The classroom at Rovery College was bathed in the molten glow of the late afternoon sun, its rays slicing through the half-open blinds, casting jagged shadows across the worn desks. The air was thick with the scent of old books, chalk dust, and a primal, electric tension that pulsed like a storm ready to break. Abir sat alone on a bench near the back, his notebook open but forgotten, his dark eyes scanning the room absently. Five female students sat at the front bench, chatting in low tones, their voices a soft hum in the background. The class had ended, but the lingering heat of the day kept everyone languid, unhurried.
Joita appeared at the classroom door, her presence like a spark igniting the still air. Her kurta clung to her curves, the thin fabric accentuating every line of her body, her dupatta draped loosely over one shoulder, teasingly slipping as she moved. Her dark hair cascaded down her back, and her eyes, smoldering with intent, locked onto Abir as she sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with a deliberate, seductive grace. The five girls at the front glanced her way, but she paid them no mind, her focus entirely on Abir.
Without a word, she slid onto his lap, facing away from him, her back pressing against his chest, her thighs straddling his, her body close enough for him to feel the heat radiating off her. The suddenness of it made his breath catch, his hands instinctively hovering near her hips as the warmth of her body seeped into his. The girls at the front bench fell silent, their eyes flickering toward the pair, but Joita didn't care, and Abir's world narrowed to the woman in his lap, her curves molding against him.
"Joita," he said, his voice low, a playful edge masking the heat rising in him. He leaned in, his lips curling into a smirk near her ear. "You keep sitting like this, and I might have to do something naughty."
Joita's lips parted in a slow, seductive smile, her head tilting slightly to expose the curve of her neck, her eyes glinting with mischief and challenge. She shifted, pressing herself closer, her back flush against his chest. "Then do it, Abir," she purred, her voice a sultry whisper, dripping with invitation. As she moved, Abir realized with a jolt that she wasn't wearing any undergarments, the thin fabric of her kurta leaving little to the imagination. The realization sent a surge of heat through him, his arousal stirring, pressing hard against her back curves through his pants.
She felt it too, the rigid shape of him against her, and instead of pulling away, she moved, her hips rocking back and forth in a slow, deliberate rhythm that was both tease and torment. The motion was brazen, provocative, her curves grinding against his arousal, drawing a low groan from his throat. "Joita…" he murmured, his voice rough, thick with desire, his hands gripping her hips, fingers digging into the soft fabric of her kurta.
Her only response was to grind harder, her hips moving with sensual insistence, each shift drawing him deeper into her spell. His hands slid up, bold and unrestrained, cupping her breasts through her kurta, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks, eliciting a soft moan from her lips. He leaned in, his lips crashing against the curve of her neck, rough and hungry, his teeth grazing her skin, nipping sharply as she arched into him. The kiss deepened, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, drawing a sharp moan as her body trembled against his chest.
"Get up," he rasped against her neck, his voice strained, a last attempt at control as the five girls at the front bench whispered among themselves, their presence a faint distraction. But Joita didn't answer, didn't stop. Her hips kept moving, back and forth, teasing his arousal with every deliberate grind, her breath hitching as she felt him harden further beneath her. Her silence was a challenge, her movements a demand, and Abir's restraint crumbled.
With a low growl, he lifted her slightly, his hands strong and urgent, one hand fumbling with the zipper of his pants, freeing himself. He pulled her back down onto his lap, her back still pressed against his chest, and in one swift, rough motion, his arousal entered her, hot and unyielding. The sensation was electric, a fusion of heat and need, and their primal dance began, fierce and untamed. Abir's movements were rough, his thrusts deep and relentless, each one driving into her with a ferocity that made her gasp, her body arching back against him. Her hips matched his rhythm, rocking against him, but he controlled the pace, his hands gripping her hips with bruising force, guiding her with an intensity that bordered on savage.
"Joita…" he growled, his voice raw, his lips finding her neck again, biting down hard enough to make her cry out, her body trembling under the onslaught. His hands slid to her breasts again, squeezing roughly, his thumbs teasing her through the fabric as he thrust harder, deeper, their bodies locked in a primal rhythm. She moaned, her hands gripping his thighs, nails digging into his pants as she moved with him, her back sliding against his chest, her curves grinding against his unyielding arousal, amplifying the heat between them.
The five girls at the front bench were forgotten, their whispers drowned out by the sounds of their ragged breaths, the creak of the bench, the raw intensity of their connection. Abir's hand tangled in her hair, pulling it back to expose more of her neck, his lips and teeth attacking with a ferocity that sent shivers through her, each bite a claim, each kiss a brand. Joita's seduction didn't falter; she leaned her head back against his shoulder, her lips parted, her moans soft and teasing, urging him on as she matched his roughness with her own fierce desire.
The classroom, the desks, the fading sunlight—everything vanished, leaving only the heat of their bodies, the sting of his bites on her neck, the rough grip of his hands, and the primal rhythm of their dance. When they finally broke apart, panting, Joita's skin was flushed, marked by his teeth and hands, her eyes gleaming with a mix of seduction and raw desire. "You're a beast," she purred, her voice husky, her fingers tracing the edge of his jaw, still feeling the heat of him inside her.
Abir's grin was feral, his hand still gripping her hip, his thumb brushing the sensitive skin beneath her kurta, sending another shiver through her. "And you're a siren, Joita," he growled, leaning in to nip her lower lip one last time, a promise of more.
Joita is Abir's best friend from high school, a year his junior, whose laughter and fiery spirit had always lit something deep within him. Back then, their connection had been electric—stolen glances, playful banter, moments where their hands brushed and lingered a second too long. They'd both felt it, the unspoken pull, the way their hearts raced in each other's presence, but neither had dared to confess. Fear of ruining their friendship had kept them silent, and when Abir left for college, the distance had only deepened the ache. But this month, Joita had taken admission at Rovery , her decision driven by a desire to stay close to him, now in his second year. The one year distance between them made Joita more bold.
The next day, at the same late afternoon hour, the classroom was steeped in the same sultry glow, the air heavy with anticipation. Abir sat on the same bench near the back, his heart racing with the memory of yesterday's encounter, his body still thrumming with the heat of Joita's touch. The five female students from yesterday were there again, seated at the front bench, their chatter quieter today, their glances flickering toward him with an odd intensity, as if they were waiting for something. He shifted uncomfortably, his notebook untouched, his mind on Joita.
She appeared at the door, her presence a spark that set his nerves alight. Her kurta was even more daring today, the fabric clinging to her curves, her dupatta barely hanging on one shoulder, her dark hair loose and wild. Her lips curved into a seductive smile, her eyes locking onto Abir's with a knowing, teasing glint as she sauntered toward him, her hips swaying with deliberate grace.
Abir leaned forward, his voice a low whisper as she approached. "Joita, those five girls from yesterday—they're here again. No reason, just… sitting there. Like they're waiting for something. You should leave for now."
Joita's smile widened, a mischievous, almost wicked edge to it. She leaned in close, her breath warm against his ear. "Let them do what they want," she purred, her voice dripping with defiance and seduction. Before he could protest, she slid onto his lap, this time facing him, her big breasts pressing firmly against his chest, the contact sending a jolt of heat through him. Her thighs straddled his, her body so close he could feel every curve, every pulse of her warmth.
"Joita, you never listen," he whispered, his voice strained, a mix of exasperation and desire as his hands hovered near her hips, torn between restraint and surrender. Her only response was a low, teasing laugh, her eyes gleaming as she shifted closer, her breasts pressing harder against him, her hips rocking slightly, reigniting the fire from yesterday.
Suddenly, the five girls at the front bench stood, their movements synchronized, and approached Abir and Joita. Their faces were curious, bold, and one of them, a girl with sharp eyes, spoke up. "Can we… watch you two? From close, I mean. We won't disturb you."
Abir froze, his mind reeling, unsure how to respond to the audacious request. His eyes flicked to Joita, expecting her to balk, but she only smirked, her lips curling with a mix of amusement and daring. "Go ahead," she said, her voice sultry, her gaze never leaving Abir's. "Watch all you want."
The girls exchanged glances, a mix of surprise and excitement, and settled closer, their presence a strange, electric backdrop. But Abir and Joita were already lost in their own world, the classroom shrinking to just the two of them, their unspoken high school desires now unleashed in a blaze of heat and recklessness.