Teach Me(50)

My breath hitches when I realize what it really is. A blindfold.

I’ve never done anything like this. The most adventurous I’ve gotten in the sex department before meeting Jack was occasionally hooking up in the empty library with Derrick.

But I’ve always wondered what it would feel like. Total surrender.

My heart beats louder as I reach the hall leading to his office. There’s a note taped to the door. Report season—Do not disturb.

I rap twice and wait, my breath trapped in my lungs. We’ve done this before, of course. But it feels different now. Purposeful. Another student passes me in the hall, and I bunch up the length of silk in my fist, flashing her a nervous smile.

I didn’t think about this last time. Last time, at the kind of early o’clock in the morning when hardly anyone was around to begin with, we didn’t stop to think about anything much. Not about people overhearing us, or passing in the hallways. Not about who might see us, what they might think.

I’m talking myself into an endless loop of nervous when the door in front of me clicks open.

“Ms. Reed?”

I sidestep into the office, and wait for the door to shut behind me, the subtle click of the lock turning. I’m facing the empty room when he comes up behind me, his body pressing against mine, and wraps his hands around my wrists. “Did you bring what I left for you?”

Wordlessly, I lift my hand with the silk trailing from it. He plucks it from my fingers and lets the fabric trail up my arm to my shoulder. I shiver. Then the world goes dark as he wraps it around my eyes.

“I’ve been thinking about the filthy things I’m going to do to you all day,” he murmurs against my ear, before he licks his way down my neck. I let my head fall to the side and stifle a groan. “But only if you’re a very, very good student. Do you think you can do that for me, Ms. Reed?” His hot breath scalds my skin where he’s just tasted me.

“Yes, Professor,” I whisper.

His hand wraps around my neck. “Good. First lesson.” His other hand travels up my chest, his fingers pulling at my nipple through the fabric of my clothes. “Be absolutely silent.” He tugs hard, and I gasp out loud. That only makes him tighten his grip, and I clench in anticipation. “Do you understand, Ms. Reed?”

I open my mouth to reply, then think about what he just asked, and close it again. My only answer is a nod.

Even with my eyes covered, I can hear the smile in his voice when he replies. “Good.” His knee slides behind mine, nudges me until I get the idea and take a step forward. One, two, three. My leg bumps the desk, and I lean forward, expecting him to bend me over it again.

Instead, he pulls me upright again, one hand coming down firmly on my ass as he does. “Ah ah. Not there.” I try to count steps and get an idea of where I am in the room, but I give up in a few more.

Then his hands grasp my waist and my shoulder and dip me suddenly backwards, like a tango, only farther, because after a moment I feel something soft against my back. A carpet? No, too soft. A blanket, maybe?

I stop thinking again, because his hands catch mine once more, draw my arms up and over my head, his fingers pressing gently into my skin, hot as brands. His mouth dips to my ear, and his breath scalds my skin. “I’m going to make you wish you could scream, Harper Reed.”

I wriggle in anticipation, my whole body stretched out beneath him, and then something colder encircles my wrists, and I hear the sharp snap of . . .

Oh god. Was he really serious? I give a light, experimental tug, just to be sure.

Yep. Handcuffs.

“What are—” I start to ask, but as quick as I speak, his hand slaps my bare thigh, just below the hem of my dress, hard enough to sting.

“I said be quiet.” There’s such an undertone of command in that simple sentence that I can’t help but shiver all over. He’s in complete control now. He can take what he wants from me, do whatever he wants to me, in a way I’ve never let anyone take control of me before.

And it’s making me hot as hell.

I try squirming again, testing the bonds, and am interrupted once more by the sensation of my dress being drawn up my body. He doesn’t stop at the waist like I expect—he pulls it all the way up to my hands, leaves it tangled around my wrists, still locked in their restraints, and then comes back for the bra.

In no time at all, I lie naked on the floor of his office, more exposed than I’ve ever felt in my life. Hot, excited warmth pools between my legs, and I cross them out of sheer habit.

Something light and feathery, even softer than the blanket we’re lying on, brushes my thigh. At first it just tickles, but as he drags it slowly over my skin, that sensation erupts into something else. A burning, desperate need.