Total pages in book: 27
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 25686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 128(@200wpm)___ 103(@250wpm)___ 86(@300wpm)
It seems like I wait an eternity when the large, bulky shadow approaches from the other side of the door before it opens. His green eyes smolder when he opens the door, and even though it’s what I expected, I’m surprised at how it scares the hell out of me. My stomach drops when I feel the palpable heat emanating from him. I’m the sole focus of his piercing gaze, and despite the fact that I planned this out, I’m literally quaking.
I swallow hard. “Sorry I’m late, Professor,” I say, my voice a little shaky and husky.
I need to get a fucking grip. You’re not roleplaying, I tell myself. This is real life. And yet…
“You’re sorry you’re late?” he asks, crossing his arms on his chest and tipping his head to the side. “Why do I find that hard to believe?”
His voice is deeper than I remember, or maybe it’s because he’s stern and corrective now?
Oh, God. Why’d I think this man would be easy to play?
My mouth is dry when I take a step back, but he takes a step closer to me, not allowing me to cower. “You will be sorry, Ms. Romano,” he says in a whisper that makes my nipples harden with want. “You’ll remain after class with me this afternoon. I told you there would be consequences for misbehavior.”
Oh, God. Oh God oh God oh God.
Me, alone, with him, and in trouble.
It’s exactly what I wanted, but now I’m questioning my sanity.
I’m dimly aware of him stepping aside so I can enter the room. A flush of embarrassment crawls up my neck and my cheeks, as I take my seat on the other side of the room. My other classmates thankfully don’t look my way to give me space to sort my shit, but it doesn’t matter anyway. They may as well not even be here, since the only person I’m aware of is the big, angry, dominant man standing just a few feet away from me. My eyes zone in on the thick leather belt at his waist, and I imagine what it would be like to watch him unfasten that belt, double it in his hands, and bend me over the desk.
My panties dampen. Christ, I need to get a grip already. It’s like my class has become some sort of fetish fantasy play.
I really, really need to get some action, and soon.
He crosses to the front of the room. “I enjoyed reading the essays you sent me,” he says, lifting a stack of papers from his desk. “The literary influences on your imaginations are many and varied,” he continues, and now he’s walking up my aisle, his eyes focused on me once more. “And it will be my pleasure to see you explore where your imagination takes you.”
Of course my dirty little mind has fun with that.
He’s just responding to the assignments, I tell myself.
But my body knows better.
I take down notes and jot down what he says. Tonight’s assignment will be an actual piece of fiction I need to write based on the imagination piece I wrote the day before. So while my classmates write about traveling to foreign countries and world domination, I’ll be writing about nipple clamps and wax play.
Excellent.
I’m so caught up in mentally drafting my essay for class, that I momentarily forget where I am. When I become aware of everyone around me standing up and leaving their seats, I blink up at the clock. Class is over. On autopilot I stand with the rest of them, pretending I was totally paying attention, but his sharp voice freezes me.
“Sit down, Ms. Romano.”
I blink. He’s at his desk, leaning back as my classmates filter out of the classroom. His stern gaze focuses solely on me. His arms are crossed on his chest, like he’s challenging me to defy him.
Obediently, I sit.
A corner of his lips quirks up, then just as quickly he sobers, so swiftly I wonder if I imagined that.
Does he enjoy toying with me?
When the last student leaves the room, he pushes off his desk, stalks to the door, and flicks the lock.
My heart stutters an erratic beat in my chest, thump, thump, thumpity thump.
I wipe my damp hands on the plaid fabric of my skirt and swallow hard. I’m so nervous, the blood pounds in my ears like a river, drowning out rational thought.
He turns to face me, and eyes me quietly before stalking back to his desk. He leans back, crossing his ankles and folding his hands. Jesus, he’s beautiful, flecks of gray in his beard making him look distinguished and refined. His body, even hidden in these fancy clothes, is sculpted and strong. I bet he lifts or… something. I can feel his latent power from where I sit.
“Do you have something to say for yourself?” he asks. “I told you not to be late today, and yet here you are.”