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“The decision seems easy now, here, in the light of this classroom with the weight of your peers’ thoughts next to you. But does it feel the same in a dark room, with the smell of sex and the ache of arousal in every part of your being? Brontë captures this distinction poetically, and even still, maintains Catherine’s moral compass.”
I spin around to glance at the clock and catch a glimpse of Rachel’s open legs once more on the journey. I’ve never wanted a class to end and continue on into infinity simultaneously before, but the clock picks for me. The protection of Great Barrier Students is about to end, and I’ll be faced with the open waters of self-control.
“Time’s up for today. But I want you to consider everything I’ve said, and I want you to reread Emily’s prose with that in mind. If you were writing Catherine in modern times, would she have followed the same path? If you were writing her in the Victorian era, what then?”
The class murmurs and fidgets, their hurry to pack up their things and be on their way to someone else who’s trying to shape their minds self-evident.
“All right. Don’t get into too much trouble. Class dismissed.”
Students practically jump from their seats, grabbing their backpacks and shoving notebooks inside. I turn back to the desk at the front of the room and start organizing too, readying myself to pack up because this was my last class of the day.
I don’t look back at Rachel, and I don’t take a full breath either. I swear I’ve somehow converted to something that doesn’t need air—something amphibious or some shit—since the moment Rachel started messing with me an hour ago.
A fire burns inside me, both of desire and anger, and I’m faced with a dilemma. Let it go or confront her.
The rational part of me knows that letting it go is the better of the two options, but the flaming emotions inside me mean that’s never going to happen.
I keep one eye to the door and wait for my moment.
The last student floods into the hallway, and Rachel is quick on her heels. She knows what she’s been doing; she intends not to face it, and because of that, I intend to make her.
I follow immediately, leaving all my stuff behind on the desk without a thought.
I move swiftly, my legs working double time to both keep up but hang back enough that I can time my approach to just inside the door of my office—away from prying eyes. I know she has assignments to collect for grading and has run out of time to put it off. She has no choice but to stop by my office, and she has to do it now.
I keep step with her all the way down the hall, her legs churning and her head down and determined. If she has anything to say about it, she’s going to get the hell out of Dodge, but this time, I’m going to be the one with the last word.
She ducks into my office and tries to shut the door, but I’m there, just in time to smack it back open, step inside and close and lock it behind me. She swallows deeply as she meets my eyes and lifts her chin.
“Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?” I ask, dispensing with any kind of pretense that one or both of us doesn’t know what’s going on.
“I’m getting my stuff so I can—”
“No,” I interrupt with a shake of my head. “Not that. In class, Rachel. The panties. What in the hell are you trying to pull?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she tries to refute, turning to my desk to gather her belongings but coming up way short when I grab her elbow and spin her back around.
“Bullshit. You know what you were doing. What I want to know is what you expected to come of it? Do you want me to fuck you right here? Is that what you want?”
Her chest swells with the escalation of her breath, but she works diligently to maintain her innocence otherwise. “I was just messing around.”
“Fuck that, messing around. The hidden panties? That was messing around. You taking your jacket off and tilting your tits toward me every time I breathe? Messing around. Even taking back the underwear and stepping into them while you were standing right here in front of me? Messing around. But that shit you pulled in class today was more than messing around, Rach. And a man like me? If you’re not careful? I’ll take it as a challenge. Is that what you want?”
I step toward her one, two, three paces, until our chests rub together with panting breaths. She has fire in her eyes—the kind that screams in opposition to everything I’ve just said, just so she can be right on principle.
