Page 15 of Broken Beauty (Beauty 3)
“Bullshit,” said the boy who’d spoken earlier, the one whose face seemed set in a perpetual frown. He was large too, bulky but also intimidating. The chair and table they us
ed looked too small for him.
“Sorry?” Blake asked casually.
“I said it’s bullshit. You said you aren’t here to tell us what to think, but you’re doing just that.”
“Do you disagree with my representation of the Third Punic War?” he inquired.
The boy made a rude sound. “You aren’t talking about any Punic War or the Romans, and we all know it.”
“Then who am I talking about?”
“You’re talking about the Iraq War. About Bush. This is some liberal propaganda.”
“It’s just a story. Why does it have to mean anything?”
“Because—” The boy broke off. He snorted softly. “Because it’s a goddamn precedent.”
Blake hummed in agreement and approval. “Precedent is useful for a lot of reasons, but stories are how we connect with the world, how we understand the bigger picture. I told a story about Rome, and you naturally connected that to Iraq. There’s power in stories. Never underestimate that.”
He directed their attention back to the textbook, but Erin felt much more interested in these theoretical words now that she understood the application. Everyone seemed to join in with enthusiasm, even the boy who had challenged Blake before. Any animosity had faded under the strength of curiosity…and the power of stories.
No, she wouldn’t likely underestimate that again. Nor would she underestimate him again. He may have been reluctant to accept the job, but once here, he would have no reservations about performing to his fullest. And his fullest was very, very good.
If she hadn’t known him before, she was pretty sure she’d have a major crush on her professor at this point. But she had known him before, had seen him joyous and brought low. She’d seen him laugh with abandon and climax with an agonized groan. Her feelings right now transcended a crush. They soared into love.
CHAPTER FIVE
Erin spent her days in class or in the library working on her research paper. Her nights were always spent in the same place—Blake’s arms. Sometimes in her apartment, but more often at his place so as to let her roommate sleep in peace. Courtney never mentioned the noise except to keep a running tally on the whiteboard in the kitchen of how long it had been since she’d gotten laid.
The two summer sessions were highly abbreviated. Instead of meeting twice a week for a whole semester, they met every day for six weeks. The next thing Erin knew they were halfway through. Halfway to her goal and completely, head over heels in love with Blake.
She’d been worried about him being her professor—more than she’d let on to him or Courtney. But he was respectful and considerate to all his students, and she was eager to learn from him. Everything was almost perfect. Almost, because they still had to keep things a secret. That night, she drove to his place.
She wanted to throw her arms around him when he opened the door. His grin was mischievous, holding both a question for her and pride at a job well done. Instead she settled for a huge smile in return. She couldn’t have held it back anyway. He’d been amazing in class, authoritative and relatable as usual.
“You were fantastic. I knew you would be, but damn. You even surpassed what I was thinking.”
He shut the door as she passed. “No one ran away screaming, so I’m calling it a win.”
She rolled her eyes. “No one even notices how you look anymore.”
Though she noticed how he looked now, still wearing his slacks and dress shirt, though he’d rolled the sleeves up. His clothes were a little rumpled, his hair a little mussed. Her hungry gaze roamed his body, and when she met his eyes, the desire in them matched her own.
He pressed her against the wall. His kiss said it wasn’t a good time for discussion. It demanded things of her, things like submission and sweetness, like passion and playfulness, and she was too happy to oblige. His tongue darted into her mouth and then out again, quicksilver, and she was left to chase into his with her own.
His hand cupped her neck, a solid and comforting touch that morphed into something dirtier as he grasped her hair. She gasped at the sensation. Her cunt clenched in time with his fist. His other hand slid up from her waist, underneath her shirt, the hot contact enough to melt her into the implacable surface behind her.
He broke the kiss but continued to touch her, everywhere, as if it had been months or years instead of hours and days.
“It’s harder than I expected.” He nibbled a path down her neck.
Oh God, that felt good. Her hips bucked. “Teaching the class?”
“Pretending I don’t know you.”
Her heart squeezed. “For me too. But I’m proud every time I see you there.”
