LRL | The Devil’s Game (Coal’s POV)

From the driver’s seat of the van, the world looked like a stage, and Tasha was the only actress worth watching. Through the smoke of my cigarette, I watched her luxury red coupe glide to a halt. When she stepped out, my heart didn’t race—it slowed down, a cold, predatory focus taking over.

Grey and Troy were idiots; they saw a “hot teacher.” I saw a woman who spent every waking hour fighting herself. I saw the way her fingers trembled when she handed me my graded papers. I saw how she never looked me in the eye for more than two seconds because she was terrified of what she’d find there.

I leaned into the light, exhaling a slow cloud of smoke just as she looked my way. I caught it—that micro-second where her pupils dilated and her step faltered. She hated that I knew. She hated that I was the only person in this entire academy who saw the woman behind the “Director’s Daughter” mask.

The game was officially on.

The English room was thick with heat, but Tasha was trying to play it cool, acting the part of the ice-cold tyrant. Every time she snapped at me or Troy, it felt like a performance. She was overcompensating, using her “Ma’am” voice to build a wall between us that was already crumbling.

“I want an essay response… you don’t leave until I’m satisfied,” she barked.

I sat there for an hour, but I didn’t write a single word. Why would I? An essay was a conversation, and I didn’t want to talk to the teacher. I wanted to talk to Tasha. I watched her from the back row, noticing how she’d adjust her skirt or move a strand of hair whenever she felt my eyes on her. She was hyper-aware of me, a physical tension that made the air in the room feel heavy and electric.

When the bell rang, I walked up to her desk. I didn’t drop the paper; I placed it down like a challenge. It was blank. A white flag for her authority, or an invitation for her to finally take what she wanted.

“Everyone can go,” she said, her voice tight, nearly cracking. “Except for Mr. Coal.”

I heard the door lock. It was the sweetest sound I’d heard all year. She thought she was the one trapping me. She had no idea she had just locked herself in with the one person she couldn’t control.

“You think this is a joke?” she asked, marching toward me.

She was trying to loom over me, trying to use her height and her heels to intimidate. But I stayed seated, leaning back, letting my gaze wander slowly—deliberately—from her lips down to the frantic pulse in her throat.

“I didn’t think I needed to write anything,” I said, my voice dropping into that low register I knew made her skin crawl with heat. “You’ve been reading my mind all semester, Tasha.”

The sound of her name without the title hit her like a physical blow. She leaned over my desk, her expensive floral perfume mixing with the tobacco on my breath. She threatened to suspend me, but I could see the lie in her eyes.

“Then do it,” I whispered. “But you won’t. You locked the door for a reason.”

I didn’t give her time to think. I stood up, relishing the way she had to look up at me now, the power dynamic shifting in a heartbeat. I pinned her against that mahogany desk, my hands slamming down on either side of her. She looked like a deer in headlights—terrified, but breathless with anticipation.

“Don’t play with fire,” she gasped.

“I’m not playing,” I told her.

When I kissed her, it wasn’t about romance. It was about breaking the mask. I wanted to taste the desperation she’d been hiding behind those strict English lessons. She fought for a second—her pride putting up one last fight—before she let out a moan that told me everything I needed to know. She wasn’t my teacher anymore; she was just Tasha, and she was starving for the very thing she pretended to hate.

I carried her to the whiteboard, her legs wrapping around me with a frantic strength that surprised even me. She was all fire and hidden hunger. As I slammed her back against the board, the metallic clang echoed through the room—a loud, messy end to her perfect reputation.

I watched her face the whole time. I wanted to see the moment the “Tyrant” finally disappeared. When she sobbed my name, her eyes rolling back in pure, unadulterated surrender, I knew I had won. The ink from the whiteboard smudged onto her skin, staining the ice queen I had finally melted.

She was teaching me literature? No. I was teaching her that authority meant nothing when the door was locked.

“BRRIIIIINGGGG!”

The bell was a nuisance, a reminder that the world outside was still filled with people who believed her act. I stepped back, my pulse steadying as I fixed my uniform. I looked at her—flushed, ruined, and beautiful—slumped against the desk we had just cleared.

I leaned in, catching her scent one last time, and pressed a kiss to her shoulder.

“Class is dismissed, Miss Tasha,” I whispered, the smirk back on my face. “Try to keep that ‘strict’ attitude tomorrow. It makes the punishment so much better.”

I walked out without looking back, the “Devil” leaving the sanctuary he had just desecrated. I knew she’d be back tomorrow. And I knew she’d be even stricter—just so I’d have a reason to break her all over again.

THE END (A Standalone One-Shot)