“The mind slows,” he continues. “And while you’re standing in your office with a female student who is asking you what an erection feels like…it becomes difficult to think about anything else.”
My pen hasn’t moved. I’m not even taking notes. Looks like I’m having a hard time thinking too.
“Q-question two,” I manage to say.
“Already?”
“I have seven…”
That ghost of a smile appears again. I tremble. “Please, continue.”
“The textbook also says the male refractory period is much longer than the female’s. But it also says that sustained psychological stimulation can maintain—” I glance at my notes to make sure I get this right. It’s also hard to look at his ruggedly handsome face right now. “Can maintain readiness beyond the initial vascular event. What would count as sustained psychological stimulation?”
Professor Holt is quiet for long enough that I am forced to look up.
His eyes are narrow, penetrating, filled with heat and depth. For the first time, he looks like a man who has been asked a question he can’t answer. At least not without confessing something.
“You,” he replies slowly. “You sitting in that chair with that cute notebook, asking me these questions.Thatwould count.”
My body reacts and does several things simultaneously. My breath stops, my nipples go erect, and the place between my thighs—the one with ten thousand nerve endings—pulses like a pounding drum. And my hand moves on its own:I am the sustained psychological stimulation…
I can’t take this any longer. Seven questions? What was I thinking?
I can feel the arousal between my legs. My face is burning from the blush. I’m falling apart.
Time to skip to the last question.
“Can I see it?”
The silence that follows is so tense I can hear my own heartbeat. August doesn’t move for at least three seconds. It’s an anxiety thing. My brain just defaults to measurement when it doesn’t know what else to do.
Then he stands. And reaches for his belt.
My chest tightens.
He moves slowly and with the deliberateness of someone who is fully aware of what he’s doing. He knows this iswrong, but he’s doing it anyway. And he wants me to understand that.
And I do.
My chest tightens as the leather slides through the buckle. The top button pops, and his zipper comes down.
Despite my best efforts, my jaw drops, and my eyes widen. What I’m looking at isnotwhat the textbook prepared me for.
The textbook had a diagram of the male reproductive anatomy. In the diagram, the phallus was four inches long and labeled with nice clean arrows pointing to the glans, the shaft, the frenulum, the scrotum. It was very informative but clinical and sterile.
What August holds in his hand now isnotthe diagram. What stands out straight from between his legs is at least twice the size from the book and thick—thicker than my wrist, I’d be willing tobet. He wraps his strong hand around it, and I watch the muscles in his forearm flex.
“The corpora cavernosa,” he says, his voice frayed at the edges. “Two chambers of erectile tissue that run the length of the shaft.”
The shaft…
The word buzzes through me like a jolt from my new toy, sending my already humming body into a new state of arousal.
“When engorged, they cause the rigidity.”
I swallow hard, and when I speak, my voice comes out at least an octave higher than normal. “It’s—” I start but have to swallow again.Jeez, I sound like a fairy!“The diagram I saw…the scale was misleading.”
August’s mouth twists now into an actual smile, a devilish smirk that seizes me like his bulky arms.
