Page 83 of She’s Worth the Risk

“I know.” She cringes. “I really just wanted to ask about the textbooks.”

I steeple my hands in front of me, studying her carefully, and she issues a quiet laugh, glancing down.

“That’s a lie. I wanted to see you. To talk to you about class.”

I smile knowingly. It’s strange, but being back here with her, I feel more grounded and powerful than ever. It could be because we’re on campus, in my office, where I’m capable and in control. It could be because Zinnia has unleashed a side to me I didn’t even know was in there.

Or it could be because I’ve never been more certain about how I feel.

“And I want to hear about it,” I say. “I love seeing you so excited.”

She lifts her gaze to mine again, mouth tugging into a radiant smile.

“Are you free after life drawing tonight?”

She shakes her head. “I have plans with Gran.”

I straighten my glasses, absorbing this. That means at least two days until I’m alone with her again.

I can’t wait that long.

But… I hesitate, caught between duty and desire. I could send her away—should send her away—but if I’m entirely honest with myself, I don’t want to. All I can think about is the regret I felt after the first time I turned her down in June’s studio. Hell, the regret I still feel for every time I didn’t let her in. I know I did the right thing by not laying a finger on her while she was my student, but I ache thinking about all the time we lost. Even if she’s staying in the city, I still don’t know how long she’ll be here. I still don’t know how much time I’ll get with her.

So, I make a decision. A choice, deliberate and measured, born out of need. Out of knowing what I have in front of me, and not wanting to let a single moment pass by.

“Lock my door,” I say roughly.

Her brows spring up, but she does as I ask, returning to my desk with a sly grin. My gaze strays to where her dress rises up her thighs, the smooth, milky-white skin begging for my touch. I let my hand drift there, stroking a finger under the hem, and she sucks in a breath.

“Professor,” she whispers in mock disapproval, and something about that makes blood rush to my cock.

I tug her into my lap. Her legs settle over me, the heat of her pressing against my erection. She feels it, rocking her hips, and the friction sends need spiraling through me. I think back to that night we had sex after life drawing, how wet she got when I talked dirty to her. How much it turned me on, too.

“Feel how hard I am, honey?”

Her eyes flash with heat. “Fuck yes. Is that for me?”

“You know it is.” I grind against her, torn between wanting to bury myself inside her and wanting to tease her a little more. “Are you wet for me?”

A challenge shimmers in her eyes, and I remember that word she loved.

“Is that sweet little pussy wet for me?”

A whimper escapes her. She brings her mouth close, hot breath fanning over my ear as she purrs, “I’m always wet for you, Professor.”

Holy shit.

My dick strains against my zipper, desperate for her. She feels it, rocking her hips faster against me, and I tense my muscles to contain the pleasure.

“Jesus,” I grit out. “You’ll make me lose it in my pants if you’re not careful.”

Her eyes glint. “Maybe that’s what I want,” she says wickedly. “Make you walk around sticky all day, so you can’t forget how dirty you really are.”

Christ.

Heat rockets through me, but it’s chased by something else. The need to remind her that even though we’re not in class anymore, I’m still the one in charge. We’re on my territory now.

My grip tightens on her hips. “Or maybe you’re the one who needs a lesson in how to behave.”