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“This will give me a chance to pick your brain,” she teased, and I gave her a surprised look as we weaved through the bustling café, her words momentarily overriding everything else.
“Mine? Whatever for?”
“I’ve read your papers,” she confessed shyly, and dread came back in a tidal wave.
What else had she read?
“Oh?” I tried to keep my voice light, my tone casual. Opening the door, she slipped out first, her surprisingly spicy, woodsy scent hitting me. I didn’t like the way it smelled—it was all wrong. Not how I imagined Winona would smell. She would smell sweet, like summer in the tropics or a bakery with fresh cupcakes. She would smell perfect. Lovely.
Addicting.
“I particularly loved the one about?—”
I ran straight into something, and the coffee flew from my hand, soaking the front of my clothes. I hissed as the hot liquid burned into my skin, but it was the small sound of the person I’d run into that made me freeze, that made my pain secondary.
“Oh my God!” Cassandra cried, gripping my arm. From the tone of her voice, I assumed she had a nasty snarl on her face, but I didn’t care. I couldn’t take my eyes off the blue ones holding me captive.
“I’m so sorry,” Winona said, her voice shaky. “I’m so sorry. Oh God. Are you alright?” She scanned me, her hands frantic at her sides, like she was forcing herself to not reach out.
“You’ve spilled hot coffee all over him,” Cassandra hissed. I knew I should say something, but I couldn’t. “Are you okay, Professor Ashford?”
Winona’s eyes widened. “Professor…great.” Embarrassment filled her face, her cheeks turning more rosy. Like the first time I saw her, she wore a skirt, this one denim with buttons along the front. A black t-shirt with writing on it was tucked in, and the same messenger bag hung on her shoulder.
I tried not to let the fact that she didn’t recognize me sting too badly. Clearly, I hadn’t taken up residence in her mind the same way she had in mine.
“I’m fine,” I said hoarsely. “Are you alright, Ms. Beckett?”
I was fully aware of Cassandra’s gaze on me, probably wondering how I remembered Winona and not her. Comparatively, Winona was plain. Simple. Cassandra had the look to her that told everyone she was fun. Winona didn’t. She was but a steady rock in the chaotic stream of life.
Maybe that’s what drew me to her.
The promise of security. There would be no surprises from her. She’d be everything I needed and wanted, and would never waver from that. But Cassandra would demand excitement. Excitement I couldn’t and wouldn’t give.
Winona stared at me with wide eyes, and her full lips, today slathered with a soft pink, parted. “Ms. Beckett?” I wouldn’t allow myself to say her name. I couldn’t. Not when my cock was hard and leaking in my slacks, completely unperturbed by the boiling coffee that had just landed on it.
“Am I alright?” She gave me a bewildered look, like she couldn’t believe I was checking on her. I was more than fine, though I was beginning to feel the rawness of my skin rub against my trousers. It was her I was worried about. She looked so shell-shocked, and I didn’t understand why.
“Yes,” I said, licking my lips. “Are you?—”
“Professor,” Cassandra interjected, sliding her hand onto my forearm. The gesture was far too familiar than it should’ve been for just meeting. “We should get you cleaned up before class.” But when I finally pulled my gaze from Winona’s face, it wasn’t Cassandra I looked at. It was Winona’s body. Her body was covered in coffee. Coffee that should’ve landed on me. Not her.
It must’ve burned her delicate skin—skin that shouldn’t be anything but perfect. Never feel anything but tenderness. Maybe the occasional smack from my belt or the bruising grip of my fingers. But it would make her feel good, never harm her.
“You’re hurt,” I told Winona, ignoring Cassandra altogether.
“I’m fine. Just a bit of coffee.” Winona glanced at the other girl, her throat bobbing. “I’ll see you in class.” She sounded almost reluctant, like she wasn’t looking forward to it.
“I have an extra set of clothes in my office,” I offered. “Nothing fancy, and you might look like a child playing dress-up in her father’s closet…but they’re yours.”
She looked even more bewildered than before as she shook her head. “It’s fine.”
“You can’t sit in class with wet clothes.” Just the thought made me bristle. Absolutely not. I would never allow that. “Come.” I held my arm out, motioning toward the English building, leaving no room for argument.
But I should just let her go. It was her choice whether she wanted to sit in those coffee-soaked clothes or not. I shouldn’t push her, yet I couldn’t help it. The need inside me was getting stronger, and no matter how hard I tried to fight it, it yanked on me, demanding I get closer to her. Touch her. Taste her.
Her reluctance vibrated between us, electrifying the air. I wanted to demand she follow me, but I couldn’t. Not with Cassandra there?—
Fuck. Cassandra.
