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I lick my dry lips. “Lincoln.” This is wrong but it feels… I balance my hands on the podium, my thighs clenching together. “Lincoln looks to me, our faces so close, his breath mixes with mine. And then he—I mean, Lincoln—moves forward, his lips clashing with mine in a gentle kiss. I gasp into the kiss. Lincoln’s hands moving to cup my cheek, fingers pushing the button to move the seat back so he can fit his masculine body in the car with me, simultaneously pressing his lips harder as he climbs in and settles on top of me. Lincoln slowly raises my shirt over my head.”
Mr. Boyd shifts in his seat, jaw hardening.
“Lincoln frees my breasts from my bra, his hot mouth sucking gently on my nipples, rocking his…” I trail off because I can’t say it.
“Keep going, Callum. You’re almost done.”
I pause, my eyes narrowing. He’s read it.
“His hard, long length against me, making me come.”
There. I’m done now. I can go home and pretend this never happened.
“A few things,” Mr. Boyd speaks, his voice a tad hoarse. “One, I’m never gentle. I like whoever I fuck to be a writhing, crying mess in my arms. Two, I’d never fuck a student. Especially not one who can’t say the wordcock. Because that’s what you wrote, isn’t it, Miss Madison?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“That’s right. You wrote,his hard, long cock.”
I nod again.
He stares at me for a long time before rising. “I expect you to grade the papers you didn’t finish tonight. I want them on my desk by seven-fifteen in the morning.”
I nod, walking to my things on shaky legs. Grabbing them, I turn. He drops the papers on my table. “Can I have your number?”I ask softly.
“For what?” he asks, muscle jumping in his jaw.
“In case I have a question over the papers I’m grading.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. Suddenly, he grabs my waist, pulling me to him. He clicks his pen, writing his number in red ink on the white of my dress, over the swell of my breast beneath. “Now leave, Miss Madison.”
“But what about—”
“Out,” he barks, turning away from me.
I walk to my car in silence, his number burning a hole into my skin through my dress. That didn’t just happen, did it? Did I just read my fantasy aloud to the man I write them about?
His name’s Lincoln. It’s fitting. Strong and brooding sounding like him.
Lincoln Boyd.
CHAPTER TEN
I pourscotch in my crystal glass, the brown liquid deep and inviting. A promise of forgetting the past events of this week. Fuck, of this night. It started like any Friday night, I was twisting the red pen between my fingers, a smile twitching on my lips as I imagined the disappointed faces of my students when they get their papers back. But then my phone rang, my mother calling. I ignored it, but then it rang again. So, I hit the Ignore button. Then at home, right as I was about to change, my doorbell rings. And lo and behold, my mother was standing at my doorstep, sad puppy dog eyes pleading at me to join thefamilydinner. So, I suffered through a horrible dinner with my bastard of a stepdad and arrogant stepbrother. It was the worst way to start a weekend.
The stack of white paper catches my eye. The thick, forbidden papers of my student’s fantasies. I had no right reading her personal journal, absolutely zero grounds to print it, and the day I had her read one in her shy voice and blushing cheeks, I knew I didn’t give a fuck if I lost my job. Because I have to have her. Which is why every time she came to my desk, asking about her grades, I blew her off. Because smelling her intoxicating scent of rose water and lemon had me contemplating how much trouble I would get in for laying her out on my desk and eating her pussy in front of all my students. Basically, I’ve lost my ever-loving mind.
I grab the glass, it’s cold to the touch from the three ice cubes I put in there. I bring it to my lips, about to savor the rich flavor, when my phone goes off. “Damn it,” I mumble, grabbing the phone and answering the unknown number. “What?” I snap.
Whoever is on the other line is in a loud place, music thumping through speakers, people shouting over police sirens. “Shoot,” the small voice mumbles.
I sit up straighter. “Miss Madison?”
“Umm…” she trails off as I hear a police officer order everyone to come out of hiding over a megaphone. “Yeah, obviously I have the wrong number and I… Oh shit. I have to go.”
“Hold on, where are you?” I ask, already grabbing my keys.
“I’m not telling you.” Her whisper is full of defiance that makes me fist my keys in my hand.
