Dear Professor(83)

He pushed up and out of his chair and stalked around his desk although he’d just sat down. I inhaled sharply, but he swept right past me and toward his door. Just when I thought he might pull it open and tell me to leave before he lost his temper, he turned the lock.

The click echoed through the air, and it did nothing for the butterflies that were rapidly fluttering in my stomach.

I hated him again. Hated everything he’d done and how he’d treated me. I despised Professor Jordan Keaton, but I also craved him as badly as I needed my next breath.

He didn’t look at me as he shrugged his jacket off and hung it up on the hook on the door. He still didn’t look at me as he unbuttoned the sleeves of his crisp, white shirt and rolled them up to above his elbows. His upper arms strained against the fabric, his toned biceps becoming delightfully visible.

“Now, let’s try this again,” he said, his voice deathly low. It scared me and thrilled me all at the same time. “Take a moment, Darcy. Imagine why I might possibly be pissed off with you.”

I dropped the lock of hair I had been twirling and looked at his pants. Despite his anger, the bulge gave his attraction away.#p#分页标题#e#

“I’m standing in front of you as opposed to being on my knees with your cock in my mouth?”

He jerked his head around, piercing me with those eyes. “Keep running your mouth, sweet thing. I dare you.”

“Or what? Really, what are you going to do to me in your office, Professor? Give me lines? Make me write an essay on why young ladies should be seen and not heard?”

And there were my sassy pants. Or, rather, panties. I had my attitude in spades, and I was going to unleash every bit of it on him.

His jaw ticked, his lips tightening, and he moved toward me so quickly that I took a step backward. It was useless though, like I had known it would be. The grip he had on my wrist was so certain, the tug toward him so strong, that I couldn’t fight him.

My body slammed into his, and no sooner had the air rushed from my body than he pulled the skirt of my dress up. Cold air flitted across my bare backside, but it was replaced almost instantly with one sharp smack.

My pussy clenched, and I bit the inside of my cheek to stop myself from whimpering. In pain or pleasure—I had no clue. I should have known that it was coming. More fool me.

“That,” he growled into my ear. “That is what I’ll do if you keep sassing me, Miss Hamilton.”

I wondered if he knew how strongly I was considering continuing to sass him just for that purpose. “Understood,” I said. “So, do you care to enlighten me? What did I do?”

He let my dress go and slid his hand up my back. His breath was hot against my skin as he sank his fingers into my hair and turned me around so my back was to him.

“Last night,” he replied, his lips close to my ear. “Your little show.”

“That is my job.”

He tugged on my hair. “Did you ask me?”

“You’re not my boss, Jordan. Neither are you my fucking keeper.”

His grip grew tighter, so much so that my head tilted back. “Darcy. Did. You. Fucking. Ask. Me?”

“No,” I ground out, my jaw clamped.

“Did you think I wouldn’t see that email the second you sent it? Did you really fucking think I wouldn’t know that you were spending your night in front of your camera, with your finger rubbing that little clit of yours? When you know you’re not supposed to?” Roughly, he pushed his hand beneath my dress and teased his fingertips along the line of my panties. “Did you think you’d be able to walk into my classroom today and I wouldn’t know that at least one or two of those students hadn’t watched you as you fucked your own fingers? Or jerked themselves off as you fucked that vibrator like it was my cock?”

“No,” I breathed out, my lips parting as his hand dipped beneath my panties.

The tip of one of his fingers ghosted across my clit, and it sent a bolt of pleasure through me.

“I didn’t hear you,” he rasped in my ear, flicking his finger across my clit.

“No,” I repeated, this time more forcefully. “I knew you would. And I didn’t give a shit.” I gasped as he pushed down hard on the sensitive spot.

“We made a deal,” he reminded me, his tone tight with anger. And thick with desire.

“And you won’t let me forget it.”

“Damn straight I won’t. I have your fucking signature that says I won’t.” He pulled his hand from between my legs but kept me in place with his grip on my hair. “Now, are you going to renege on it again, or are you going to behave yourself?”