," he commanded. The use of my first name without the 'Ms.' felt like a slap, a sudden shift into something far more intimate and dangerous. "Lean forward. I want to see how well that skirt serves its purpose when you’re forced to stay still."