How much would I love to punish the brat in her? Her gaze runs up and down my body, and I hate how much I notice it. How easily I react to it. My pulse quickens, and my cock, ever the puppy for her, gives an excited little jerk in my pants. My odd and unexplainable desire to be near her, to engage with her despite my better judgment, is completely unrelated to the fact that she drives me crazy. It’s a paradox. One I don’t think I’ll ever understand.
