Forget the homework!

Anne never cracked a single notebook. She found Black Panther at her desk, legs tucked under, pencil hovering over the page. A slow smile, and Anne slipped in behind her, fingers brushing the girl’s wrist, then her neck. The pencil hit the floor. Anne’s mouth followed—warm, open, tasting skin above the collar of that school blouse. Black Panther leaned back, throat exposed, pulse racing under Anne’s tongue. Clothes peeled away like nothing. Anne’s hand slid between those smooth thighs, found heat and slickness waiting. Two girls, dark hair tangling, hips rocking. Black Panther’s moans filled the small room as Anne’s tongue worked lower, teasing, circling, then pressing in deep. No equations. Just wet fingers, hungry mouths, bodies twisting on the bed until both came hard, legs shaking, breath gone.