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The classroom smelled of old paper, whiteboard markers, and the faint sweetness of someone’s vanilla vape lingering from the hallway. Third period English Lit had ended twenty minutes ago, but half the class had stayed behind for the unofficial “reading hour” Mr. Hargrove sometimes allowed when he had a staff meeting. He’d left the door unlocked, told them not to burn the place down, and disappeared down the corridor with his coffee thermos.
Most people were on their phones now, scrolling TikTok or arguing in group chats. A few were actually doing homework. And then there was Rowan Voss.
She sat near the back corner window, knees drawn up on the chair seat, phone propped against her water bottle, Wattpad open to chapter 47 of Teeth & Silk—the story everyone had been whispering about for two weeks. The one with the slow-burn hatefuck that turned into something obsessive and tender by chapter thirty and downright depraved by forty.
She was deep in the scene where the male lead had finally pinned the heroine against the library shelves after months of barbed insults and stolen glances. His hand was already under her skirt; her thighs were trembling; the dialogue was filthy and whispered.
Rowan’s breathing had shallowed. Her free hand rested low on her own stomach, fingers curled into the hem of her pleated skirt.
That was when someone tapped her shoulder.
She jolted so hard her phone nearly slid off the desk.
Hot breath brushed the shell of her ear.
“Well,” came the low, amused drawl she would recognize in her sleep, “that’s a very great book. I just finished reading it last night.”
Rowan’s heart slammed into her ribs.
She turned—slowly, like she was moving through water—and found Theo Kane leaning over the back of her chair. Black hoodie, sleeves pushed to his elbows, silver ring glinting on his thumb. The same smug half-smirk he’d worn since freshman year whenever he caught her staring too long in the halls.
Theo Kane. Debate captain. Valedictorian contender. The boy who once spent an entire class period dismantling her argument on The Great Gatsby so thoroughly the teacher gave him extra credit for style. The boy she’d hated—officially—for three years.
Also the boy whose name she’d accidentally (not accidentally) typed into the search bar of that exact Wattpad story at 2 a.m. last week.
He didn’t move back. Just stayed bent over her, forearms braced on the back of her chair, close enough that she could smell cedarwood cologne and spearmint gum.
“Wanna recreate with me what they’re doing there, princess?”
The word landed like a match in gasoline.
Rowan gulped so hard her throat clicked.
Theo’s smirk deepened. He tilted his head, letting his lips brush the edge of her ear again as he murmured, “You’re on the part where he’s got his fingers inside her and she’s trying not to moan loud enough for the librarian to hear. Right?”
She couldn’t speak. Could barely breathe.
His voice dropped lower. “You’ve been clenching your thighs since page three of that chapter. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”
Rowan’s face burned. She snapped her phone screen off and shoved it facedown on the desk.
“You’re delusional,” she managed.
“Am I?” He straightened just enough to glance around the room. Most of the remaining students were either headphones-on or grouped at the front near the Smart Board, laughing about something on someone’s phone. No one was paying attention to the back corner.
Theo slid into the empty seat beside her—smooth, casual, like he belonged there. He leaned in again, elbow on the shared desk, chin resting on his fist so his mouth was still dangerously close to her ear.
“Tell me to fuck off,” he said quietly. “I’ll go. But you won’t finish that chapter for at least another week because you’ll be too busy thinking about what I just offered.”
Rowan’s pulse roared in her ears.
She should tell him to leave.
She should stand up, grab her bag, walk out.
Instead she whispered, “What exactly are you offering?”
Theo’s eyes darkened. Satisfaction. Hunger. Victory.
He reached over, slow enough that she could stop him, and flipped her phone back over. The screen lit up automatically—still open to the same paragraph.
He read aloud, voice so soft only she could hear:
“His thumb circled her clit in slow, cruel strokes while two fingers curled inside her, pressing against that spot that made her see stars. ‘Quiet,’ he growled against her throat. ‘Unless you want the whole library to know how wet you are for me.’”
Theo’s gaze flicked up to meet hers.
“Sound familiar?”
Rowan’s thighs pressed together hard.
He noticed. Of course he did.
Without breaking eye contact, he slid his hand under the desk and rested it high on her bare thigh—just below the hem of her skirt. Not moving. Just warm. Possessive.
“Last chance,” he said. “Say no and I walk away. We can keep pretending we hate each other in debate and hallways and parking lots. Or…”
His fingers drifted an inch higher.
“…you can spread your legs a little wider and let me show you how the chapter ends.”
Rowan’s breath hitched.
She hated him.
She wanted him.
The line between the two had blurred months ago.
She shifted—just enough. Her knees parted under the desk.
Theo exhaled roughly through his nose.
“Good girl.”
He didn’t rush.
His hand slid higher, knuckles brushing the edge of her cotton panties. He traced the seam slowly, feeling how damp the fabric already was.
“Fuck,” he breathed. “You’re soaked.”
“Shut up,” she hissed, cheeks flaming.
He chuckled low. “Make me.”
Then his fingers slipped beneath the elastic.
Rowan bit her lip so hard she tasted copper when the first slow stroke grazed her clit.
Theo watched her face the entire time—every flutter of her lashes, every hitch in her breathing. He circled lazily at first, learning her, memorizing the exact pressure that made her hips twitch.
“Keep your eyes on the screen,” he murmured. “Read. Out loud. Quietly.”
She stared at him like he’d lost his mind.
He pressed two fingers against her entrance—teasing, not entering.
“Read,” he repeated.
Rowan swallowed. Looked down at the glowing paragraph.
Her voice was barely a whisper.
“‘He pushed inside her slowly… stretching her… making her feel every inch—’”
Theo slid one finger in.
Rowan’s words broke on a tiny, choked sound.
“Keep going,” he ordered.
“‘—until she was trembling… biting her lip to stay quiet—’”
He added a second finger. Curled them. Found that spot.
Her thighs shook.
“‘—while he fucked her with slow, deliberate thrusts—’”
Theo matched the rhythm of the sentence—slow, deep, dragging against every sensitive place inside her.
Rowan’s free hand flew to his wrist, not to stop him, just to hold on.
Someone at the front of the room laughed too loud. Rowan flinched.
Theo didn’t stop.
“Shh,” he whispered against her temple. “You’re doing so well.”
He sped up—just enough.
Her breathing turned ragged. Her hips rocked forward in tiny, helpless jerks.
Theo leaned closer, lips brushing her ear again.
“You’re close, aren’t you?”
She couldn’t answer. Could only nod.
“Gonna come all over my fingers while you read the next line?”
Another nod—frantic.
“Then read it.”
Rowan’s voice cracked on every word.
“‘He pressed his thumb to her clit… rubbing tight circles… until she shattered—’”
Theo pressed harder. Faster.
Rowan came with a silent, full-body shudder—mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, thighs clamping around his hand. She bit down on her own knuckles to keep from crying out.
Theo worked her through it, slow and steady, until the aftershocks faded.
Only then did he withdraw his fingers—glistening. He brought them to his mouth and licked them clean while holding her gaze.
Rowan stared, stunned, wrecked, still pulsing.
Theo leaned in one last time.
“Chapter’s not over,” he murmured. “Meet me in the old music room after school. I’ve got the rest of the book memorized.”
He stood, casual as anything, grabbed his backpack, and walked out like nothing had happened.
Rowan stayed seated for another full minute—legs trembling, heart racing, panties ruined—staring at the Wattpad screen.
The next chapter was already loading.
She tapped it anyway.
