“Thank you,” I say, and the words come out strangled.
He sits back, folding his arms, and regards me for a long moment. “Why do you want to pass this class?” he asks.
I blink. “I need the credit,” I say, because that’s what any desperate student would say.
“That’s not an answer,” he says. “Why do you want to passmyclass?”
I can’t look at him. I stare at my knees. “Because you’re a good teacher,” I say, voice tiny. “And I want you to think well of me.”
He leans in, close enough that I can see the flecks of gray in his beard. “You want me to think you’re special.”
I don’t answer.
He lets the silence throb. “Stand up,” he says, finally.
I stand, legs unsteady, heart galloping.
“Face the blackboard,” he says, indicating the far wall where a small chalkboard has been propped on an easel.
I walk to it, every step an event. I stand in front of it, hands at my sides.
“Pick up the eraser,” he says.
I do. The eraser is heavier than it looks, covered in chalk dust.
“Now bend,” he says, “and wipe the board clean.”
My skirt barely covers my ass as I bend at the waist. I do as told, heart pounding so hard I’m afraid it’ll be audible. I swipe the board slowly, waiting, hoping, terrified and yet full of anticipation of what comes next.
When I look over my shoulder, Talon’s still seated, pen in hand, but his eyes are molten blue.
“You forgot something important,” he says, voice cool but jagged at the edges.
“Sorry, Professor,” I say.
He stands, comes around the desk, and walks up behind me. I can feel the heat from his body, the magnetism of him. His hand comes down on my lower back, not hard, but enough to make me gasp.
He leans in. “Why aren’t you wearing panties, Miss Vreeland?”
I’m so wet I think he can probably smell my sweet nectar. My voice shakes. “I thought it would please you, Professor.”
He laughs, low and savage. “You’re smarter than you let on.”
He steps closer, his hand splaying across my ass, then slipping up the hem of my skirt. His fingers brush my bare flesh, then part my thighs. I almost fall forward, my knees are so weak.
“Are you always this wet in class?” he murmurs, and then he’s down on his knees behind me, hands on my hips, spreading me open. “Holy fuck.”
I bite my lip to keep from making a noise, but the first touch of his tongue on my pussy is so hot, so alive, that I moan despite myself.
“Ohhh,” I whimper as my lashes fall shut. “Mmm, that feels good!”
Talon eats me like it’s his last meal, tongue working me open, hands gripping my thighs hard enough to leave marks. I want to collapse, but he holds me up, one arm cinched around my waist. My forehead presses to the chalkboard. I close my eyes and let myself go. There’s nothing but his mouth, his tongue, the growing slickness and the sudden, sharp pleasure as he slides a finger inside me.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he rasps. “Absolutely soaked. You have a hungry pussy, Miss Vreeland, just waiting for a good fuck, don’t you?”
I don’t know how to reply so I just moan again while throwing my head back and wiggling a bit on his fingers.
“Ohhh,” I sigh. “Mmmm!”
