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“The books on the shelves. This was the only decent option.” She tapped the cover of the book with the tip of her finger. “You need to get more. Maybe students would be more interested in reading.”
I grinned. “Duly noted, Ms. Beckett.” She scooted to the edge of the chair, looking like she was ready to bolt, and panic shot through me. I just got her; I couldn’t let her go now. “Wait.”
Her entire body froze at the hysteric tone of the word. My chest heaved as I took a breath, then another, my mind racing as I tried to think of a reason to keep her here, just a bit longer.
“Have you eaten lunch?” I blurted.
Of all the things I could come up with, that’s what I thought of? Idiot. Moronic fucking idiot.
“Um, no. Not yet. I was going to the dining hall after leaving here.” She shifted in her seat, and the hem of her dress rose slightly on her thighs.
“Eat with me.” I reached for my bag as she shook her head.
“I couldn’t?—”
“I insist.” My hands shook as I opened it and pulled the sandwich out. “It’s nothing fancy, I’m afraid. Just a turkey club.”
“It’s really okay,” she said, sounding unsure. I paused, my fingertips turning white as I gripped the thin paper bag.
I forced my voice to be light as I said, “Will you at least keep me company? It gets awfully lonely being the new guy.” I meant it as a joke, but the words held a certain truth to them I wasn’t ready to admit or explore.
Shit. Was I lonely?
Her face softened, and I couldn't have cared less about the pity in her eyes. The only thing that mattered was that she was looking at me. Some might call it manipulative to play on her sympathy like this, to use it as a weapon against her, but I didn't care. I’d do anything to make her stay.
Sighing, I ran my hand over my jaw, slightly rough with a day’s worth of stubble. “I’m sorry, that was incredibly unprofessional. Please—” I waved my hand toward the door, peeking at her from under my brows, hoping she didn’t take the bait.
She glanced that way and delicately cleared her throat before looking back at me. The sway of her body caused a rush of air toward me, the sweet scent of her perfume filled my nostrils. My cock throbbed in its cage, begging for freedom. Begging for my fist—or better yet, begging for her tight cunt.
I watched the thoughts whirl through her pretty head as she weighed her options. Should she stay or go? I gave her the softest, most reassuring smile. One that beckoned her to stay. One that said I wasn’t anything but a lonely professor at a new school. I was totally harmless….right?
“I’ll stay,” she said softly.
The words sounded like nails in her own coffin, and I smiled.
“Thank you, Ms. Beckett.” I let my voice drop in that way I knew made the girls squirm and press their thighs together, trying to find relief from their suddenly pulsating clit.
A blush bloomed across her cheeks, and she tucked her hair behind her ear again, a breathy laugh leaving her, and I knew my words, my tone, had hit the mark. I leaned back in my chair, letting myself take her in once more.
The top of her dress had a slight V and was just a bit too tight across her full tits, the exposed skin looking so soft and sweet, sprinkled with faint freckles. What would it be like to rest my head there, to listen to the steady rhythm of her heartbeat before sliding my mouth lower and sucking her peaked nipple into my mouth, tonguing it until she was a needy mess?
My gaze lowered to the hem that had risen up her thighs as she sat down, giving me a better look at the way they pressed firmly together. I let my eyes travel up to the apex of her thighs, and without my consent, my hand drifted higher up my own thigh. Hers looked so fucking soft and warm—like the perfect pillows to cradle me as I feasted on her for hours.
I couldn’t stop myself from just staring at her, from taking in every inch of her perfect, soft body. My hand drifted over the ache in my pants, the warm metal digging into my palm through the fabric.
“Do you have a favorite book?” she asked shyly. I loved knowing she felt unsure of herself, of this interaction. Not because she wanted out of it—if she did, she could’ve left—but because she had as big of a crush on me as I did her. Even if she didn’t outright say it, I could see it in her eyes, in her movements. She wanted me.
Immediately, thoughts of the book Lolita came to mind, but I couldn’t very well tell her that. Telling anyone your favorite book was Lolita was akin to tattooing “pervert” across your forehead.
“I’m afraid I’m rather unoriginal,” I said, and she tilted her head to the side. She looked so intrigued, like she was hanging on my every word. “Anna Karenina.”
“Can’t say I’ve read it,” she told me, and I gasped, feigning outrage as I pressed my hand to my chest.
“Never read Tolstoy? That’s a crime, Ms. Beckett.” A soft giggle left her, her eyes twinkling as she watched me.
“I’ll rectify it soon.”
“Good—” I cut myself off there. Calling her a good girl would be going too far. But one day, and I hoped it would be one day soon, she’d hear those words fall from my lips as I watched her take every inch in her little body. I blinked, forcing the thoughts away. “And your favorite book?”
