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“As I was saying, if you feel uncomfortable with anything during this class”—he looked solely at me, his dark gaze lingering, and tugged on his tie to loosen it—“your safeword this semester will be unicorn. Do you understand?”
Students in class nodded.
“I need a verbal response,” he said.
In unison, students murmured in response.
He stepped toward me, his gaze making me feel all sorts of things that, as his student, I shouldn’t feel at all. He cleared his throat, his large hand sprawling across the desk. “Miss Monroe?”
“I understand,” I murmured.
“Louder.”
My cheeks flushed from embarrassment. “I understand.”
“Good girl.”
Warmth exploded between my thighs, my nipples aching from two words. Two freaking words, and he already had me a wet, sopping mess. We weren’t even alone, and he … he had no problem with calling me a … a good girl.
Fuck.
“This is a contract,” he said, handing a stack of papers to each person in the front row.
I took a sheet from the stack and passed it back to the student behind me. Grabbing my pen, I glanced down at the sheet labeled Sex Education Class Agreement, along with an attached syllabus with classes named Throat Fucking 101, Obedience 101, Degradation 101, and … much more.
“You don’t need a contract for every type of relationship that you find yourself in, but we’ll be going through some basic BDSM in this class, so I’m required to introduce you to the contractual side of a sexual relationship.”
The contractual side?
My gaze drifted down the page as I briefly scanned it. According to this, we’d get a textbook that explained different types of sexual intercourse and the basics of BDSM, like relationships and partnerships, toys, and more.
“If you continue down the page,” he said, as if he had been talking and I had completely zoned out while staring at the glaring words of dominance and submission, master and slave, sadist and masochist.
“Will there be demonstrations?” someone asked to my left.
“Yes.”
Snapping my gaze to him, I sucked in a sharp breath and pressed my thighs together.
Did he say demonstrations? How is he going to demonstrate? What will he demonstrate? The sex positions? How to be a dom? On a student?
On … me?
“Sierra, you’ll learn how to properly masturbate during this class, so you won’t have to grind those thighs together,” he said, peering up from the master contract he held and smirking at me. “I doubt that makes you feel any good, does it?”
I sucked in another sharp breath, heat exploding through my core and cheeks reddening. I opened and shut my mouth three times in a row, attempting to find the words to respond. But everyone was staring at me, and I couldn’t get anything out but, “Sorry, sir,” as I stopped rubbing my legs together.
“I didn’t say to stop,” Professor Patton said, returning to his paper. “Continue.”
Cheeks flaming hot, I dropped my gaze to the desk in front of me and tried to ignore all the other students’ stares. Why did he call me out like that? I hadn’t even realized that I had been so … uncomfortable.
My nipples poked against my shirt, and I pressed them against the desk so nobody could see them. My body felt like it was on fire, like the flames were overtaking every inch of my skin, my thighs, my pussy.
Fifteen minutes later, once I finally calmed down, Professor Patton walked behind his desk. “That’s all for tonight. I’ll see you all next week.” He glanced up at me. “Sierra Monroe. Please, stay after. We need to chat.”
So, as all the students cleared out of the room, I quietly gathered my belongings and hoped that everyone would completely forget that I even existed. I wanted to crawl into a hole and die after tonight.
Once I slung my backpack over my shoulder, I walked to the front.
