Without moving his gaze, he whispers, “I think I do.”
And here I am, forced to choose which path I’m going to take.
“Beg me for it.”
I’ve never been great at choosing the right one.
His lips part, and he inhales a breath. “Fuck,” he mumbles as though he likes the idea of that as much as I do. “Please. Please, I want to kiss you.”
“Why?”
I’m not entirely sure what I’m asking. Why does he want to kiss me? Why should I let him? Or am I asking myself why the hell I want nothing more than to kiss him too?
When his eyes finally find mine again, they’re dark and hooded. “Because I’ve wanted to kiss you since the second week of class.”
I’m weak. I’m so fucking weak.
Because I’ve wanted to kiss him since the seconddayof class.
Moving my hand from his throat, I thread my fingers through the hair on the back of his head and bring his face to mine, crashing my lips against his as a wave of relief crashes straight intome.
After months of fighting against my attraction to Jackson, of not even permitting myself to fantasize about him, to not think about him in any way other than as my student, I’m finallyallowing myself this one moment of weakness.One. A single moment. Because that’s all this can be.
I’m about to pull away when he grabs me by the front of my vest and pulls me close until my body is flush with his. His erection nudges against mine, and his lips part on a moan. I take the opportunity to slip my tongue into his mouth.
At the first taste of him, I begin to come apart.
Not breaking, but unraveling gently and willingly.
The world loosens its hold on me, and I let it.
I am undone, and all I want is more.
But I know I shouldn’t.
“Fuck,” I growl the moment my lips break from his. When I drop my hand and go to take a step back, he tightens his hold on my vest.
“Don’t stop.”
I narrow my eyes, fighting with every last shred of goddamn self-control I have to resist the sound of his begging.
“Please, Sir.”
One little faux pas on my part, and he already knows how to make me bend the knee to my own desires.
Invading his space once more, my hand returns to the back of his head, this time gripping his hair tight by the roots, tilting his head back. I skim my lips up his jaw and whisper into his ear, “Trying to manipulate me, Jackson? So fucking needy, aren’t you?”
His body shivers against mine as he lets out a quiet whimper and nods his head as much as he can.
“Maybe corporal punishment would’ve suited you better than those essays.”
“Oh, fuck,” he groans as he thrusts his hips forward, rubbing his cock against mine again.
I smirk as I pull back to look into his face. “If you think you know me so well already, then what is it I really want to hear?”
“Please,” he says immediately, proving just how quickly he learns. “Fuck, please, Sir. Punish me.”
“It’s not really a punishment if you enjoy it, is it?”
