Page 17 of His Favorite Student
“He touched you…”
“My arm.” I keep my voice low. There’s already enough tension. “Just my arm.”
His jaw flexes. He looks after Belcher, and I watch his nostrils flare like a wild animal ready to attack. I’m pretty sure if we weren’t on campus and Belcher wasn’t part of the faculty, this would be getting resolved in averydifferent manner.
“He won’t bother you again,” August says, his voice solid like concrete. “I promise.”
“It’s okay—”
“Jessie.” He looks deep into my eyes, setting something on fire inside me. “Hewill notbother you again.”
Wow.
I should be scared by the absolute certainty of his statement. Talk about possessive. Becca would probably tell me it’s a red flag for a man—a much older man that I just met and who is my professor—to be saying something like that to me. And she would probably be right.
I should find it controlling. A red flag the size of the quad where we’re standing. But instead, my body does something without even asking my brain first: It floods with warmth that spreads through my chest, down my arms, and to my center.
My eyes move to his lips, and instantly, I’m back to yesterday when he had them wrapped around my…well,you know.
He’s also still holding my arm, right here in the middle of the quad in full view of tons of students. His thumb still moves absentmindedly across my skin, slow circles that I now know he doesn’t even realize he’s making.
“You didn’t even look at me during the lecture,” I say without thinking. I don’t know why, except for the fact that the thought’sbeen sitting in my mind since I got up slowly from my seat, begging for him to look at me. “Not even once.”
He stares at me for a moment as the afternoon sun shines down on us and students pass by. I don’t notice any of them. Justhim. It’s like we’re in our own little world where nothing else matters.
“It was nearly impossible not to, Jessie,” he finally growls. “I knew that if I looked at you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”
My heart pulses, leaping in a way I’m certain can’t be found in any textbook.
“You don’t know how hard it is for me not to tear your clothes off right now, Jessie,” he says, his voice low. “My cock is so hard. I want to feel you, taste you,take you.”
“August—” My voice barely comes out. My legs wobble. If he keeps this up, I might pass out.
“Tomorrow. Same time,” he says abruptly, like he’s changing the subject. “There’s…more materialI need to go over with you.”
I’m scorching inside. I have goosebumps all over.Goodgoosebumps. “More material?”
He nods, his eyes burning for me. “Significantly more.”
This is the part where I say no. Where I tell him that what happened yesterday can’t happen again and that we should keep our relationship just teacher-student.
But I can’t. Not while he’s looking at me with those amazing green eyes. Not while he has his hand on my skin and my body is screaming‘yes, yes, yes!’from every intimate region.
“Tomorrow. Same time,” I say.
His hold on me tightens, and for a split second, I’m sure he’s going to lean in and kiss me.
But he doesn’t. He steps back, fixes his collar, and gives me a very professional nod. Almost like it’s a show for anyone who might be watching or listening. “See you in class, Miss Monroe.”
Before I can respond, he turns and walks away. I watch him cross the quad. His broad shoulders, confident stride, the way people move out of his way automatically. A group of girls stare and giggle to each other as he passes, and I feel a pang of jealousy ignite inside me.
No. He wants me.
Heart pounding, I open my notebook.
I told myself what happened yesterday wouldn’t happen again. But I was lying to myself. I’ll see him again tomorrow.
I start to close the notebook, but a thought hits me.
