Keeping my head down while lifting my eyes, I watch as she shifts nervously in her seat, awkwardly moving to hike up her skirt as her torso leans back in the chair, one hand still typing on her laptop. I want to praise her for following my command, but I can’t.
Even though I can’t see under her skirt from where I’m standing, my cock hardens at her act of submission and the fact that she’s unknowingly pleasing both sides of me: The teacher who assigned her work, and the dom who gave her a command.
Several minutes pass as the clicking of keyboards fill up the space. Once my urges are under control, I leave the podium, moving up the left side of the room to answer questions. When I walk back toward the front, I slide through the empty row of seats in front of her chair. She’s so engrossed in writing that she doesn’t see me coming.
Her brows are pinched together as she writes. I’m too close to her to get a good look under her desk without bending over and making it obvious. But it’s not about seeing her bare right now. It’s about her submission.
Clearing my throat to get her attention, I grip the edge of her desk, leaning on it. She snaps her legs closed and sits up taller as a shudder runs through her.
“Cold?” I asked in a hushed tone, careful not to draw too much attention.
Her mouth hangs open, but nothing comes out.
“Ten more minutes!” I warn the class, pushing off her desk, and she startles at my volume. Returning to my podium, I discreetly send her another text.
It’s killing me not being there.
I would devour every inch of your cunt in front of him.
Make him watch as I turn you into a needy mess for me.
Okay
Keeping my head still, I flick just my eyes back up to watch her clench her thighs together. I’m so fucking hard it’s torture. Why the fuck did I think this was a good idea?
The devil on my shoulder answers for me.Because you want what you can’t have and you’re punishing yourself for touching the forbidden fruit.
I adjust the bulge tightening my slacks and glance around the room. “Time’s up,” I call, shifting the focus back to me. “Email me what you wrote, and you can head out.”
There are a few murmurs of appreciation at my announcement of class ending early as the students begin to file out.
Emma remains in her seat, fingers still flying furiously over her keyboard as the last student leaves.
“Class is dismissed, Miss Black.”
Her head pops up, a startled expression on her face as she swivels her head finally noticing the empty classroom.
“Sorry, I guess I was really into it… uh, my work… I mean, the paper.”
I should wish her a good day and leave the room. But I stand there willing my dick to behave. Watching my innocent little lamb shed her wool is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
CHAPTER 11
EMMA
Aweek later, Professor A-hole’s stupid smug face is peering up at me across the lecture hall as he tries to stump me with yet another impossible question. I swear he’s doing it on purpose, and I wonder if his distaste for me is obvious to anyone else in our class. I can’t wait for the day that he’s no longer my teacher.
“Miss Black, do you think Hamlet’s madness was genuine or a calculated performance he put on to hide his true intentions?”
“I don’t think there is a definitive answer on the topic. There’s merit in both arguments.”
“Which camp do you find yourself in then, if you had to pick?” he asks, clearly not willing to let this go.
I grip my hands together under my desk trying to discreetly conceal my frustration at his insistence. He’s always interested in my opinion on a topic, but when I write a whole paper stating my case, with quotes citing my sources, he gives me a fricking C.
“On the one hand, he tells Horatio and Marcellus that he will pretend to be mad, and later he appears to feign madness around Claudius and Polonius, while acting rationally aroundHoratio. And people are suspicious of him, including Rosencrantz, Guildenstern, and Claudius, calling him crafty or thinking he’s acting strange, but not crazy. Those examples argue that his madness is something in his control, that he is choosing when to appear that way depending on the person or motivation. But it’s hard to refute the other times during the play when Hamlet is not in control, appearing genuinely mad. He has violent outbursts and acts impulsively, killing Polonius.”
“Spoilers!” a guy jokingly shouts in the back of the class as people break out into laughter. Professor A-hole shoots them a withering look and shifts his focus back to me, walking out from behind his podium as he crosses his arms and nods for me to proceed.
