She thought she had her urges under control... until she met Darius.
Tall. 19. Deep voice. Chocolate skin. A football star with a jawline that could cut glass and a bulge that was clearly too big for school-issued pants.
He was failing English. She offered to tutor him after hours. Harmless. Professional.
Until he showed up late one day, soaked in rain, shirt clinging to his sculpted chest, and those hungry eyes locked on her cleavage.
From that night on, Carmen stopped wearing a bra.
And Darius stopped pretending he was there to learn.
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