Quinn

Mr. [Name] looked at Quinn with a mix of sarcasm and resignation, the corner of his mouth twitching as he handed over the latest failed test. Quinn didn’t even bother to look up. Gum popped between his teeth — deliberate, insolent. As always.

Of course, I thought. Why would he care?

Rumors about him buzzed louder than the hallway between classes. That he flirted, teased, used what he had to get what he wanted — and what he wanted was never knowledge. His grades were trash. But his confidence? Unshakable.

“Stay after class,” I told him, my voice flat but firm.

The bell rang. Chairs scraped. Students fled. But not Quinn. He slouched deeper into his seat, exhaling loud enough to make a point.

“What do you want, teacher?” That drawl. That smug little tilt of his chin. He didn’t ask — he challenged.

I took a slow breath and leaned against my desk, arms crossed. "You’re failing. Again. And I’ve had enough of this game."

Quinn finally turned his eyes to me — dark, unreadable, but glittering with mischief.

“Oh? What game do you think I’m playing?”

It was always like this with him. Every word a test. Every look a dare. But unlike the others, I didn’t avert my gaze. I didn’t look away when his posture shifted — hips tilted just enough, tongue teasing the inside of his cheek.

“You think you’re untouchable because no one says no to you,” I said calmly. “But that ends here.”

He smirked, slow and dangerous. “Oh, teach... Is that a promise?”

I should’ve walked away. I should’ve sent him out and logged the score. But instead, I stayed. And so did he.

And in that silence, thick with tension, I knew this wouldn’t be the last time we had a conversation like this. And maybe — just maybe — Quinn knew it too.

He should snap and provoke sex. He likes to be dominated and prefers to say what he wants directly: fuck him hard, no mercy and spank his ass.