"Jericho, can you please stay after class?

I looked at the kid, trying to appear serious and levelheaded. He was a disruption-he talked the whole class, answered his cell-phone during my lectures, and was completely disrespectful. I would put him in his place; I was the authority figure here, right?
The truth was, I was terrified of him.
"Excuse me, Mr. Tate?"

"You heard me. I'd like you to stay after class." Oh god. There it was. The look. The look that made me feel about four feet tall. He rose from his seat and came towards me; slinging his designer bookbag over one shoulder and tipping huge black sunglasses over his steaming, silvery-blue eyes. Raking a hand through his ashen, platinum blonde hair he came face to face with me and looked up into my face-if that's where he was looking behind those glasses.

The kid drove me nuts. I was not his peer. Having his father pay for everything he wanted didn't automatically give him the right to treat people however he wanted. But more than that, he infuriated me because every time he sneered at me smugly, my ass would clench tightly and my cock would swell in my pants. The way his perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed in concentration (in the moments he was actually listening) made me feel light-headed. He was beautiful. He oozed sex, slinking around the school like some sort of spirit: a blatant, sexual energy that was almost genderless. His limbs were long and thin with toned muscles and a bronzed glow. His facial structure was delicate yet severely defined by his lack of body fat. I hated him. I wanted him out of my class. I wanted him in my mouth.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Tate. Was I talking again?" He said mockingly. He swung the glasses up into his hairline and taunted me with his aquamarine, sea-lapping-on-the-stony-shore eyes and dared me to provoke him without saying so much as a word.
"Y-yes, you were," I stammered.

"Well. I am sooo sorry. Really, Mr. Tate. It won't happen again," he said, voice dripping with the obviousness of the lie he had told so many times. Still his eyes didn't stray from mine. Finally I pulled away, and just shook my head, trying to get his stare out of me. Suddenly I felt his soft hand on my toned, lightly hair-covered forearm.

"You're not...scared of me. Are you Mr. Tate?"

"What do you mean by that?" I said quickly and defensively. He chuckled.

"I'm not blind, you know. I see the way you look at me. You want to fuck me, and that scares the fuck out of you," Jericho said matter-of-factly. My mood lit ablaze with fury.
"How dare you suggest that I-"

"I don't mind, Mr. Tate," he interrupted. What? I was speechless. I couldn't take this seriously even for a second. He was quite a bit older than the age of consent, less than twenty years younger than me, certainly- but sleeping with a student was still completely irresponsible.

"I don't know what you are trying to suggest, Jericho, but my suggestion is that you leave my classroom imm-"

Suddenly his lips were on mine, wet and smooth. I stood motionless for a moment, shocked and scared mindless. One of his slender hands was on the back of my head, his nails sifting through my short brown hair, the other slowly trailing down my back and onto my ass. This couldn't be happening. I couldn't let this happen.