Professor's Forbidden Punishment - Chapter 3: Chapter 3
You are reading Professor's Forbidden Punishment, Chapter 3: Chapter 3. Read more chapters of Professor's Forbidden Punishment.
Vincent Lowell jerked awake, his legs spasming against the desk with enough force to send a shudder through the furniture.
The sharp noise snapped heads in his direction. Colleagues shot him questioning looks, murmuring, "You okay, Vincent?"
Listening to his breathless excuses, I bit back a grin and doubled down—watching the way his jaw tightened sent an electric jolt straight through me.
Soon, the other two teachers fell quiet, the only sound the faint buzz of short videos playing from their phones—each lost in their own little digital escape.
I lifted my chin, dragging in a sharp breath to cool the flush creeping up my neck.
Then—darkness.
Vincent dropped to his knees, eyes burning crimson, his voice a velvet whisper meant only for me: "Enjoying your lesson, sweetheart?"
I gazed up at him, lashes damp, and nodded like a starving thing.
"Fast learner," he mused, dragging a thumb over his lower lip. "Let me show you something new."
As he leaned in, sliding beneath the desk—
"Mr. Lowell."
Vincent shot upright, clearing his throat. "Just—dropped something." He flashed a strained smile. "What do you need?"
"Principal’s asking for you."
A curt nod. One last searing glance my way before he strode out.
The emptiness in his wake was physical—a hollow ache between my ribs. We’d been so close to crossing a line neither of us would’ve come back from.
I waited until both teachers dozed off before slipping away unnoticed.
After that day, time crawled. I lived for Martial Arts Class, itching for another stolen moment.
Then—finally—the day arrived.
Except Vincent wasn’t there.
The substitute launched into drills without explanation. My stomach dropped. Where was he?
Sick leave? Or something worse?
Distracted, I barely registered the class.
I’d never added Vincent on socials. He’d made a group chat for the class but wasn’t in it—just delegated updates to the rep.
At break, I chewed my lip raw, scrambling for a way to reach him.
Then someone slid onto the bench beside me.
Ryan Evans. Martial Arts Class rep.
Tall, lean, all wiry muscle—not my type, though I’d caught his lingering stares during partner drills.
"You’re wondering about Mr. Lowell," he said, voice low.
I blinked. Ryan was usually a wallflower, all awkward silences. Yet here he was, reading me like an open book.
Then again—Vincent and I hadn’t exactly been subtle. And Ryan always stood right behind me during class.
"You know where he is?" Hope sharpened my words.
"I—" The whistle cut him off, herding everyone into formation.
Ryan yanked me toward the lineup, his arm brushing mine—too deliberate—before murmuring:
"Want answers? Meet me after class."
The next hour was torture. Every second stretched, my thoughts spiraling around Vincent.
When the bell finally rang, I followed Ryan without hesitation.
He led me to the Equipment Room.
"Are you screwing with me?" I crossed my arms. "Is he here?"
Ryan backed me into the shadows, his usual shyness shed like a second skin.
"Don’t pretend I didn’t see," he breathed. "The way you begged for him. Every move calculated." His grin turned filthy. "But let’s be real—a guy like him can’t handle you. I’m younger. Stronger. Try me instead."
Footsteps passed outside.
Ryan’s hands wandered, and—God—the risk only made my pulse roar louder.
"One taste," he coaxed against my ear. "If I disappoint, I’ll take you to him myself."
The sharp noise snapped heads in his direction. Colleagues shot him questioning looks, murmuring, "You okay, Vincent?"
Listening to his breathless excuses, I bit back a grin and doubled down—watching the way his jaw tightened sent an electric jolt straight through me.
Soon, the other two teachers fell quiet, the only sound the faint buzz of short videos playing from their phones—each lost in their own little digital escape.
I lifted my chin, dragging in a sharp breath to cool the flush creeping up my neck.
Then—darkness.
Vincent dropped to his knees, eyes burning crimson, his voice a velvet whisper meant only for me: "Enjoying your lesson, sweetheart?"
I gazed up at him, lashes damp, and nodded like a starving thing.
"Fast learner," he mused, dragging a thumb over his lower lip. "Let me show you something new."
As he leaned in, sliding beneath the desk—
"Mr. Lowell."
Vincent shot upright, clearing his throat. "Just—dropped something." He flashed a strained smile. "What do you need?"
"Principal’s asking for you."
A curt nod. One last searing glance my way before he strode out.
The emptiness in his wake was physical—a hollow ache between my ribs. We’d been so close to crossing a line neither of us would’ve come back from.
I waited until both teachers dozed off before slipping away unnoticed.
After that day, time crawled. I lived for Martial Arts Class, itching for another stolen moment.
Then—finally—the day arrived.
Except Vincent wasn’t there.
The substitute launched into drills without explanation. My stomach dropped. Where was he?
Sick leave? Or something worse?
Distracted, I barely registered the class.
I’d never added Vincent on socials. He’d made a group chat for the class but wasn’t in it—just delegated updates to the rep.
At break, I chewed my lip raw, scrambling for a way to reach him.
Then someone slid onto the bench beside me.
Ryan Evans. Martial Arts Class rep.
Tall, lean, all wiry muscle—not my type, though I’d caught his lingering stares during partner drills.
"You’re wondering about Mr. Lowell," he said, voice low.
I blinked. Ryan was usually a wallflower, all awkward silences. Yet here he was, reading me like an open book.
Then again—Vincent and I hadn’t exactly been subtle. And Ryan always stood right behind me during class.
"You know where he is?" Hope sharpened my words.
"I—" The whistle cut him off, herding everyone into formation.
Ryan yanked me toward the lineup, his arm brushing mine—too deliberate—before murmuring:
"Want answers? Meet me after class."
The next hour was torture. Every second stretched, my thoughts spiraling around Vincent.
When the bell finally rang, I followed Ryan without hesitation.
He led me to the Equipment Room.
"Are you screwing with me?" I crossed my arms. "Is he here?"
Ryan backed me into the shadows, his usual shyness shed like a second skin.
"Don’t pretend I didn’t see," he breathed. "The way you begged for him. Every move calculated." His grin turned filthy. "But let’s be real—a guy like him can’t handle you. I’m younger. Stronger. Try me instead."
Footsteps passed outside.
Ryan’s hands wandered, and—God—the risk only made my pulse roar louder.
"One taste," he coaxed against my ear. "If I disappoint, I’ll take you to him myself."
End of Professor's Forbidden Punishment Chapter 3. Continue reading Chapter 4 or return to Professor's Forbidden Punishment book page.