“After completing this week’s assigned reading, can anyone tell me their thoughts on why romance is so popular today?” Professor Gibson taps his fingers against the desk. “Anyone?”
Silence greets him. Most students fidget in their seats, looking away, too embarrassed to admit they devoured every assigned reading and creamed their underwear simultaneously.
“Freedom,” I blurt out.
Professor Gibson’s attention shifts to me, along with everyone else’s.
My already clammy hands feels like they’ve been dipped in icy water. L.A. Wright describes throbbing cocks in private, but in public, shy Lacey hasn’t had sex in years and hates being the center of attention. Why didn’t I keep my mouth shut?
“Go on,” Professor Gibson says, his curious gray eyes on me now.
Mission accomplished, I suppose.
I swallow my nerves and force myself to step into the role of protagonist. “Fiction is safe. It gives the reader the freedom to escape into fantasy and satisfy cravings without jeopardizing their safety.”
Professor Gibson’s hip rests on his desk, legs outstretched as he listens intently. It only takes a moment for his eyes to notice my open buttons.
Quickly, he darts his gaze up to a professor-appropriate level.
I sit a little straighter. “A reader is no longer working a job they hate, lost in the mundane. The reader is seductive, tempting, taking what they want—a fantasy lover and the orgasm their fingers coax out as they read.”
There’s a sudden intake of collective breath, as though the room itself gasped.
Olly muffles a groan.
Professor Gibson stares at me, his knuckles white as his hand grips the edge of the desk. “That’s very… insightful.” He clears his throat. “Anyone else?”
I slink lower in my seat, but it’s impossible to hide.
Why did Olly pick the front row?
Why did I open my big mouth?
Why did I think I’d be capable of seducing anyone?
“Damn, Lacey.” Olly whimpers. “Are you trying to make every guy walk out of here hunched over?”
I turn my head toward Olly as slowly as possible to not draw any more attention to my embarrassment. “Huh?”
He nods toward the front of the room where Professor Gibson now sits behind his desk. “He’s not sitting because it’s comfortable.”
“You think he’s hard?” I whisper. I don’t remember the last time a guy had such a visceral reaction to me.
Olly looks down at my open buttons. “I can guarantee it.”
My gaze slips to the desk covering Olly’s lap, and I picture denim tightening, a thick ridge of flesh hardening beneath. Is Olly hard?
A heaviness fills my breasts.
Nope. Do not go there, Lacey.
I focus on the professor. What did Olly say about flirting last night?
Eye contact.
Once the professor looks at me again, I’ll make eye contact and smile, showing him I’m interested. Embarrassment gives way to purpose.
Ten minutes pass, then another ten, but the professor looks everywhere except in my direction.
