Teach Me (11 page)

I
hug my bag tight against my side and march through the late evening
streets. It’s a
testament to how much better I’ve
been getting to know Oxford over the past couple of weeks that I only
take one wrong turn along the way. Before long, I’m
staring at a row of townhouses, each one identical to the one next
door, and comparing them to the business card in my hand.

I’m
reasonably sure I’ve
figured out the right house, though when I march up onto the porch,
there’s no little J.
Kingston plaque on the mailbox to reassure me. In fact, the whole
place looks barren—no
signs of decoration like the neighboring houses have donned (potted
plants that dangle from porch roofs and wreathes of fall leaves over
the door knockers).

I
press the bell once and suck in another gulp of air for courage.

The
house remains dark and quiet. Maybe I have the wrong address? But I
check the card again, and yes, the numbers match exactly. I dare a
peek inside the mailbox to see if there’s
a letter or a newspaper that might be able to confirm the name of the
house’s inhabitants.
No such luck.

Then
headlights illuminate me from behind. I freeze in place, even though
I’m not doing
anything wrong. Instinct, I guess. I spin around to squint at the
street and watch a small black compact car park on the opposite side
of the road. A familiar tall, lanky form climbs out of the driver’s
seat a moment later.

Looks
like I do have the right place after all.

I
lean against the doorframe while he approaches. I’ve
never actually watched him walk before—he
has a calm, purposeful stride that’s
both reassuring in how in-charge it makes him seem, and a little
unnerving when you’re
standing on his porch late at night uninvited after just arguing with
him in a pub.

“Hi
Jack,” I say when he
hits the second-to-last step, so he’s
only a little bit taller than me for a second. My heart throbs in my
ears. I’ve never
dared to call him Jack to his face before. But considering the fact
that he fucked me on his office desk this morning, it seems weird to
refer to him formally.

“Harper,”
he replies. My heart skips a beat. Better than the snarky
Ms.
Reed
I was expecting.
It’s possibly the
first time I’ve
heard him use my name in a normal setting.
When
he’s
not talking about said fucking
.

I
push that thought out of my mind.

I
stormed over here, still angry from our confrontation at the pub, to
ask him what the hell is wrong with him. Now that he’s
facing me, his eyes shadows in the dim streetlights, my heart
softens. He seemed angry before, in the pub. Hell, even before the
pub. This morning, throwing me across the desk, taking me the way he
did . . .

But
now that I’m
watching him, it doesn’t
seem like anger. The way his shoulders sag and his head tilts to the
side, like he’s too
exhausted to hold it upright. The way even in this low light I can
see his mouth twisted off to one side, not a frown but more an
expression of defeat.

He
seems . . . upset.

“What
happened to you?” I
say, and it comes out angrier than I intended. I tell myself not to
feel bad. Not after what he said to me tonight.

He’s
carrying grocery bags, I notice now. One filled with what appears to
be a loaf of French bread and cheese, and another stuffed to the brim
with wine. I pretend not to notice the soft clank of the bottles as
he sets them on the porch and runs a hand through his hair, before he
digs into his pocket for keys. “I
shouldn’t have done
any of the things I’ve
done to you, Harper. I apologize. For all of it. It will end now.”

My
throat clenches so tight I can’t
reply at first. It doesn’t
seem to matter, though, because he doesn’t
wait for an answer. He hoists his groceries once more and brushes
past me, heading for the door, unlocking a bolt.

“What
do you mean?” I
finally manage.

He
pushes the door open and starts to step inside. “From
now on, I’ll be in
full control of myself. I will be your professor, you will be my
student. Nothing more.”

That
finally jars me into motion. I cross the porch and catch the door
before it can swing shut behind him. “That’s
not what I want.”

It’s
even darker inside his house. He makes no move to turn on a light,
though. Just hovers in the hall beyond the door, those dark eyes
inscrutable, though I can feel his gaze burning into mine. “You
don’t know me,
Harper. You don’t
know what I’m
capable of doing to people.”

The
fire that’s been
burning in my blood since this morning—since
the first night I met him, if I’m
honest—sings in my
veins. A shiver runs through me. “Oh,
I think I know that by now,”
I reply. After all, if I clench, I can still feel the sharp ache in
my ass from his slaps, the throb in my pussy where he fucked me this
morning.

He
shakes his head. “I’m
not good for you. For anyone.”

I
step up into his house and let the door slam shut behind me, so we’re
both closed inside the dark, silent hallway. “If
I wanted
good for me
,
do you think I’d be
screwing my professor?”

He
moves. I can’t see
him do it, but I can sense the air around us contract. Suddenly his
warmth is close enough to radiate on my skin, and his breath ghosts
across my forehead. If I close my eyes I can almost feel his lips.
“Is that all you
want, Harper? A good fuck?”

No
,
says my brain. What I want is to stop screwing the wrong people, to
stop messing up my social life, to stop complicating everything
because of my damn hormonal urges. I want to fuck, yes, but I also
want to fuck the right person. The trouble is, he’s
standing right here, right now, and he feels a whole lot like the
right person when it’s
just the two of us and this raging desire that boils between us.

So
I tell him what I know he wants to hear. “Preferably
a lot of good fucks, not just one, but yeah. That’s
all I’m looking
for.”

Liar
.

Except
it gets me what I really want. His lips close over mine, and then our
bodies meld together, his hard, solid chest pressed flush against my
soft breasts, his thick, strong arms nearly crushing my waist as he
picks me up, lifts me to his height. I wrap my legs around his waist,
moving on pure instinct, and still we don’t
break our kiss. His lips are at odds with his body—he
kisses gently, almost sweetly. At the same time, I feel his cock dig
into my crotch where my legs cling to his waist. I grind my hips
against him, and he exhales a soft moan against my mouth as his cock
twitches.

Next
thing I know we’re
moving—he’s
stronger than I would have guessed, carrying me easily across the
foyer and into another darkened room. We half-fall half-collapse onto
a couch, angled so he’s
lying along my body, and our lips finally separate from the kiss.

“Be
careful what you ask for, Harper.”

His
steel-hard erection digs into my stomach where he lies along me, and
I can’t help the
sudden shiver that passes through me, though whether it’s
from what he just said or just from hearing him say my name again,
I’m not sure.

Doesn’t
matter.

We
barely take another moment to breathe before we’re
pulling at one another’s
clothing. His shirt flies off first, though he wrests mine off
shortly thereafter. My bra follows, then I manage to unsnap his jeans
and kick those down to his ankles. Finally, he lies back down
alongside me, both of us completely naked for the first time. It’s
too dark to see him, but my fingers trace his chest and the outline
of his hard abs. Then I reach lower, brush my fingers along the
length of his cock, silk-smooth and yet so goddamn hard beneath,
thick and powerful. He jumps in my hands as I close my fists around
him.

“You
drive me so fucking crazy,”
he murmurs against my neck before he kisses his way down my throat to
my chest. “I can’t
stop thinking about you. Ever since the confessional, every
night . . . ”

My
head drops back against the armrest and I gasp softly as he sucks my
nipple into his mouth and lets his tongue swirl around it, once,
twice, three times. “You
started it,” I
manage to say, which makes him laugh. The vibrations from his
laughter against my already sensitive nipple send my back arcing up
toward him, sparks of pleasure firing through my body.

I
squeeze my thighs around his hips and grab his ass with both hands to
drag him closer to me. I can feel the tip of his cock toying with my
entrance, but he’s
hesitating, pulling away.

“I’m
on the pill,” I say,
guessing what he’s
thinking. “And I’m
clean. If you’re . . . ”

He
lifts his head and stares down at me. My eyes have adjusted enough to
the near-total dark that I can see his cheek, the sharp edge of his
jaw, and a faint smile that plays on his lips. He runs a hand through
my hair, gentle, slow, not like last time when he was all grabbing
and pulling (not that I minded). “I
am too. I’ve just
never . . . ”
His Adam’s
apple bobs when he swallows. “Are
you sure?”

I
don’t trust myself
to speak, so I only nod. I’ve
only done it without a condom with one person before, because Derrick
was the only guy I’d
been with enough times to trust that much. Of course, he managed to
screw that up, but I’m
not going to let it sully me for life. I’m
not going to let it ruin any other choices I make, when the moment
feels right.

And
despite whatever Jack might think, despite how bad for me he thinks
he is, this feels right.

He
must feel it too. The moment I nod, he sinks into me with a groan,
his body coming down heavy across mine. “Fuck,
Harper.” He buries
his face in my hair, and I wrap both arms around him, one hand
cupping his neck, the other still grabbing his tight, firm ass,
pulling him deeper into me. I can feel every inch of him, stretching
the walls of my tight pussy, still sore from this morning’s
hard fuck. It hurts, but oh god, so good.

We
don’t speak after
that. Our bodies move in sync, his hips pulling back as mine sink
into the couch, before we slowly slide together again, savoring the
feeling of our bare bodies, his naked cock inside of me. We’re
pressed as close together as possible, but it’s
still not enough.

My
hips buck, try to make him go faster. His lips catch my earlobe, and
I feel them stretch into a smile. Then his hand catches mine, draws
my arm over my head, and he keeps rocking against me, long, slow
thrusts in, and even slower, agonizing slides out.

I
grit my teeth, trying not to show how wild he’s
making me. Every centimeter he moves in me makes my toes curl, my
legs around his waist quiver.

Finally,
I can’t take it any
more. “Fuck me,”
I whisper.

He
flicks his tongue across my chest, kisses his way up my throat to
hover over my lips, so close I can almost taste him. “Sorry,
I didn’t catch
that,” he says as he
thrusts into me again, even slower this time.

“Fuck
me,” I repeat,
louder, my teeth gritted.

“Like
this?” Suddenly he
pulls back and slams into me hard. I cry out, then again because he’s
already pulling away. I struggle to free my hand from his grip so I
can grab his hips and make him do that again. He pins me beneath him,
grinning. He’s
enjoying making me squirm. “Yeah,
you like that.”

I
glare up at him, then squeeze my legs tight around him and thrust my
hips up hard, spearing myself on him, forcing him all the way inside
me, his tip scraping my G-spot.

He
gasps, and his eyes widen.

Hmm.
That
is
kind of fun. My turn to grin. “Something
like that.”

Finally
we both cave in, and we start to move in earnest. I arch my neck so I
can watch his tight abs contract over my stomach, his long shaft
sliding in and out of me, faster, faster, until I can’t
watch any more, and I let my head fall back and grab his neck,
pulling him against me.

His
hand drops between us to circle my clit. I’m
already so close it barely takes any time at all—a
few sharp thrusts while his thumb digs into me, and I’m
gasping over the edge, my whole body spasming as I come. He waits a
moment, thumb tracing over my thighs, my waist, then back to my clit,
where it sends me straight to the peak all over again. He tries to
keep it there, force me to orgasm a third time, but I grab his wrist
and yank his hand away.

His
turn now.

He
lies alongside me, his chest glistening with sweat. I wrap both arms
around his body, dig my nails into his back, and he moans with
pleasure, his eyes feral when they find mine in the dark. I stare
straight into his eyes as he nears the end—his
fists clench in my hair and his face softens again, all those hard
angles of his jaw and his cheeks going loose as his mouth drops open
to gasp for air. Yet he doesn’t
break eye contact. A few more sharp thrusts and he groans, helpless,
as his hot cum pumps into me, our eyes still locked. It’s
hot as hell the way he stares straight at me as he finishes. I clench
hard around him, and I’m
rewarded with a faint gasp as he twitches in me, still coming, his
body quivering.

Then
he collapses on my chest, and I hug him close, loving the heady scent
that fills the air around us, and the cool sweat that pools between
our bodies. We lie there for what feels like both forever and far too
little time, until eventually he pulls out of me (which causes
another hot rush of our mingled juices down my legs), and collapses
alongside me on the couch, both our breaths slowing as sleep closes
in.

I
wake up to the sensation of shivering. It’s
a little confusing at first, because I don’t
feel cold at all. In fact, I’ve
never been this warm in my life—a
whole-body sensation that starts in the center of my chest and spills
out over my limbs. I’ve
heard people talk about the “afterglow”
before, but I never fully understood the term until now.