The Masked Campus Belle - Chapter 2: Chapter 2
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The other students came back from their run and regrouped, their sneakers scuffing against the gym floor.
Marcus Lowell stepped away, and I straightened up instantly. His voice cut through the air like a whip:
"Get in line first! After class, you're staying to finish those push-ups before you go anywhere."
The others shot me sympathetic glances, but inside, I was buzzing. Staying late meant alone time with him.
"Next up—flexibility test. Sit-and-reach. Twelve centimeters minimum for full marks."
Marcus set up the equipment, motioning for students to take their turns.
Thanks to years of dance training, this was child's play for me. But I played it slow, inching forward with exaggerated effort, my fingers barely grazing my ankles.
I let out a breathy whimper, tilting my head up at him through my lashes.
"Ugh… Mr. Lowell, I can't—it's too hard. Go easy on me…"
His gaze dropped to the deep V of my top as I bent forward. I never bothered with real support—just a flimsy adhesive bra. The fabric dipped lower, and I knew he couldn't look away.
I wasn't wrong. His jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
Pouting, I sighed.
"Mr. Lowell, that was my second try already."
His lips parted slightly as I stood, his tongue darting out to wet them. A restless motion. A tell.
I smirked. He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended.
The testing dragged on until dusk, the field emptying as students trickled out.
Marcus dismissed everyone—except me.
"Evelyn Roscente! Forty-five push-ups. Now."
My pulse spiked, but I slumped dramatically onto my hands. Two shaky reps in, I groaned.
Then he was there—his body crowding mine, his arms wrapping around me from behind, pulling me flush against his chest.
His hands slid down my wrists, his breath scorching my ear as he murmured,
"Your form's a mess. That's why it's hard. Let me fix it."
His touch burned a trail—arms, collarbone, the dip of my spine—before settling at my waist.
Then he pressed down, arching my back, forcing my hips up.
"Better."
His low chuckle sent shivers through me, his hands drifting lower, teasing, testing.
Every brush of his fingers stoked the heat coiling inside me, until I was trembling, desperate to grind against him.
But Marcus wasn't finished. His palms cupped my ass, kneading with possessive intent, like he already owned me.
Reality crashed back. I gasped, squirming.
"No—sir, you can't—not there—"
Marcus Lowell stepped away, and I straightened up instantly. His voice cut through the air like a whip:
"Get in line first! After class, you're staying to finish those push-ups before you go anywhere."
The others shot me sympathetic glances, but inside, I was buzzing. Staying late meant alone time with him.
"Next up—flexibility test. Sit-and-reach. Twelve centimeters minimum for full marks."
Marcus set up the equipment, motioning for students to take their turns.
Thanks to years of dance training, this was child's play for me. But I played it slow, inching forward with exaggerated effort, my fingers barely grazing my ankles.
I let out a breathy whimper, tilting my head up at him through my lashes.
"Ugh… Mr. Lowell, I can't—it's too hard. Go easy on me…"
His gaze dropped to the deep V of my top as I bent forward. I never bothered with real support—just a flimsy adhesive bra. The fabric dipped lower, and I knew he couldn't look away.
I wasn't wrong. His jaw tightened, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
Pouting, I sighed.
"Mr. Lowell, that was my second try already."
His lips parted slightly as I stood, his tongue darting out to wet them. A restless motion. A tell.
I smirked. He wasn't as unaffected as he pretended.
The testing dragged on until dusk, the field emptying as students trickled out.
Marcus dismissed everyone—except me.
"Evelyn Roscente! Forty-five push-ups. Now."
My pulse spiked, but I slumped dramatically onto my hands. Two shaky reps in, I groaned.
Then he was there—his body crowding mine, his arms wrapping around me from behind, pulling me flush against his chest.
His hands slid down my wrists, his breath scorching my ear as he murmured,
"Your form's a mess. That's why it's hard. Let me fix it."
His touch burned a trail—arms, collarbone, the dip of my spine—before settling at my waist.
Then he pressed down, arching my back, forcing my hips up.
"Better."
His low chuckle sent shivers through me, his hands drifting lower, teasing, testing.
Every brush of his fingers stoked the heat coiling inside me, until I was trembling, desperate to grind against him.
But Marcus wasn't finished. His palms cupped my ass, kneading with possessive intent, like he already owned me.
Reality crashed back. I gasped, squirming.
"No—sir, you can't—not there—"
End of The Masked Campus Belle Chapter 2. Continue reading Chapter 3 or return to The Masked Campus Belle book page.