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It’s been way too long since it saw any action other than my right hand, and we’rebothfeeling the pain.
I need a fucking drink.
“Did you see Malia? Is she out of the shower?”
“Yep.” Grunt. Maybe a yes. Maybe a no. Make of it what you will.
Definitely out of the shower. Saw more of her than I bargained for…and at the same time, nowhere near enough.
Will I ever get my fill of her? Will I ever get to fill her?
I can’t get this girl out of my head, and now she’s in my house. I’m going to have to move into my apartment on campus in the teachers’ quarters. I’d rather stick rusty pins in my eyeballs than sleep in the same block as my colleagues, but what other choice do I have?
Malia-Tarni is temptation personified. If I stay here, I’ll crumble. My dick will never survive if she keeps squeaking “professor” at me. I could tell her to call me Vance, but I love the way she’s always equal parts terrified and indignant when she cries my name.
I’d love to hear her scream it. Tomakeher scream it.
“So is she coming?”
I fucking wish. All over my fingers, then my face and my dick. More times than we can both count.
“Yeah.” Ugh. This answer requires more than a grunt. With difficulty, from between my clenched teeth, I add, “She’s just getting dressed.”
“Oh good. I hope you were nice to her,” Bhodi says reproachfully.
I flick him the bird and pour myself a Scotch. No ice. No room for air in the glass either.
Gripping it firmly, I lift the cut glass tumbler and toss the deep copper liquid back in one. It burns all the way down, but not as much as Malia’s reproachful look when she called me unprofessional for beinghalf-cutat work. Not as much as the parts of me that bumped into Malia’s bare skin.
Fuck. The vision is burned into my memory, but I don’t want to wait until later to act on it.I need to act now.
I slam the glass down and pour another, remembering the sassy way she called me Sir and asked if there was a problem with my ears.Christ, I hope she brings that attitude to the bedroom…
And down goes the next drink. Doesn’t even touch the sides.
I’m so fucked, and the shit hasn’t even hit the fan yet.
Dressing in a hurry, mindful of the fact that they’ve obviously become impatient and I perhaps spent a little too long in the shower, I roughly towel off my hair. And then I can’t find a brush so I have to comb my fingers through the tangles and make do. I probably look a right mess, but that should be the least of my worries I tell myself as I head downstairs.
All conversation stops as I round the corner and three pairs of eyes look my way. They’re all seated around the dining table, the professor too, but he doesn’t look at me.
My doctor is here. Shit. They must have called him.
“Hi. Erm. Sorry I kept you waiting.” I falter, unsure what to say now.
“Here. Take a seat. Eat,” Bhodi offers, literally kicking out the chair opposite him. It screeches across the floor, making me flinch, and the professor gives him a murderous glare.
It makes me glad I’m not the only one on the receiving end of those hateful looks.
Slipping into my seat, I stare at the mountain of food lining the table before me. Wow. Who made all of this? There’s no way the five of us can eat this much food.
“Let’s eat,” the prof states. “We can talk after.”
I don’t wait to be told twice, my stomach protesting at how empty it feels as soon as the delicious scents hit my nose. Did I even eat last night? I try to recall when I slipped away to the bathroom. I don’t think I did eat. Unless that awful mouthful of…ugh chickenliverpaté counts. And it definitely doesn’t count. My stomach churns just thinking of it, but the mouthwatering smell of bacon overrides my repulsion.
The room is tense and virtually silent as everyone eats. Despite my hunger, my stomach twists in knots, and I find myself pushing more food around my plate than actually in my mouth.
“You should eat.” His harsh tone makes me jump in my seat and when I look up, the prof’s angry ebony burning gaze is upon me. The others have stilled, watching our interaction warily.
