CASSIE MINT

Love Lessons
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 First published by Black Cherry Publishing 2021

Copyright © 2021 by Cassie Mint

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical,
photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission
from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or
distribute it by any other means without permission.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents
portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to
actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

Cassie Mint asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this
work.

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-914242-22-9

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 Contents
Keep in touch with Cassie!
1. Avery
2. Ellis
3. Avery
4. Ellis
5. Avery
6. Ellis
7. Avery
8. Ellis
9. Avery
10. Ellis
About the Author

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 One

Avery

I rush across campus, my backpack bouncing and my class schedule

clutched to my chest. My sandals slap against the hot paving stones,
baked all summer long, and I gasp for breath as I sprint across the quad. My
sundress floats around my thighs, my hair streaming behind me, and other
students mutter and step out of the way as I barrel through them.
I’m late. Late. This wasn’t the plan. When I woke up this morning, teeth
gritted with purpose, this wasn’t what I had in mind. It took me all summer
to build up my courage, to sign up for Professor Kent’s class, and this is
how he’ll find out? When I burst into the lecture hall five minutes late, red
faced and wheezing?
Kill me now.
I’m rushing so fast, I almost sprint right past the English building. I skid
to a halt, arms pinwheeling, then duck past a group of staring grad students
to push through the doors.
A clock hangs opposite the entrance, ticking my seconds away. Two
minutes until the first class of the semester starts.
Two minutes until I’m late.
 Until I see him.
I check the schedule crumpled in one fist, smoothing it out with shaking
fingers. My breaths come quick and loud as I read the room number,
sending up a silent prayer of thanks.
It’s just here. The nearest lecture hall, tucked around the corner.
I’m going to make it.
I smooth my wild hair down. Tug on the hem of my dress. Swipe my
forearm over my dewy forehead, my skin flushed hot from running. Then
give myself my third pep talk of the day.
You can do this, Avery Jennings. Now get your ass in that room.
It’s pretty basic, as pep talks go. Nothing like the elaborate mantras in
the self help books I’ve been reading all summer. But it does the trick: I
square my shoulders, hitching my backpack higher, and march around the
corner to the lecture hall. I don’t break stride, pushing the door open and
plunging inside. The rows are two-thirds full, with students laughing and
leaning past each other to catch up. They call out nicknames; toss balled up
class schedules at each other’s heads.
I don’t even see them. Not really. I drift to an empty seat in the third
row, the din around me fading to nothing, and sit down clumsily.
He’s here.
Professor Kent stands at the lectern on the raised platform at the front of
the room. He stares at me, white-faced, his hands gripping the lectern so
tight that I can almost hear the wood creak.
Even though it’s another hot, sticky day, he’s wearing a white button
down shirt with only the top button undone. The fabric fits him perfectly,
hugging his toned shoulders and nipping in with his slender waist, and it’s
not just the heat that makes my mouth run dry when I look at him.
 God. Professor Kent is a walking dirty daydream.
One of his dark curls hangs over his forehead, and he presses his mouth
in a tight line. His gaze rakes over me where I sit, just as hungry as I
remember, and he swallows. Hard.
A bell rings out in the corridor. The last student to enter slams the door
shut, a steady hush falling over the crowd, and now we’re trapped here.
Together at last, for the next sixty minutes.
He’s annoyed. Distracted. I’ve thrown him off his usual self assurance,
the deep confidence which makes so many of the students sigh. Professor
Kent throws one final irritated glance at me, clears his throat, and begins.
Shakespearean Literature. It’s not really my thing. It’s not his thing
either, but I’m not supposed to know that. I shouldn’t be able to read his
moods the way I do. I took this class for one reason alone, and he’s
currently gripping the lectern like he might crush it to splinters.
His calm voice belies the tension rigid in his body as he introduces the
class. Highlights key dates and assignments. Gives reading lists.
Macbeth. Romeo and Juliet. The Taming of the Shrew.
Yes, fine. Whatever. I’ll read whatever plays this man assigns. I’ll hand
in all the assignments; do every scrap of suggested reading.
Anything, to finally be near him again. To hear his deep, melodic voice.
To feel the heavy weight of his gaze on me.
I’m not as strong as Professor Kent. Or—or I am, but this is a different
kind of strength. One I’ve been building up all summer with my mantras
and self help manuals.
I won’t hide from my feelings. Won’t pretend that I don’t feel his
presence from fifty feet away; that I don’t forget to breathe whenever his
gray eyes land on me.
 Professor Kent haunts my dreams.
And I can’t stay away anymore.

***

“A moment, please, Miss Jennings.”

His stern voice cuts through the din as the students file out of their rows,
chatting about their next classes. I have a free period, but even if I didn’t
there’s no way I’d be shuffling out that door. Not yet.
I nod and grab my backpack, not daring to meet his eyes as I zip away
my notebook and push to my feet. All the confidence that buoyed me here
—it’s draining fast. Oh god, will he hate me for this?
“Hi, professor.” My words come out in a whisper as I step up onto the
stage. Professor Kent keeps his head bowed, his square jaw clenching as he
packs away his notes. I shift my weight, biting my lip.
He waits until the last student leaves the room. Until the door bangs
shut, the sound echoing through the huge space. Then he turns to me, eyes
molten, and hisses his question.
“Avery. What are you doing here?”
“Learning about Shakespeare,” I mumble. He jerks his head to the side,
annoyed. He knows I don’t care about Shakespeare. That’s the problem,
really—we can read each other entirely too well for professor and student.
“Cut the crap.” I wince, and he scrubs a hand over his face. He’s
agitated. More out of control than I’ve ever seen him. “I told you last year.
One class was enough. This isn’t—this is a bad idea. Do you understand?”
I scowl down at his chest. His shirt is perfectly pressed. Does he do that
himself? Or does he have a wife or girlfriend who does it for him? Jealousy
crawls through my stomach, sickly and slow.
“I’m here to learn,” I grit out, eyes burning, my gaze fixed on that top
button. It’s a lie, but all the pretty speeches I rehearsed, all the declarations I
had planned—they’ve evaporated like fine mist. And besides, I don’t want
to tell Professor Kent how much I love him when he’s being an ass. So
there.
“Forget it. I’m taking you to change your classes right now.” He grabs
my elbow, then drops it just as fast. Like he’s been stung. I huff and cross
my arms, walking ahead of him off the platform.
“You can’t force me to switch.”
“I can, actually. I can transfer you for bad behavior. I can fail you
outright. You’re leaving, Avery.”
I wrap my arms around my waist tighter. This is not what I’d imagined,
all those long nights of planning over the summer. I knew he’d be surprised.
Maybe taken aback.
I never dreamed he would be cruel. And the pain of his harsh words—it
cuts right through me. Right down to the bone. Tears sting my eyes, and
before I can help it, my breath catches right here in the silent lecture hall.
“Wait.” His command comes from behind me. I keep walking, my
sandals slapping against the tiled floor. “Avery. Are you crying?”
The door is heavy as I wrench it open. I keep my spare arm wrapped
around my waist, holding my insides together.
“Avery,” he says again, more desperate this time. I step through the
doorway and into the corridor.
It’s cooler out here. Shadowed. I duck my face and hurry far away from
Professor Kent.
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 Two

Ellis

A very whips through the lecture hall doorway, disappearing into the
corridor. I lunge after her, slamming the door open so hard that it
bounces off the wall, but she’s already gone. Groups of students cluster
together by the walls, laughing and joking, a few of them throwing me odd
looks.
It’s the beginning of the semester. They’re not burned out and exhausted
yet. They still have that post-summer glow about them, their futures bright
and exciting.
All except Avery. Yeah, I dimmed her light pretty fast.
I grit my teeth as I stride down the corridor, peering into empty
classrooms and searching for a flash of light blonde hair. She wore it in a
French braid today, the ends tickling her shoulders. She knows I like it like
that. That cute little sundress, with the daisy print and the flippy skirt—was
that for my benefit too? I stifle a groan, rubbing my jaw.
No. It wasn’t for me. Thoughts like those—they’re why I can’t be
around her. Why I can’t be trusted to teach Avery Jennings.
I’d never keep my hands off her. Not for another semester.
 I don’t have the strength.
Last year was the hardest year of my life. Of my brief but esteemed
career. I only taught Avery in the first semester, but that one class was
enough. I spent the rest of the year white-knuckling through until the
summer.
Until I could get some distance from her, some reprieve from her
constant presence on campus. The flash of her bright hair. The tinkling
sound of her laugh.
Avery Jennings is my own personal torment. She haunts my every
waking moment—and my dreams, too.
I’ve never touched her. That’s my only saving grace. The only reason I
don’t march myself to the Dean’s office and hand myself in. I’ve touched
myself thinking of her, sure, jerked my cock until it’s raw, but I’ve never
laid a finger on Avery Jennings.
She knows I want to. She can read it on my face. And she goads me to
do it, the little tease. I’d think she’s out to ruin me, that this is all a big joke
to her, but her wide blue eyes are innocent. Guileless. She doesn’t
understand the effect she has. How frayed my tether has become.
I understand it. I know it all too damn well. And I know, in the dark,
bitter depths of my soul, that if I teach her for another semester, there’s only
one way it will end. In ruin. In madness. With my cock buried to the hilt
inside her, and Avery crying out my name.
Which leaves me no choice but to transfer her out of my class. She
doesn’t even like Shakespeare, damn it.
I push out of the English building doors and stride across campus.
Energy crackles under my skin, keeps my muscles tensed and my jaw
locked, but I don’t catch another glimpse of her.
 Hi, professor.
She sounded so shy. Like she thought I might bite her sweet head off.
And I did, didn’t I? I told her off. Threatened to fail her. God—I made
her cry. Misery and self loathing surge up my throat, and I cough hard,
burying my mouth in my sleeve.
The sun is shining. The students are laughing. But I’m icy cold, down to
my core. Hearing that little hitch in Avery’s breathing, her tiny sniffle—it’s
going to haunt the rest of my days. It’ll play in a loop inside my head,
driving me slowly mad.
How Shakespearean.
It doesn’t matter. I give myself a little shake, and turn my feet towards
the Student Center. I’ll get her transferred to another class, then we can both
move on. Put this behind us and somehow get through the next three years.
Then she’ll be gone. We’ll both be safe from these dark urges, rippling
and twisting inside me.
It should be a comforting thought. But it aches. It leaves me hollow.
I pound up the stone steps to the Student Center, pigeons fluttering out
of my path. It doesn’t matter what I want.
This is for Avery. I’d protect her from anything.
Even myself.

***

“Please. Will you look again? I’ll take any other class. I’m begging you.”
I recognize her soft voice straight away. She’s clutching the edge of the
reception desk, pleading with the administrator. Her shoulders are rigid,
bunched up around her ears, and her voice is thick with horror at what I just
put her through.
She’s begging to get away from me. My heart plummets down to the
soles of my shoes.
“I already looked.” The administrator sounds bored. It’s a guy in his
twenties, probably a grad student picking up some work-study hours, and
violence surges inside me when his eyes flick over her chest. He looks at
her openly. Shamelessly.
She’s mine.
“Is there a problem here?” I stride across the lobby, coming to a halt
beside Avery. I don’t look down at her—I don’t trust myself not to crumble
under her gaze. To not drop to my knees and beg her forgiveness. She
freezes when I’m near, the tension crackling off her like static, and fuck, I
hate that I did this.
I channel all those feelings at the administrator. He straightens, his
forehead creasing as he taps at his keyboard. His brown hair is artfully
tousled, sticky with gel, and if he looks at her again I might go for his
throat.
“Uh, no. No, sir. This girl wants to switch classes, but there are none
available.”
Shit.
“Check again.”
“But—”
“Check again,” I growl, ignoring the faint whimper by my elbow. She
might hate me, might fear me, but that’s all for the best. Even if it does
crack my chest open and leave me raw.
 The administrator types quickly, clicks away at the screen, then spins
the monitor around with a huff.
“There’s nothing. See?”
I lean over the counter, scowling at the class schedules. How can every
class be full already? How can this be happening?
“What about night classes?” I blurt, but Avery speaks up. Her voice is
tight with emotion, but she doesn’t back down.
“No. I’m not doing that, professor.” She sucks in a deep breath and fixes
me with a glare. I meet her eyes, longing shuddering through me like a tidal
wave. “You’ll just have to teach me.”
“I—what?” The guy breaks off with a nervous laugh. His eyes flick
between us, disbelieving.
I step away from Avery. Put more distance between us.
“It’s nothing,” I mutter, turning to face her. The girl who wrecks me
with a single look. Who holds my whole life in her palm. “I expect you on
time for lectures. Do you understand?” She was nearly late today. That
would have thrown me off even worse. Given me no time to recover.
Avery rolls her eyes, a pink flush creeping over her cheeks.
“Don’t worry about me, professor.” Her voice is dull. “You won’t even
know I’m there.”
She walks out before I can point out the obvious. That if that were true,
we’d have no problem at all. But I’m human, a man, and I’m drawn to her
like no other person. Every minute in her presence is a test of my failing
willpower.
“Wow. You really hate her, huh?” The administrator grins, flicking his
mouse.
I turn on my heel and leave with a word.
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 Three

Avery

I ’ve made such a terrible mistake.

As soon as I got home on that first day of classes, I stomped upstairs,
snatched up all my self help books, and threw them in the trash can. Leona
and Paige, my roommates, came poking their heads into my bedroom,
fussing over my flushed cheeks and watery eyes.
“Oh, Ave!” Paige stumbled into my room, wrapping me in her tiny
arms. Paige is a ballet dancer, so small that she looks like she might blow
away. “It didn’t go well with the professor?”
I shook my head, teeth gritted. “He didn’t want me there. He tried to
force me to transfer. Threatened to fail me if I didn’t.”
Paige gasped, shocked, but Leona cocked her head where she leaned
against the door frame.
“It bothered him, then.” I shrugged. She smirked. “So he does care.”
I can’t think of it like that. I spent the whole summer break kidding
myself that Professor Kent and I really had something. All those mantras
about going after what I want, all those long, hot summer nights slipping
my hand into my pajama shorts and thinking of him…
 It’s humiliating.
How did I get this so wrong?
The second class, I’m better prepared. I know now how he’ll look at
me: like a nuisance. Like a chore he has to deal with. So I arrive ten
minutes early, armed with a giant takeout iced coffee, and climb all the way
to the back row. Professor Kent isn’t here yet—I hope he never comes, the
jerk—but when he arrives, he’ll have no reason to even notice me.
I tug my black baseball cap down over my eyes, slink low into my seat,
and lever open my laptop.
Perfect. Between the cap and my laptop, only an inch of my face shows.
I get a few weird looks when the other students file in, flopping down in
the seats like it’s the crack of dawn and not 10am. But I force a smile for
anyone who looks my way, and soon enough, I blend into the background.
Once the rows fill with bodies, I’m invisible.
Or I thought I was. The second Professor Kent walks through the door,
his gaze tracks to me. Fixes on the sliver of my face that he can see. I huff,
sliding lower until my chin is on my chest and I’m completely hidden by
the laptop.
“Nap time?” A guy a few seats over grins at me. I shrug, a smile
tugging my mouth.
“I had a late night,” I whisper. I don’t mean anything by it, but the guy
lights up. Like because I mentioned night time, I must have meant come
nearer. He slides over until he’s sat in the seat next to mine, propping his
elbow on the desk and staring right at me.
Um. Hello? Professor Kent is about to begin the lecture. And he does,
his low voice cutting through the whispers. Everyone quiets down, shuffling
in their seats. Even my nosy neighbor turns around, opening his laptop.
 Everyone knows better than to piss off Professor Kent. Not because he’s
a jerk—other than to me, apparently. But because he’s strict. Kind of a hard
ass. He won’t suffer fools.
I loved that about him last year. But right now, it hurts to be near him. I
wish I were anywhere else.
You did this to yourself, I remind myself. This was your big master plan.
It doesn’t help. I sigh, open up a document, and begin to type.

***

“Miss Jennings. Come here, please.”

For the second class in a row, he singles me out. Makes me stay behind.
I glance around, sure that someone must find this suspicious, but no one
even looks over.
I sigh and step up to the lectern.
“Yes, professor?” I’m not rude. I’m never rude. But I make my question
as flat as possible. So he knows I’ve learned my lesson; that I’m no longer
eager for his attention.
Far from it. I wish my cap had done its job.
A muscle tics in his jaw. Professor Kent flicks a glance at me, eyes
narrowed.
“Next class, please keep your social life out of the lecture hall.” The
words are dragged out of him. Reluctant and heavy.
“I… what?”
I don’t understand. I have friends, sure, but they’re not in this class.
“Your friend—” he spits the word “—barely wrote a single note. Was
too busy drooling all over your bare legs. If you’re going to distract the
other students—”
“Hang on.” I hold up a palm. “So the guy next to me didn’t pay
attention. How is that my fault?”
He keeps talking like I never spoke. “—Then I will be forced to
introduce a seating plan.”
I snort. I can’t help it. This whole situation is so ridiculous. He’s mad
that some random guy didn’t listen properly, and somehow I’m to blame?
And the big threat is a seating plan—like I’m supposed to care?
“Fine.” I shrug. “You’re the professor. You can do whatever stupid thing
you want.”
I’m being outright rude now, but he started this whole mess. And if I
stay here one more minute, I’ll do something worse. Like grab a fistful of
his perfect, pressed shirt and shake him. Like let slip how badly his words
hurt.
“Avery.” He says it like a warning. I turn on my heel, ready to leave.
Professor Kent catches my elbow again, just like last time. Only this
time, he doesn’t drop me like he’s been burned. This time, he tugs me to a
stop, his grip warm and firm.
His hand is on my bare skin. A shiver runs through me, from the crown
of my head to my toes.
I ignore it, scowling at him over my shoulder. “I tried to transfer like
you said. I sat at the back and kept my distance. You’re the one making this
harder, professor.”
He inhales sharply, nostrils flaring. He still hasn’t dropped my arm.
“I know, Avery.” His thumb rubs a tiny circle onto my skin. Like he
can’t help it. “You’re right. I know. I’m handling this all wrong.”
 I didn’t expect that. His confession takes me by surprise, makes my lips
part as I stare up at him. He’s so much taller than me, and I only really feel
it when he’s close. When he has me in arm’s reach, towering against my
back. His gray eyes are stormy, his dark hair curling over his forehead, and
how the hell does anyone concentrate when he’s around? My heart patters
against my rib cage, like it’s knocking to get out.
I wet my lip.
“Avery.”
“I won’t,” I promise, though I don’t really know what he’s afraid of. I
tug my arm gently out of his grip and back up two steps. “I’m not trying to
cause you trouble,” I tell him quietly. And I don’t know what comes over
me, but I say the rest too. “I just… missed you. I wanted you near.”
Something dark flickers across his face. He opens his mouth to say
something, but I pound down the steps and out of the lecture hall before I
have to hear it.
I know he doesn’t want me. I know I got it all wrong.
But I can’t hear it from him.
I can’t.

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 Four

Ellis

D istance. That’s what I needed. Some space from the way Avery
nibbles on her plump bottom lip when she’s thinking. A reprieve
from her cherry scent wafting past me in the corridors. Two weeks into the
semester, and I’ve barely looked in her direction. Barely heard her voice at
all.
I feel better already.
That’s what I tell myself, anyway, as I lean back in my office chair,
scrubbing my face and groaning at the ceiling. It’s late to still be on
campus. The evening sky is bruised, the light fading, and outside my office
window, campus is almost empty. The old-fashioned street lamps that dot
the sidewalks flicker on one by one, and I stare outside without really
seeing anything.
Who am I kidding? She doesn’t have to be near. She doesn’t even have
to be within a ten mile radius.
Everywhere I look, I see Avery.
Every sound I hear reminds me of her. Her soft footsteps over the
floorboards; the whisper of her hair over her bare shoulders; the hitch in her
breath when she laughs silently at a joke in her head.
I could never look in her direction again and she’d still be imprinted on
my mind. Would still be the face I see when I go to sleep.
Avery Jennings.
Fuck.
How is she doing? Does she like her other classes? Does she like my
class, or have I ruined it for her?
All questions that I can’t seek the answers for.
“God help me.” This is what it’s come to: talking to myself in my office
at night. I stifle a laugh, rolling my head on my neck.
“Professor Kent?” Her knock is so quiet, her knuckles just brushing the
door. For a crazy second, I think I’ve done it. I’ve finally gone mad; pined
for Avery so badly that I’ve started hallucinating her. But when I glance at
the doorway, expecting only shadows, there she is. Hovering anxiously on
the threshold, fiddling with her hair.
“Avery?”
Did I make this happen somehow? Did I email her, summon her here,
then conveniently forget about it, wiping my memory with shame?
“Hi.” We’re alone, the English building empty for hours now, so her
whisper comes out louder than it usually does. It echoes across my silent
office, undeniable. “I, um.” She coughs quietly. Her hand twitches. “I have
a question about the assignment.”
Disappointment roars up in me, sudden and overwhelming. It’s crushing
and violent; it squashes the air from my chest.
I force a smile. Gesture to the chair opposite.
“Of course. How can I help, Miss Jennings?”
 “Avery.” Her cheeks pink as she crosses to the chair. Her cut off shorts
rustle as she walks. “Please don’t go backward. You called me Avery
before.” She settles down, always so delicate. Her ankles cross below her
seat, her legs smooth and bare and tanned from the summer, and when she
inhales sharply, I tear my eyes back to her face.
“Excuse me.” I don’t know which part I’m apologizing for. All of it, I
guess. “How can I help, Avery?”
Her mouth twitches in a shy smile. “That’s better.”
A reluctant grin cracks my cheeks. The moment stretches between us,
taut and thrumming; there’s no sound except for our shared breaths and the
breeze tickling the window. Her eyes are so wide, so blue, and I couldn’t
look away if I tried.
So I don’t try. And heat blooms under my skin, my body warming up
for something that can’t happen.
“So.” I clear my throat. “The assignment?”
“Right.” Avery ducks her head, the flush deepening on her cheeks. I
want to round this desk, crouch in front of her chair, and cradle her face. I
want to kiss her forehead and tell her not to be embarrassed. “I just, um. I
picked Macbeth for the essay. And I—”
“Not Romeo and Juliet?” I tilt my head, watching her closely. Her
breath catches in one of her silent laughs, the corner of her mouth tugging
up. She sees the irony too.
“No. I don’t like that one, professor.”
“Why not?” I’m drawing her off topic, but I can’t help it. Avery
Jennings seems like exactly the sort of girl who’d love Romeo and Juliet.
She paints her nails a pretty pearl color; she takes time weaving elaborate
braids through her hair. Last year, when she took my class, I came to the
lecture hall early a few times and found her reading romance novels.
It was so fucking cute. I could barely tear my eyes off her.
Avery shrugs one shoulder. “There’s no one reason. I mean, the
misunderstandings are pretty dumb. And the family feud thing is so
unnecessary. But I guess the real thing is that I prefer happy endings.”
I lean forward, bracing my elbows on my desk. Clasp my hands and
watch her over the top of my knuckles. “Macbeth isn’t exactly a fairy tale.”
Avery smiles at me properly then, her wicked streak flashing through.
“Maybe not. But you can’t deny that he really loved his wife.”
I tip my head back and laugh, the sound bouncing off the ceiling. When
was the last time I laughed—really laughed? It feels alien, out of practice,
and I’m immediately lighter. Like I’ve shaken something loose.
“You’re right, as usual.” Avery bites her lip, pleased, as I grab a spare
sheet of paper. “Let’s go through the assignment.”
If someone had asked me two weeks ago whether I could sit—alone—in
my office after hours with Avery Jennings and not make a huge mistake, I’d
have told them no. That she’s too much of a temptation. My shy, blonde
kryptonite.
But here I am, doing my job. Acting like the professor I’m supposed to
be. We go through her assignment plan, point by point, and I don’t even
look at her bare legs again. We keep it professional, on topic, and if I have
to stop breathing through my nose halfway through because her cherry
scent addles my senses—well.
It’s adapt or die.
“Does that help?” I ask at last, leaning back in my chair. I’m grateful for
every spare inch between us. She flips her hair over one shoulder, fiddling
with the ends absentmindedly, and I fist my hands beneath the desk to keep
from reaching for her.
“Yes. Thank you. Um.”
We’re done. I made it. I kept my messed up desires for my student to
myself. Yet she’s still sitting there, blinking at me wide-eyed, and I peer
around my office like an idiot.
“Was there something else?”
Avery nods and stands up. Balls her hands into fists. Fixes her gaze on a
spot on the wall just above my head.
“I-wish-you-would-look-at-me-again.” She says it so fast, the words
jumbling together, that it takes me a second to work out what she said. Then
I frown at her, my heart thumping harder in my chest.
“I’m looking at you now.”
“No.” She swallows. “In class.”
“I can’t look at you in class, Avery.”
“Why not—”
“Because everyone will see!” I’m talking way too loud, my voice
bouncing around my silent office. Anyone walking through the shadowed
corridors; anyone wandering past the window—they’ll hear it all. But the
words burst out of me, desperate and vicious, because how can she not see
this? How does she not understand? “I’ll take one look at you and every
fucker in that room will know how I feel about you, Avery. I—I can’t—”
I break off, chest heaving, staring blindly out the window. She’s holding
her breath, she’s so quiet, but then the floorboards creak as she shifts her
weight.
“How do you feel about me?”
 “Avery.” I tear my gaze away from the window. Level her a look. “You
know. You’ve always known.”
I’m right. I know I am, and Avery confirms it with her shaky inhale. She
nods once—a truce. And when she grabs her bag and crosses to the
doorway, I don’t know if I’m more frustrated or relieved.
She turns on the threshold. “Thanks for your help, Professor Kent.”
“You’re welcome.” A thought occurs to me, and I frown. “You’re not
walking home alone in the dark, are you?”
“No.” She smiles at me softly. “I’m meeting my friend Paige.” She taps
lightly on the door frame. “Why? Would you have walked me home?”
“Yes. I would.”
It’s a confession. Because though that may sound noble, we both know
what it means. What would inevitably happen at the end of that walk, when
the last of my control ebbed away.
“Goodnight, Professor Kent.”
“Goodnight, Avery.”
I wait until her footsteps fade down the corridor. Then I dig the heels of
my palms into my eyes, like I can gouge her gorgeous image right out of
them.

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 Five

Avery

I know it’s wrong to think sinful thoughts about my professor. And I

know it’s wrong to—to torment him with how badly I want him. But
I’ve been dreaming of him for nearly a year now. Touching myself,
imagining his hands. Picking my clothes to match his favorite colors. I just
can’t help it.
When he stands at the lectern, so broody and commanding, shivers
ripple over my skin. My mouth gets drier the longer I look at him, and
there’s this pulsing ache between my legs. His low, clear voice vibrates
right through to my bones.
In the third week of the semester, I don’t wear a bra to class. It’s not
obvious. I’m wearing a loose, draping sweater. No one else even bats an
eye. But when I’m sitting five rows back, legs crossed and thighs
squeezing, I feel the exact moment that Professor Kent’s gaze snags on my
chest.
The way he looks at me—it’s always a caress. A lingering physical
touch from across the room. But this time, his eyes lock on the front of my
sweater, and my nipples bead and push against the fabric. The more he
stares, the tighter they become, until I’m breathless, squirming in the row
with my pen gripped between my knuckles.
“The themes…” He catches himself. Shakes his head. Carries on, his
voice hoarse. “The dominant themes in Shakespeare’s plays…”
I don’t listen. Lord, I’m awful, but I just can’t concentrate when
Professor Kent is standing right in front of me. Every day after class, I go
home and look up the slides. Read them over and try to take the lesson in
this time.
Sometimes I touch myself too. Remembering his deep voice washing
over me.
“Miss Jennings.”
I’m not surprised this time, when he calls me aside at the end of the
lecture. I hop up onto the platform, hiding a smile, and wait for everyone to
leave with my ankles crossed. I play with my hair, because I know he likes
that. It always makes his eyes darken.
“Your clothing…” As soon as the door bangs shut, the sound bouncing
around the hall, he begins to speak. His gray eyes dart to me and away.
Professor Kent grips the lectern, unmoving even though everyone’s gone.
Like this lump of old wood is the only thing anchoring him in place.
“What about it?” I murmur when he stalls. It’s not like the professor to
hold back.
But he drops his head, gusting out a sigh that’s dredged from the bottom
of his soul.
“Avery,” he says to the lectern. “Are you trying to kill me?”
I huff a laugh. Is it that obvious?
“Kill you? No, that’s not it.”
 He risks a glance at me, staring when he finds my soft smile. I know
I’ve done wrong. I know he’s mad. But I’m so freaking happy to be alone
with him again. When it’s just the two of us, talking together, standing close
enough to share breaths—something untangles on my insides.
“Then what are you doing?”
I wet my lip. “I told you before, in your office. I want you to look at me
again.”
“But—”
“I miss you when you don’t.” I shrug one shoulder, abruptly shy. Like
so many things when it comes to Professor Kent, I didn’t think this through.
“Sorry,” I whisper. “I won’t do it again.”
“That’s probably for the best,” he rasps, gaze dropping to my chest
again. And I can’t help it. I arch my back the tiniest bit. I push the tight
beads of my nipples harder against the fabric. They’re so sensitive, the
brush of my soft sweater makes my breath catch.
“Avery.” Professor Kent rubs a hand over his jaw, still staring. “You’re
making a devil out of me.”
“You can touch them.” I don’t know where this is coming from. There
was nothing like this in my self help manuals. All I know is that feeling his
gaze on me—it’s right. It’s decadent. Like sliding into a warm bath after a
long day. And I’d say just about anything to keep him looking. For him to
touch me, to taste me…
Oh god. I clench my thighs tighter.
“We can’t.” His chest is heaving. He turns to me, even as he says no.
Takes a step away from the lectern. “I’m your professor, Avery. You’re a
student. This is wrong.”
 “It doesn’t feel wrong.” I wrap my arms around my waist and hug
myself. Even though I know he’s being reasonable, that he’s doing the right
thing, somehow that hurts. It’s another rejection to add to the pile. “How
can it be wrong when I l-love you—”
“Avery.” His voice whip-cracks through the quiet. “Don’t. Don’t say
things like that.”
My eyes blur. His face swims in front of me, his pale jaw and his wavy
dark hair going all smudgy. I blink hard, a hot tear rolling down my cheek.
“God. No, Avery…” He sounds broken.
Well, that makes two of us. I wrap my arms tighter around my waist,
holding myself together by the seams. And I wish I had a great parting line.
Something for him to dwell over. But the truth is, my tongue is glued to the
roof of my mouth. I couldn’t speak if I tried.
My chin wobbles in the most humiliating way, and all I can do is nod,
give a pathetic little squeak, and scurry to the door. My bag thumps against
my hip, my sandals skid over the floorboards, and god, I’m such a mess.
One of these days, I’ll learn my lesson. I’ll stop laying my heart bare for
this man. Stop throwing myself at his feet like I’m sacrificing myself at an
altar.
One of these days, I will learn.
After all: Professor Kent is an excellent teacher.

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 Six

Ellis

I am not a reckless man, especially where Avery Jennings is concerned.

Everything I do, I do with utmost control. With an iron clad restraint that
chafes at my insides, that makes my heart twist.
Because with Avery, I have no other choice. And I refuse to hurt her. To
make her life harder; to ruin her college experience.
Except… that’s exactly what I’ve done. In my determination to keep her
at arm’s length so that she can be a normal, happy student—I’ve hurt her.
I made Avery Jennings cry.
I’ve never felt so fucking small. My chest cracks open at the sight of
that single tear, trembling against her eyelashes before it falls. She sucks in
a wobbly breath, lip quivering, then high-tails it out of the lecture hall like
I’m someone to run from.
No. No, no, no. This is—this is exactly what I was trying to avoid.
Avery, eyes wide, blinking hard in pain at my words. Avery, fleeing from
my presence with her arms wrapped around her middle. Everything else
falls away but her.
I need to go to her. Soothe her.
 So when I set my jaw and stride out of the lecture hall, I don’t care who
sees. I don’t care if the students thronging the corridor blink at me,
surprised by the shadows clouding my face. I don’t care if other professors
glance at me, do a double take, then mutter to each other in concern.
I stride after Avery like an avenging angel. My sweet girl will not cry
another tear because of me.
Her blonde head bobs through the crowd ahead of me. She’s rushing,
tripping on the grass in her haste. Bouncing off the footballers’ shoulders as
they swagger to class.
I follow. Steady but sure. She won’t slip out of my sight again.
Someone speaks to me, addressing me by name. Asks about next week’s
reading. I ignore them, pushing past, their voice little more to me than the
birds singing in the trees.
I need to get to Avery.
She darts off the busy path, ducking inside the library side entrance. The
hem of that goddamn floaty sweater whips through the door behind her. I
step onto the grass, cutting a line straight after her, and when I push inside
the library, the sudden gloom blinds my eyes.
It’s dim in here. Stacks loom high on either side, crammed with books
about some obscure subject. Far off in the room, there’s the scratch of pens.
The tapping of keys. But this section—it’s like another world. Shadowed
and silent, tinted blue. Like it’s underwater.
“Avery.”
She’s huddled against a bookcase, leaning one shoulder on the shelf.
Her head is ducked, shoulders heaving, but she whips around when I say
her name. Her gasp shatters the silence.
“P-professor…”
 “Come with me.”
I don’t give her a chance to argue. I take her by the elbow, gentle but
firm, and guide her between the bookshelves to a more private spot. Not for
me, not to protect my career, but because Avery is vulnerable. Wet-faced
and whimpering. When I’ve made sure we’re alone, I take her by the
shoulders. Brace her against the stacks, rubbing small circles against the
fabric of her thin sweater.
“Avery. Sweet girl. Tell me why you’re crying.”
She hiccups in outrage. And I stifle a smile as she hisses, “Why do you
think?”
That’s my girl. She’s shy, yes, but beneath those blushes and whispers,
she has a steel core. And she won’t put up with bullshit.
“I don’t know,” I tell her. She puffs up, ready to bite my head off, but I
keep talking in a low murmur. “It can’t be because I told you off for your
clothing.” I fix her a look. Let a ragged sigh gust out of me as I glance at
her chest again. Despite her tears, her nipples are still pebbled against the
fabric. Little bullets, headed straight for my heart. “Because you wanted to
torture me with this flimsy sweater. Didn’t you?”
Avery gulps. Sniffles again. And I do what I’ve been burning to do
since I first saw her this morning: I take one hand off her shoulder and
hover it over her breast. A hair’s breadth from the gorgeous swell, just
crying out for my hands, my lips, my teeth.
“Do you still want me to touch them, Avery?”
She scowls up at me, a tiny line creasing her forehead. But then she
presses her mouth together and nods. I groan and step forward, flattening
her against the stacks, and her surprised gasp fills me with heat.
 “What?” I rock against her without thinking. Every urge I’ve tamped
down over the last year, every impulse I’ve tamed—they all rush back in
full force. Take over my thrumming body, my desperate hands, my hard
voice. “You think I can touch your gorgeous tits and not the rest of you?
You think I can walk away with barely a taste?” I press my mouth against
her temple, teeth bared, and feel her pulse hammering against the delicate
skin.
Her hips tilt up, thrusting against mine, and it’s almost enough to make
me blow here and now.
Her fingers wind in my shirt. Clutch at the fabric. “I’m still mad at
you,” she mumbles, her head tipping back on a moan as I lick at her throat.
“I know.” I knead the mound of her breast, pinching her nipple,
savoring her ragged groan. Bury my other hand in her soft, wild hair fraying
out of its braid. “Because you think I don’t love you.” I punctuate my words
with a rock of my hips. “You. Think. You. Don’t. Own. Me.”
“I… I…” Avery’s gone. Blissed out and bemused, her eyes staring
glassy at the ceiling. So I tear my hands away from her. Step back, even
though every molecule in me screams out to flatten her against the shelves,
to kiss and fuck and claim.
I won’t do it when she’s upset. When she’s not thinking clearly. Even
though my cock’s so hard, my teeth ache.
“You’re a smart girl, Avery.” I scrub a hand over my jaw, chest heaving.
And I look at her, really look at her, with every ounce of my need for her
written on my face. She whimpers, pupils blowing wide, and reaches for
me.
I back up another step.
 “Don’t make this mistake again,” I rasp. “Don’t you dare forget what
this is.”
She nods, dazed, her eyes finally dry. And though my hand itches to
wipe away the old tears on her cheeks, I don’t trust myself. If I touch her
again, I’ll be buried in her sweet pussy before I can think straight.
I turn on my heel and leave her there, her cherry scent lingering on my
clothes.

***

I make it home. That’s my only saving grace in this car wreck of a situation.
I wait until I’m safely tucked away in my apartment before I tear my buckle
open, panting hard between my clenched teeth. I lean against my front door,
shoulder blades digging into the wood, and punish myself, fast and hard.
I can’t go slow. Or gentle. Or touch myself in any way that Avery
would. I can’t picture her small, soft hand wrapped around my length.
Better to grip myself hard enough to bruise, choking my cock, and push
myself to a painful orgasm, quick and rough.
When I’m done, my head thumps back against the door. My hoarse
breaths fill my silent apartment. I screw my eyes shut, and for the millionth
time, I picture her here. In my home.
Curled up on my sofa, painting her nails. Sipping hot chocolate and
watching a movie. Puttering around in the kitchen, already knowing where
everything is. Eating food from my refrigerator, sleeping in my bed,
stepping into my shower.
Living here, always in reach.
 Her soft skin moments away from my touch. Her cherry scent lacing the
air. I can picture it now, so vividly that my chest aches; I can almost taste
her on my tongue.
I haven’t kissed her. Not on the lips. I haven’t crossed that line.
It’s just as well. If I had, I’d never have been able to leave her there.
I used to like this place. But it hasn’t been home since that first day that
Avery sat in my class. Since I laid eyes on her and the earth cracked open
beneath my feet. Now my apartment is cold. Quiet. Mocking me, in its lack
of her.
One day, I think, sudden and fierce. I won’t pursue her now. Won’t do
more damage than I already have. But the second being with me wouldn’t
hurt her, wouldn’t cause her trouble…
Avery Jennings will never want to leave. I’ll make sure of that, hosting
her like a gentleman. Burying my face between her thighs every chance I
get. And if she wants to live somewhere else—wants to travel? Work
abroad?
I don’t care. Wherever she is, I’ll be there too.

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 Seven

Avery

“
H e what?”
Paige gapes at me from the other end of the sofa, a piece of
popcorn hovering halfway to her mouth. Her caramel hair is scraped back in
a bun, and she’s still dressed in her leotard and sweatpants.
Leona sits on the rug, her back leaning against the sofa. A sketchpad is
balanced on her knees, with charcoal staining the tips of her fingers and
forming a streak over one cheek. She snorts.
“Come on, Paige. He kissed her.”
I pace back and forth in front of the TV. A sitcom is paused on the
screen, the characters frozen and flickering in place.
“No, he didn’t. Not exactly. I mean, his lips didn’t touch my lips.”
“But?” Leona prods. She’s hiding a smirk as she watches me, eyes
sparkling. Leona acts tough, but she’s loves romance just as much as the
rest of us.
“But he might as well have.” I sigh, dropping my satchel onto the
floorboards. I close my eyes and summon the feelings from the library—
every single sensation. Professor Kent plastering me to the bookcase,
touching me, rubbing his face in my hair. Speaking with his mouth pressed
to my temple, like he couldn’t bear to lean back an inch.
Maybe he didn’t kiss me. But he sure did stake a claim.
“He told me he loves me.” I swirl a finger in the air. I open my eyes and
find Paige beaming. “In a roundabout way.”
“That’s the dream,” Leona says flatly, but I ignore her. She’s just
worried about me. She’s spent a lot of nights sat up with me lately, rubbing
my back as I sniffle about Professor Kent.
“But he won’t be with me.” My shoulders slump as the rest of our
encounter crashes back in. The way he tore himself off, gritting his teeth
like it hurt. The way he stared at me with hungry eyes, before inhaling
sharply and striding away.
“Because of his career?” Paige finally remembers her popcorn,
dropping it back in the bowl in her lap.
“No…” I chew on my bottom lip. “I don’t think that’s it. I think he’s—
he’s protecting me.”
Leona rolls her eyes. Paige shudders out a huge sigh.
“Oh, wow. That is so romantic.”
I prop my hands on my hips. Stare at the floorboards. “It is romantic.
But it has to stop. If he doesn’t want to be with me…” I suck in a painful
breath. “Then, okay. That’s one thing. I’ll accept it. But if he does want to
be with me, and he’s making my decision for me—”
“He’d better cut it out,” Leona finishes. I point at her.
“Right.”
“We need a plan.” Leona tosses her sketchpad onto the coffee table and
rolls her head from side to side. Nerves swell in my belly, fluttering against
my insides, but I blow out a hard breath and nod.
 She’s right. I need a plan.
A plan to break Professor Kent.

***

I wait until his office hours the next day. A whole agonizing day of lectures
and classes on campus; of knowing that he’s near and feeling his touch still
tingling on my skin, but not going to him.
Not yet.
At 5pm, when my last class ends and his office hours begin, I meet
Leona and Paige in the girls’ bathroom in the English building. The door
has barely swung shut behind me before they tug me to the sinks, patting at
my hair and fussing over my makeup.
We already picked out my outfit last night: a white halter dress and
sandals. But now, in the safety of the girls’ bathroom, Leona adds the
finishing touches to her master plan.
Paige brushes my hair and fluffs it up until it rests lightly on my
shoulders. Leona reaches over and dabs red lipstick on my mouth—bold
and bright. Then squirts perfume on my chest.
And I slide a hand up my back and flick my bra open. It’s time to pull
out all the stops.

***

His door is propped open. I pause on the threshold, watching Professor

Kent in his office. He’s sat at the desk, a pair of black-framed glasses
balanced on his nose, and a muscle flexes in his jaw as he reads over some
poor student’s assignment. He gusts out a low sigh, grabbing a pen and
crossing through a whole section with a firm line.
I clear my throat. God, I hope that’s not my paper.
Professor Kent glances over, then does a double take. His eyes widen,
and he drops the pen quickly, pushing to his feet.
“Avery. What are you—”
“These are your office hours, right?” He presses his mouth in a line and
nods. Here goes nothing. “I have some questions for you.”
Something like disappointment flickers behind his eyes, but the
professor waves at the chair opposite his desk. I push off the door, tugging
it shut behind me.
“Avery,” he warns as he sits back down. His alarm only grows when he
gets a good look at me. My hair; my red lips; my nipples beading against
my white dress. He hisses out a breath, falling back in his seat. Professor
Kent scrubs a hand over his jaw, staring at me with hard, hungry eyes.
“What did you want to ask me?” he rasps.
I reach the spare chair. Grip it, and tug it to one side.
“I’ll show you,” I whisper.
My summer of self help manuals has been leading to this: the exact
moment when I drop to my knees. I crawl under the wood of his desk,
shadowed but spacious, as Professor Kent curses darkly above me. He
shoves his chair back, spreading his thighs to make room.
I crawl between those legs, resting my palms on his tense muscles.
“Avery.” He stares down at me from above the desk, white-faced, his
chest heaving. “We can’t do this.” But even as he says it, he winds his
fingers through my hair. Cradles my head like I’m something precious.
I glance pointedly at the hard line straining against his pants.
 “If we want to, we can.”
He chokes out a laugh. He’s so tense, his thighs are practically
vibrating. I bite my lip, waiting until he meets my eyes.
“Please.” I dart my tongue out to wet my lip. Professor Kent groans.
“Please, professor. I want to taste you.”
“Fuck.” He runs the pad of one thumb over my red lip. Pushes it inside
my mouth, sucking in a ragged breath as I suckle at him, humming. Heat
tingles under my skin, my core pulsing under my dress, and I wiggle my
hips from side to side, so worked up I need to move.
He’s so close. So solid and manly. His thumb is large in my mouth, and
his manhood would be so much larger. His scent is everywhere,
surrounding me, and I’m tucked down here in the shadows like his dirty
little secret.
I love it.
“Avery.” He sounds broken already. Power surges through me, heady
and delicious, as he pumps his thumb back and forth on my tongue. “God,
sweetheart. That dress. Those lips. You look…”
I pull off his thumb with a pop. Tilt my head.
“I look?”
He says it quietly. Confesses it, just for me.
“Like one of my daydreams.”
That’s all I need to hear. He wants me, wants this too, and to
demonstrate, he helps me get his pants open. I reach in, biting my lip, and
have to stifle a moan when I finally get my hand around him.
He’s scorching hot. Rock hard, the skin like satin. With a bead of
moisture crowning the tip. I swirl a fingertip through that bead, spreading
the moisture around, and he tips his head back with a groan.
 God. The sounds he makes—they’re so deep and rumbling, they might
shake apart the furniture.
“Professor Kent—”
“Ellis,” he interrupts. A rueful smile tugs his mouth, and he strokes my
cheekbone. “Call me Ellis.”
“Ellis.” I looked up his name ages ago. When I first sat in his class last
year and blinked up at him like a thunderbolt had hit me. But I’d somehow
never dreamed that I could call him that.
I love it. His name slips out of me like a sigh.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admit. I squeeze his hard length
gently, running my hand up and down. “You might have to teach me a bit
longer, professor.”
“Fuck.” He shakes his head, dazed. “Fuck. I’m going to hell.”
I sit back on my heels, heart sinking. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.” The growl tears out of him, thrilling me back to life. I push back
onto my knees and squeeze him again. “God, no. I’m going to feel your
pretty mouth. Start now, sweetheart. Taste the tip.”
He slips back into his role of teacher easily. And pleasure crackles
through my veins as he takes charge, always so steady and sure. He’s as
firm as ever, his words commanding, and I pant and squeeze my thighs
together as I do what he says.
He tastes good. Salty and subtle. I moan and suck him into my mouth
without being told. Ellis curses and tightens his grip in my hair, guiding me
up and down beneath the desk.
“That’s it.” I bob my head, my lips stretching around him. “That’s right,
sweetheart. Swallow me down. Taste it. It’s all yours.” I hum, the vibration
soaking through his skin, and he hisses between his teeth. Rocks his hips up
to meet me, his desk chair creaking.
Yes. I may be on my knees, may have my mouth on him, but I’ve never
felt so powerful. Never felt so certain and in control. I was made to do this
—to draw these sounds from this man, and to feel his hands on me in turn.
Muffled footsteps by the door. That’s our only warning. Ellis pushes his
chair beneath the desk, hiding his lap, and I scramble to tuck my feet under.
The office door swings open. An older woman’s voice floats through the
room, asking Ellis about his class schedule.
I hold my breath, heart slamming in my throat. I don’t dare move. Don’t
dare creak the floorboards. From here to the doorway, I’m hidden by the
desk. But if she steps inside…
Ellis answers, polite and unruffled.
I bite my lip, suddenly desperate to laugh. And to do the most wicked
thing I can think of. I take his length in my hand, still hard and flushed
angry red, and slide it back into my mouth.
Ellis’ breath catches. See, he’s not so unflappable, is he? And when he
keeps chatting with the woman, his voice is ever so slightly strained. I smile
around his cock, bobbing my head slowly. Sucking him quietly; savoring
every lick and taste. One of his knees is pressed close to me, and I rub my
beaded nipple on his leg through the fabric of my dress.
The woman says something.
“Thanks, Elaine,” Ellis grits out. And when his office door clicks shut,
footsteps moving away down the corridor, he curses roughly and pushes his
chair back. I crawl after him eagerly, my mouth still on his cock, dipping
my head with every nudge of his hand. He guides me faster and faster, his
hand gripped in my hair, and the extra roughness makes my body sing.
 “Shit. You liked that, didn’t you? Sweet little exhibitionist. Did you
want her to catch you under there, with your lips around my cock and your
pussy soaking through the back of your dress?”
I hum and nod, taking him deeper, and he curses one more time before
gritting out, “Avery. Going to come.”
That’s my warning. I know that much. My cue to pull away if I don’t
want to swallow. But I do want to—I want all of him. Every last drop.
So I crowd closer, taking him so deep that my nose touches his stomach.
“Avery.” I’ll never get tired of him saying my name like that. Like a
prayer. Like something holy. “Sweetheart. Fuck.” He comes long and hard,
his hips thrusting off his chair. And when I finally sit back on my heels,
wiping my hand over my mouth, I don’t have time to catch my breath
before he’s bundling me out from under the desk.
He scoops me up off the floorboards, sets me on the desk, and tears my
panties down my legs.
“Yes?” He pauses with my thighs pushed wide apart. He’s got such a
crazed glint in his eye, I think he’d go mad if I said no.
I wet my lip, suddenly shy. “Yes, please, professor.”
Ellis groans as he drops to his knees. Buries his face between my thighs
and eats at me like a starving man. I’m already wound so tight from
squirming under the desk, and feeling his tongue plunge inside my entrance,
feeling his teeth scrape over my clit—
I fall apart.
I come with a wail, my thighs locked around his neck, and he doesn’t
stop for a second. Doesn’t ease off until I slump over his papers, boneless.
And when we finally both get back up, clumsy with pleasure, he laughs,
the sound bright, and kisses my mouth. So sweet, so tender, but claiming,
too. That’s Professor Kent all over: soft hands and nipping teeth.
Ten minutes later, I jump when I let myself out of his office and find
someone waiting in the corridor. It’s the guy who sat next to me on the first
day of class. Who kept staring at me instead of taking notes. A knot tightens
in my stomach, nerves skittering over my skin, but he doesn’t smile
knowingly. Doesn’t make any hint that he heard us. Just tips his chin and
says, “Hey.”
“Hi.” I hurry away, thanking my lucky stars.
That was super close.

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 Eight

Ellis

I stride into the lecture hall ten minutes before class begins. Usually, I
prefer to arrive precisely on time. Better than standing at the lectern with
sleepy students gawking.
But I was too eager this morning. I need to see her.
Avery slips through the doorway two minutes later, her cheeks flushed
and her eyes bright. She’s wearing a pair of cut off shorts and a loose, light
sweater today, but no matter how demure she looks, my cock swells in my
pants.
I’ve seen her gasping. Squirming. Calling out my name.
I’ll never be able to look at her without my pulse pounding again.
“Hi, professor,” she whispers, smiling shyly before she crosses to climb
the steps. I stare, fixated on her bare legs, until someone coughs out a laugh.
Shit. Get it together.
I keep my eyes firmly away from Avery as I set up my notes. Prepare
for the lecture. And perhaps I would have made it through the full hour, if it
weren’t for the note which slithers out of my briefcase.
It’s handwritten. Torn hastily from a notebook.
 I know what you did.
I read it twice, heart thundering. There’s only one thing in my life that’s
worthy of blackmail.
Avery.
My eyes dart to her, helpless, as rage swells in my throat. Whoever sent
this note… they’ll wish they minded their own goddamn business. Because
I don’t give a shit about my career—it’s Avery I care about. And if they
dare to cause her any trouble…
I roll my head from side to side, blowing out a slow breath.
“Problem, professor?”
It’s a guy in the third row. He hunches over his desk, watching me
eagerly. I blink at him, recognition dawning—it’s the guy who came to my
office hours. The guy who sat next to Avery and drooled all over her bare
legs.
This fucker. I fix him with a hard glare, saying nothing.
He waits a beat too long until his cocky smile slips. Until he registers
the violence and fury in my gaze. Then he shrinks back into the row,
fumbling for his laptop.
“Never mind,” he mutters, throat bobbing.
Goddamn right. Never mind.
It’s dealt with. This weasel won’t dare bother her—it’s clear from his
ducked head and his darting eyes. He picked a fight without thinking, and
now he’s running with his tail between his legs. And now he knows that he
even so much as sniffs Avery—he’ll have me to deal with.
Good. Fine.
So why is my heart still racing? Pounding out a sickly rhythm in my
chest?
 I make it through the lecture. God knows how. I switch onto autopilot,
delivering the class that I’ve given so many times, I could do it in my sleep.
And this time, I don’t stare at Avery like a love struck fool. No; I keep my
frown fixed on the asshole in the third row. He wilts into his chair, penitent
and piss-scared, but it doesn’t calm my pulse. Doesn’t stop the ringing in
my ears.
“Are you okay?” Avery whispers at the end of the lecture, when
everyone else is filing out, oblivious. Our little blackmailer made a run for
it first, his sneakers squeaking over the floorboards.
Avery hops on to the platform, her arms crossed and forehead creased.
She’s worried for me, sweet girl.
“Yes,” I grind out, shoving my papers into my briefcase. I know what I
have to do. “But last night… Avery, it was a mistake.”
Her pained breath reaches my ears. Finally cuts through the chaos in my
head. And as soon as I hear it, I know—what the hell am I doing?
“You—you asshole.” She wraps her arms around her waist tighter.
Hugging, because I’ve hurt her so badly.
“Avery. Wait.” She turns on her heel. I catch her by the elbow, chest
thundering and breath coming fast. “Wait. I’m sorry. That’s not—I don’t
think that.”
“You don’t know what you think,” she says coldly, and god, I’ve never
heard that tone from her. It chills me down to my marrow.
“I do.” I spin her back to face me. Cradle her cheek. She glares up at
me, eyes hard. “I know that I love you. That I can’t spend another day
without you. Sneaking around, like this is something to be ashamed of.”
Her frown softens as I talk, melting into something cautious. Something
hopeful. “I know I’ve messed up so many times. And you’re such an angel,
I’ll never deserve you. But please, Avery.” I drop my forehead to hers.
Skate my thumbs over her cheekbones. “Be with me. Be mine.”
She bites her bottom lip. Draws in a steady breath. Then smiles, and it’s
like the sun coming out.
“I love you too.” She falters, glancing at the door. The noise of the
crowd echoes in from the corridor. “What about your job?”
“There are other jobs.” I scoop her up by the ass. Carry her down off the
platform and sit her down on the front row of desks, her legs wrapped
around my waist. “There’s only one Avery Jennings.”
It’s nothing like last night. Even with the thunder of footsteps in the
corridor, the shouts of students so near, we’re not frantic. We take our time.
I kiss Avery like I should have kissed her in the library. Slow and sweet
and thorough. And she undoes my belt almost lazily, drawing the leather
through the buckle.
Still. When I slide my hand inside her shorts, my fingers delving into
her panties, she’s wet. Slick and ready. I drop my forehead onto her
shoulder, forcing myself to think straight.
“Someone might come in,” I rasp. “Do you want to stop?”
“No.” She tugs me closer by the belt loops. Spreads her legs wider. “I
want you to take me, professor.”
“I fucking knew it,” I mutter, yanking her shorts and panties down.
Pushing home into her tight, warm pussy. She tenses at the intrusion, and I
slow, her breaths hot on my neck. But after a few seconds, she relaxes.
Starts humming and nibbling my earlobe. And I slide in to the hilt.
“You’re my sweet little exhibitionist, aren’t you?” She nods, hiccuping
when I spank her ass. I start to rock my hips, her stranglehold on my cock
making sweat bead on my forehead. So. Goddamn. Good. “And you’re
mine. All mine, Avery. Mine to fuck. Mine to love. Mine to marry.”
She whimpers, clinging to my shoulders as I pound between her legs.
As I reach between us and play with her clit. The sounds of the corridor are
loud, deafening all around us, but we might as well be the last two people
on Earth. The row shudders beneath us, scraping over the floorboards, but I
don’t stop. I thrust harder, faster.
“You’re mine, too,” she whispers in my ear. Squeezes her little pussy to
make her point. And that’s what breaks me—what makes my vision go
white. I groan, rubbing her clit and cursing with relief when she comes,
clamping down hard on me, waves of pleasure wracking her body.
I fill her up. Pulse after pulse. So much that it drips onto the desk.
I don’t care. I’ll clean it up. Or maybe I’ll leave it there for the next
nosy asshole.
“Don’t you dare take this back,” Avery says once she’s caught her
breath. She hops down off the row and tugs her clothes back on.
I choke out a laugh, filled with sunshine. Filled with her.
“Never.”
It’s done. She’s mine.

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 Nine

Avery

One Year Later

I drift between the library stacks, peering up the spines of endless books.
The stack in my arms is already weighing me down. Making my muscles
burn.
“Want a hand?”
I turn to tell my would-be savior ‘no’. That I’ve got it, thank you. But
when I spin, I find Ellis leaning against the book case, a smirk tugging his
mouth.
“Oh my god!” I yelp. Someone shushes me from three stacks over. “Oh
my god,” I whisper, rolling my eyes. Ellis grins, pushing upright and
plucking the pile of books out of my arms. He drops a kiss on my forehead.
“I love it when you call me that.”
“Shut up.” I trail him between the bookcases. “I thought the conference
was until tomorrow morning.”
I’ve been counting the days. Sighing like a war widow. Leona has
thrown at least three pens at my head.
 “I drove back early.” Ellis winks at me over his shoulder. “Couldn’t
keep away.”
This is it. The feeling grows in my chest, expanding until I might float
up to the ceiling. This is it. The man I love. This is the rest of my life.
“I missed you,” I murmur, my throat weirdly tight. He glances at me,
concerned. And why shouldn’t he be? Two seconds ago, we were messing
around. Chatting playfully.
Now there’s a lump in my throat and tears swim in my eyes.
“Avery.” He gathers me against his chest. Tucks my head under his
chin. “Sweet girl. I always miss you.”
It’s hard not having him near. Oh, we spend every night together. We
see each other every day. But since Ellis took a job at a neighboring college,
I can’t sneak into his office anymore. Can’t peer around for him in the
crowds.
“Stupid rules,” I mutter. Ellis tips his head back and laughs. Someone
shushes us again, but he ignores them, unfazed.
In fact, he backs me up against the bookshelves. Kisses me hard, then
nips at my chin.
“You like some rules,” he murmurs, his free hand sliding up my waist.
Grazing the underside of my breast. “Breaking them, anyway.” He places
my pile of books on the shelf. Grips both my hips and squeezes tight. “Shall
I make you feel better, Avery?”
I nod, grinning blearily at the ceiling as he ducks his head. Licks and
nibbles at my neck.
It’s hard when he’s gone, yes. But he’s back now.
And we have the rest of our lives to make up for lost time.
OceanofPDF.com
 Ten

Ellis

Eight Years Later

I never lock my home office door.

For one thing, I have nothing to hide. Teaching college-level English is
rewarding, but not exactly top-secret.
For another, my wife likes to visit. Likes to slip inside when I’m
working and distract me. Today’s outfit is so reminiscent, it makes my chest
pinch: a soft white sweater and cherry red lipstick.
“What are you doing?” Avery murmurs, strolling around my desk.
Trailing her fingertips over the wood, her ring sparkling up at me. Triumph
surges in my gut, the same as every time I see that ring. The proof that she’s
mine, that it’s my job to make her happy.
“Nice hair,” I tell her, ignoring her question. She’s scraped it back into
French braids. She knows I like those.
Avery smirks, coming to a stop opposite the desk. She drums her fingers
on the polished wood, raising her eyebrows and glancing at the floorboards.
There’s a cushion ready and waiting for her knees.
 A thump rattles the office door. We both jump, startled from the spell
we’d begun to weave, then Avery laughs and crosses to the doorway.
“Daddy’s working,” she whispers to the two giggling boys.
“But you came in,” one of them points out, voice high and reedy.
“He has a point,” I call.
Avery ignores me, flipping me off behind her back. I grin at the ceiling,
leaning back in my chair.
Things have changed. But not the most important things. My wife is
still my world, and now our sons have joined us. Made our family bigger
and brighter.
I nudge the cushion beneath the desk with my toe, smile rueful.
Maybe next time.

***

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 About the Author
Cassie writes outrageous, OTT insta-love with tons of sugar and spice. She
loves cookie dough, summer barbecues, and her gorgeous cat Missy.

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