Teach Me (8 page)

“
Canterbury
Tales
, I’d
guess, based on the way the author alludes to courtly love. He talks
about being unable to eat, sleep, think straight, because of the
feelings the object of his desire arouses in him.”
My eyes meet hers, possibly for the first time since she strode into
my office this morning at 6:00 a.m. on the dot, with not just one but
two coffees balanced on a take-out tray. For all my talk about
functioning better at this hour, I won’t
lie, a coffee definitely helped take the edge off the
less-than-fruitful night I had.

Another
night of imagining her body. The body I already know by touch if not
by sight. The body so deliciously close I can practically feel her
warmth radiating on my skin.

“But
she’s not an object,
is she,” Harper
points out. Her eyes have caught on mine, and I can’t
seem to pull free this time. “Eliot
took a very progressive view toward women for his time. If this poem
is one of his, I’d
say we should read it with that in mind. Courtly love was about men
pining away for an impossible feminine love, someone who could never
feel the same for him. But what if she did? What if she wasn’t
as unattainable as she might seem?”

Somehow,
I don’t think we’re
talking about the poem anymore. “The
poem is about the impossibility of the whole thing. It doesn’t
matter what she wants, or what the narrator wants.”

She’s
close. Too close. Her face hovers inches from mine, and I can feel
her breath as she murmurs, “What
about what you want?”

I
can feel the heat in my eyes, the build-up of lust that
would—should—scare
any sensible girl away. But she meets that gaze head-on, and the same
fire burns in her eyes. “You
don’t want to know
what I want. Trust me.”
My voice drops into a growl. I can’t
help it. She brings out the beast in me.

I
could swear she knows it, too, by the way her red lips (who wears
lipstick this early in the morning?) curve into a sharp grin.

She’s
a student; she’s
not right for you; this is just a phase for her, and she’ll
hate you if you take advantage of her right now.
I
try as hard as I can to remind myself of all the reasons this cannot
happen.

Then
those bright red lips part around her reply. “Oh,
but I do want to know. Tell me what you want, Professor. Or better
yet, show me . . . ”

That
does it. That flips the switch inside. I lose all ability to think
straight. Next thing I know, my mouth crushes into hers and my hands
dig into her sides, hauling her up from her seat until we’re
both standing. Our chairs crash to the floor beside us. I break away
long enough to turn the lock on the office door, and when I turn back
to her, she’s
leaning against my desk, her short skirt hiked just high enough that
I can tell that beneath it, what I took for panty hose are actually
thigh-high stockings held up by garters around her waist.

“What
I want?” I repeat.

She
came prepared. Or so she thinks. Somehow I doubt she’s
ready for this.

“What
I want is to bend you over this desk and fuck you right here, right
now.”

I
cross the room again and pull her body against me, hip to hip, chest
to chest. “How do
you feel about that, Harper?”

She
arches her back to dig her crotch into my leg. “Why
don’t you touch me
and find out?” She
grins and leans up to try and kiss me again, but I grasp her jaw in
one hand, tilt her head to the side to expose her long, slender neck.
Her hips grind against mine, and the length of my cock digs into her
stomach as I lean in to bite the tender spot just below her ear.

Her
sharp gasp only makes me harder. Her hands reach up to bury
themselves in my hair, and I drop mine to the cleavage peeking out
from the top of her button-down shirt. My fingers fumble on the
buttons as our lips collide again.

Fuck
it
.

I
yank the shirt apart, sending buttons flying between us, and
revealing the lacy red bra that restrains her perfectly shaped
B-cups. “You keep
asking what I want,”
I say as I run my hands over her warm, soft skin and trace the
outline of the bra with two fingers until she’s
gritting her teeth, her hips bucking against mine in frustration.
“What about you,
Harper? What do you want?”

“For
you to do whatever you want to me.”
Her baby blue eyes flash to mine, and even though she’s
trying to hide it, I can see the frustration in them. “Take
me however you want,”
she urges.

Only
then do I grin and reach to undo the snap, letting her bra fall away
as I bend to circle her breast with my tongue.

Her
hands clench in my hair. I smile, and let my teeth brush the tip of
her rock hard nipple.

“Fuck,”
she hisses.

“Mmm,
if you say so,” I
breathe against her. Then I step backwards. She tugs at me,
frustrated, but I catch both of her hands in one of mine and lift
them over her head. Her eyes go wide in surprise, but the fire’s
still lit in them. She’s
enjoying this as much as I am.

My
other hand wraps around her hip and uses it to flip her around until
she’s facing the
desk. I let go of her wrists now and wrap my fist in her ponytail
instead, bending her over and pushing her down until her breasts dig
into the desk. I flip her skirt up to reveal a narrow, lace thong, in
a bright red that matches her lips.

“I
see you dressed for the occasion,”
I say, my voice a low growl in her ear as I lean over her.

“You
said I should come prepared, Professor.”
She wriggles beneath me.

I
bring my hand down on her bare ass, just sharp enough to make her
feel it, not enough to leave a mark. She inhales sharply, her hips
bucking. “And have
you, Ms. Reed? Or will I need to reprimand you more thoroughly?”

She
lifts her head just high enough that I can see her lips melt into a
curve, the red lipstick now slashed across her jawline, messed in a
way that makes her lips look irresistibly puckered. I can imagine
those red lips closing around me, the way her hot mouth would feel if
I sank my cock into her throat.

I
twitch where I’m
still leaning against her ass, and she must feel it even through the
fabric of my pants, because her smile widens.

“I’m
afraid I’m a slow
learner, Professor. You’ll
have to go over that again.”

I
spank her again, harder this time.

Her
back arches, her eyes shut in pleasure. “Again,”
she gasps.

But
I can’t take it any
longer. I undo my jeans and let them fall around my ankles, though
not before I pluck the condom from my office drawer.

While
I rip open the package and slide on the condom, I lean alongside her
to murmur, “I’m
going to fuck you now.”

She
bursts out something between a laugh and a groan. “Finally.”
Her voice has a faint quiver in it that I can’t
help savoring with a grin.

“But
first you’ll have to
beg.”

Her
head whips around and her eyes narrow at me. “Seriously?”

I
slap her ass again, the other cheek this time, hard enough to leave a
bright red impression. Her eyes open wide, and her mouth forms a tiny
O.”.

God,
she’s gorgeous.

“Please,”
she breathes. “Please
fuck me.”

I
position my hips behind hers and slowly trail my cock up the inside
of one of her thighs, then down the other. “Louder.”

“Please!”
Her voice catches again.

God,
I love hearing that. I hook her thong, yank it down to her knees. The
tip of my cock presses into her clit, rubs back and forth, forceful
enough that she can feel it, but too lightly for her to get off. She
bucks her hips, trying to grind against me, but I wrap both hands
around her waist and pin her in place.

“Please
what?” I murmur.

“Fuck
me!”

Before
she’s even done
shouting it, I sink deep into her pussy. She’s
wet, and so, so fucking tight. She contracts around me, trying to
adjust to my girth. I don’t
give her time to get used to it; I pull back and slam into her again,
loving the animalistic, guttural sound she makes as I do.

My
free hand fists in her hair, yanks her head off the desk and toward
me as I continue to pound into her, so deep my balls slap against her
swollen pussy. Still holding her hair, I reach my other hand down to
circle her clit while I thrust. Her groans turn to keening wails that
only make me move harder, faster. Her walls clench hard around me
when she comes, moaning, but I don’t
slow down, my hips crashing into hers again and again, burying my
cock so deep in her pussy I can feel every inch of her. She clenches
hard around me again and I angle my hips down so my tip digs into her
G-spot. Her whole body writhes along the desk with her second orgasm,
and with one final thrust and a loud, harsh groan, I come too.

She
bucks her hips against me, keeping the movement going as I finish,
milking every last drop from me. When I step back, a rush of her wet
juices pour down her legs, which are still trembling around the
knees.

Gently,
I roll her over to lift her from the desk, smoothing her skirt back
down as I do. I left marks, I notice. A bright red spot on her ass,
and two bruises blooming along her neck, one under her ear and
another at her collarbone.

I
should feel bad, but instead, it ignites a fierce spark of pleasure.
Harper gazes up at me through half-closed eyes, a soft smile on her
face, and I look from those brands to her soft, angular face and
think,
She’s
mine. No one else’s.

Except
that’s not true. She
can’t be mine. Not a
girl like her, not like this. I wanted to fuck her, and I did. The
beast has been exorcised. Now it needs to stop.

I
break eye contact and unroll the condom to toss in the trash,
fastening my pants quickly. Then I bend to sweep up the papers we’d
been working on before, which have scattered around the desk. “Finish
the train of thought you were working on earlier, the courtly love
angle.” I drop the
papers on top of her laptop bag. “Write
up your best theory, leave it under my door tonight.”
I snatch a business card, which has the address of my university
housing complex on it, and drop it on top of the files.

“Where
are you going?” she
asks, sitting up, her arms wrapped around her body to hold her shirt
closed. “I thought
we were going to work on it together.”
The hurt in her voice cuts me, deep. But I can’t
show that. I can’t
have her thinking this was anything more than a one-time deal.

It’s
better this way. Hurting her now will spare her later.

“Yes,
well, clearly that’s
not working. And I have a class to teach, so.”
I pause in the doorway. “Get
yourself together.”
I slam the door behind me, so hard the tiny frosted glass panel at
the top rattles.

Only
once I’m in the
hallway, empty now between classes, do I let myself take a deep
breath, my eyes shut, my chest searing.

What
have I done?

What
have I done?

He’s
an asshole. A complete and total asshole.

An
asshole who made me come harder than anyone I’ve
ever slept with.
Derrick could hardly manage to make me finish once every two or three
times we hooked up, and Matt, my sophomore year roommate (oops), left
me to finish myself off every time.

Jack
is even better at getting me to the finish line than I am.

I
can still feel the echo of him every time I shift in my seat—that
sweet, deep ache that reminds me of every thrust he gave me.

I
groan out loud—in
frustration this time—and
let my forehead drop hard onto the stack of papers he left me with.
I’ve been holed up
in my dorm room all night digging through these, along with the
reference pages from
Canterbury
Tales
that we think
the first part of this poem might allude to.

Things
I don’t recommend:
Trying to decipher medieval English writing while simultaneously
working on forgetting the hottest fuck of your life.

My
head aches. I can still see his expression when we first finished,
when I rolled over on the desk and he smoothed down my skirt, pure
pleasure in his eyes, that normally stern face of his relaxed and
open for once—still
handsome, but so much more vulnerable in that moment. I could tell,
right then. He wanted me. He took me. He liked it as much as I did.

But
he’s my professor.
This is possibly the worst wrong guy I’ve
ever fucked. Even worse than the time I slept with my high school
best friend’s
brother, and she walked in on us in the middle of it.

Harper,
you are the worst.
I
raise my head an inch just to thump it back down harder this time.

Plus,
as if hooking up with your professor isn’t
bad enough, he acted like a total jerk at the end, freaking out and
leaving me alone and half undressed in his office, stuck with nothing
but his paperwork. Luckily it’s
cool outside this time of year, so I wrapped myself up in my coat
before I had to trudge back across campus, dodging classmates at
every step. I cleaned myself up in the dorm showers, and donned a
turtleneck to hide the worst of the bruises he left.

But
cleaning up my outsides has done nothing to fix the turmoil inside.
When we were together it seemed so obvious that he felt this same
pull between us, this inevitable, irresistible urge.

Now?
I’m just painfully
aware of how I’ve
made the same mistake I always do. Yes, I’m
twenty-one, not exactly some doe-eyed youthful babe he’ll
corrupt. But hell, professors can get fired for this kind of thing,
right? And I could probably get kicked out of the study abroad
program.

A
crash in the hallway interrupts my not-very-successful study session.
A glance at the clock on the computer screen reveals that I’ve
been at this for almost ten hours. It’s
7:00 p.m. now, well past dinnertime. My stomach growls in agreement.
The only thing I’ve
eaten all day was the banana I had before I hurried across campus to
meet Professor Jerkwad.