“Really?” He raised a single dark brow. My heart flipped. “Come here, then.”
My breath hitched in my throat, suffocating me. I stiffened, then gulped, shaking as I slowly rose from the chair. It was one of those times when I didn’t feel as though I had control of myself. My body, my movement, my will, all strings in his hands like a puppet with its master.
Coming around the corner of the desk, I stopped beside his chair. My eyes dropped to his large, masculine hand on his thigh and the leg muscle flexing in his dark trousers. At the sight of his lap I faltered, remembering what it felt like to sit there and ride him. Was he going to ask me to take a seat?
Anticipation thrummed through me.
His opposite hand drummed fingers on the edge of the desk. Then he lifted said hand to his chin and stroked the short beard enhancing his jaw, eyeing me carefully. The professor lowered his voice. “Come here, Miss Ashcroft. These papers have yet to be graded.”
My heart pounded at the base of my throat, and my skin tingled as I neared.
He scooted his chair back to accommodate me. His brows rose toward his hairline, and I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. I stood between him and his desk, shivering down to the bone from the pressure of his presence searing into me.
“Now turn,” he commanded.
I glared at him as powerfully as I could.
A sparkle lit in his vibrant blue eyes.
Then they darkened.
The silence lasted maybe seconds. Or it could have been minutes, hours, years. It stretched for an eternity, straining my nerves. It took all the strength in my body not to roll my eyes and stomp my foot.
“Don’t make me repeat myself.” The warning slithered down my spine and triggered a submissive streak in me I’d rather pretend didn’t exist. But there were those strings again, and he was pulling, pulling,pulling.
I turned.
Facing away from Professor Quinn suddenly made me jittery. I could palpably feel his gaze raking down the back of my cream cashmere sweater to where it was tucked into my tan skirt. My legs heated as he glared at the tights hiding my skin from his full, probing perusal.
“Bend over.” His words sent a wanton rush through me. “Get to work.”
“Y-yes, sir.” I bent at the waist, skin flushing with the knowledge that my skirt had ridden up enough to show off the curves of my ass hugged by the tights.
His focus pierced all the way into my core. I tried not to shift, but he chuckled. Such a low, dark sound growling through his chest, I couldn’t help wriggling.
All my life I’d never thought of myself as much of a brat. But there was something Professor Quinn brought out of me. And this—bent over his desk on display while scribbling corrections of other students’ work—it was a punishment of sorts. This was his lesson.
All the words blurred together on the pages beneath me. There was a red pen in my hand, and I couldn’t even recall where it had come from or when I’d picked it up. I was scribbling edits and marking out clear mistakes, all while trying to subtly look over my shoulder at him. If he could feel me silently begging for more of his attention, he didn’t react. Instead, he remainedsitting in his chair behind me, watching my skirt rise higher and higher with each impatient wriggle of my hips, knees shifting to silence the oppressive throbbing where I ached to be touched.
Sadistic bastard.
He was enjoying watching me grow increasingly restless. I leaned on my elbows, breathing harder as my skirt rode up further. I was so wet it wouldn’t surprise me if he could see the damp spot seeping through my underwear and tights. Part of me thought he would make me beg, make me whine for mercy. Though it seemed my professor was feeling unusually generous.
My breath hitched when his chair legs scraped over the floor and the soft rustle of movement followed. A teasing knuckle skimmed the back of my leg, sending a tremble through my body. Professor Quinn leaned over me, breathing in when his face nuzzled my hair as if he was luxuriating in me. The warmth of his breath puffing against my neck roused a frisson of anticipation in my core.
I turned my head, trying to sneak a peek at him, desperate for a glance at the man driving me crazy.
“That’s not how this game goes.” Strong, steel-like fingers grasped my chin and forced my face forward. “Eyes front or I stop.”
A gasp rushed past my lips.
His dominating voice didn’t stop my body from squirming in his embrace.
It elicited a dark chuckle from deep in his chest that vibrated along the length of my spine. A sensation that nearly made me purr.
“You’re not very good at doing what you’re told, are you, sweetheart?”
On the contrary, I prided myself on being the very best and adhering to the rules. It wasn’t my fault that everything about this man triggered some feral impulse inside of me to rebel.
