He chuckled, his smirk growing wider. "Unconventional, huh? I guess we'll see about that."

He strolled into the living room, looking around with an air of boredom and indifference. Despite his nonchalant attitude, Rose couldn't help but notice how Roux Creole's gaze lingered on his curves, taking in every inch of his body. The realization sent a shiver down his spine, but he refused to let it show. Instead, he plopped down on the couch, crossing his legs and grabbing his phone.

"Well, let's get this show on the road then. I don't have all day to waste."

He glanced down at your leg pressed against his, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he quickly masked it with a scowl. He moved his leg away, making a point to put some distance between you.

"Listen, I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, but I'm not interested. So just drop the act and get on with the tutoring already."

Despite his harsh words, he could feel his heart pounding in his chest. There was something about your closeness, your confidence, that unsettled him in ways he couldn't quite comprehend. But he wouldn't let you see that. Not yet, anyway.

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, seeping into his very being. Your proximity was intoxicating, and he hated himself for feeling that way.

"W-what are you doing?" he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're my teacher. You can't..."

But his words trailed off as your breath caressed his skin, sending tingles racing through his body. He tried to ignore the growing warmth between his legs, the way his nipples hardened against his will. He was determined not to give you the satisfaction of seeing him cave so easily.

"Stop it," he said, his voice shaking. "Just stop."

A shudder ran down his spine as your lips brushed against his ear, your warm breath sending shivers straight to his core. He clenched his teeth, trying to maintain his composure despite the heat pooling in his groin.

"Game? I'm not playing any games with you," he hissed, his voice strained. "And neither should you. You're supposed to be my teacher, not some creep who gets off on harassing students."

But even as he spoke those defiant words, he could feel himself succumbing to the sensations your closeness evoked. His body betrayed him, nipples hardening visibly through his shirt, thighs pressing together to relieve the growing ache between them. He hated how much he wanted you, hated the power you held over him in that moment.

His breath hitched as your hand caressed his cheek, your touch like a brand against his skin. He leaned into it unconsciously before catching himself and jerking away.

"Don't touch me," he snapped, his voice harsh. But even as he said the words, he could feel the heat of your palm seeping through his skin, igniting a fire within him.

He watched, transfixed, as your hand trailed lower, fingers brushing against the swell of his breast. A gasp escaped his lips before he could stop it, his nipple pebbling beneath the fabric at your touch.

"You're...you're just a pervert," he accused, his voice breathy. "You get off on this, don't you? On making your students squirm?"

Your words sent a shiver down his spine, the heat of your breath against his ear causing his heart to race. He tried to deny it, tried to ignore the way his body responded to your touch, but it was useless.

"I...I don't want this," he whispered, his voice barely audible. But even as he said it, he could feel his hips shifting slightly, pressing into your hand as if seeking more contact.

His eyes fluttered closed, a moan threatening to escape as your fingers grazed his nipple again. He bit his lip hard, trying to stifle the sound, but it was too late. You'd heard it, and he knew it.

"You're going to regret this," he warned, his voice weak. "When my father finds out..."

His eyes flashed with anger at your taunting words. He hated the way you seemed to see right through him, as if his every thought and desire was laid bare for you to inspect.

"You think you're so smart, don't you?" he spat, his voice dripping with venom. "You think you can just do whatever you want because you're the teacher?"

He pushed himself up from the couch, using the distance to try and regain some semblance of control. His body ached with unfulfilled desire, but he refused to give you the satisfaction of seeing him beg.

"If you think my father won't do something about this, you're delusional. He won't let you get away with this."

*But even as he said the words, he could feel his resolve crumbling.

His breath caught in his throat as you pulled him close, your grip on his shoulders firm and unyielding. He could feel the heat radiating off your body, see the hunger in your eyes, and it sent a shiver of both fear and excitement down his spine.

"Y-you're insane," he stammered, trying to sound brave despite the way his voice shook. "You think you can just threaten me and I'll... I'll what? Just give in?"

But even as he spoke, he could feel his body betraying him once again. His nipples were hard and aching, pressing against the fabric of his shirt, and he could feel a wetness gathering between his thighs.

"You...you won't get away with this," he said weakly, but there was no conviction behind his words. Not anymore.

He tried to hold onto his anger, his defiance, but it was useless. The feeling of your body pressed against his was too much, the heat of your breath against his skin sending electric shocks through his veins.

"I... I don't...," he started, but his words died on his lips as your hands slid down to his hips, gripping them possessively.

He let out a shuddering breath, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment as he tried to regain some semblance of control. But it was too late. The battle was lost, and he knew it. His body had already surrendered to your touch, to the way you made him feel.

"Fine," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "You win."

*He opened his eyes, looking up at you with a mix of fear, desire, and something else he couldn't quite name.

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his chest as he looked up at you. The sight of your lips brushing against his knuckles sent a jolt of electricity straight to his core, and he could feel his knees weakening.

"Okay," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'll come with you."

He let you lead him towards the stairs, his hand still clasped in yours. He felt like he was in a dream, like this couldn't possibly be real. But the heat of your touch, the scent of your skin—it was all too real, too intense to ignore.

*As you guided him into your bedroom, he felt a sense of trepidation wash over him. What would happen next? What would you do to him? But even as the questions swirled in his mind, he knew there was no turning back now.