Page 6 of Misadventures with a Professor
In interest. In desire.
She’s too innocent by far.
“You think men don’t want you?” I ask in a low voice, taking a step forward. She watches me with an eager trepidation, and it makes me harder than I thought possible. “Everything about your body reminds a man of fucking. Your tits, your mouth, those ridiculous hips. Even those big blue eyes of yours make a man wonder what they’d look like peering up at him with you on your knees. Looking at him from over your shoulder as he bends you over his desk.” I stop abruptly, my words getting too personal, too tailored to my own fucked-up needs.
She releases that lower lip, and I’m nearly undone by how open she looks, how vulnerable. I want to sweep her into my arms and cover all that vulnerability with my body—protect her from the world even as I refuse to protect her from myself.
Get a fucking grip, Oliver.
This can’t happen.
But what if it could? I won’t ever have to see this girl again. She’s not my student.
She’s not Rosie, the little voice reminds me. She can’t hurt you.
“Well, then it’s simple,” the girl says, as if she can read my thoughts. “If you’re attracted to my body and you’re unattached—”
“It’s complicated,” I say, pushing past her to splash my way to the hotel. She has no idea how complicated.
She has no idea how wrong.
Like before, she follows me. “Please. I promise I’m not crazy. I’m just tired of—” She stops, seems to change her words. “Tired of not having sex. Please.”
“It’s for your own good,” I mutter, even though my entire body is swirling with the need to give her what’s actually for her own good, which is her over my lap, legs kicking adorably, as I redden her ass with my palm.
I’m so hard now. Hard enough that it must be obvious. Hard enough to be past caring. Hard enough that the minute I slip inside my hotel room, I’m going to have a hand braced on the door while my other fists my cock.
“How do you know what’s for my own good?” the girl asks, and it’s the way she asks that makes my steps falter. She doesn’t demand it like most women would, and she doesn’t deny that I might. That I might know what’s for her own good and that I might know it well enough to tell her.
No.
No.
“We’re not doing this,” I tell her as we reach the doors of the Douglass, and I recognize how ridiculous it is that I’m holding the door open for this woman even as I’m trying to push her away. “You’re just going to have to trust me.”
She steps inside, and it’s so bright that my eyes take a moment to adjust. When they d
o, I see that she’s shoving my jacket at me.
“Here. Thank you for this, and take it back. And for the record, I don’t trust you, and why should I? I’m a grown woman and I don’t know you—and also I’ve done a lot of research about sex, so I’m pretty sure I know what I’m talking about.”
She’s gesturing now, the hand still clutching her shoes waving them around, but I’m not watching the shoes, I’m watching her—the almost embarrassingly generous curves of her. Not embarrassing because of the generosity but because of the near-wantonness of them. The illicit thoughts those curves conjure even fully clothed as she is.
Of course, fully clothed is a misleading term at the moment, because yes, that little waist and those lavish tits and hips are covered with fabric, but the wet dress clings to every contour and swerve of her body. I can even make out the gentle dip of her navel, the place where her thighs meet her body. The sweet bullets of her nipples.
Even the rest of her body is wanton: the long arch of her neck, still slicked with rain, the exposed square of her shoulders, the long wet hair that waves in dark webs down her back and over the elegant line of her collarbone.
Even her innocent anger feels tempting. Even the cocoon of inexperience around her drives me crazy.
Even that goddamn watch is irresistible.
I take my jacket and start walking to the lift. I have to put some space between us or my skin’s going to catch on fire.
“Please?” she asks one last time. “Please?”
“No.” I’m almost to the lift doors now, I’m almost safe.
Or rather, she’s almost safe.
