Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
I count to one hundred, then tiptoe down the stairs. The air smells like woodsmoke and evergreen, the morning sun already painting the living room in hot, bright rectangles. When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I see the transformation: the great room has been rearranged. The dining table is gone, replaced by a single wooden desk, and behind it is Mr. McKnight, insanely handsome in a dark button-down and wire-rim glasses he absolutely does not need. His sleeves are rolled, exposing the ink on his forearms, and a legal pad sits open in front of him, pen poised.
He looks up at me, blue eyes gleaming, and says, “Miss Vreeland. You’re late.”
There’s no smile. No glint of mischief. It’s like he’s erased the last twenty-four hours and replaced himself with a sexier, sterner, more academic version. I have no idea how he does it, but my knees go weak.
“Sorry, Professor,” I say. My voice comes out a bit fluttery. Is that really me?
He gestures to the single chair in front of the desk. “Sit.”
I sit. The skirt rides up, and I cross my legs, instantly aware of the expanse of ivory thigh I’m showing. I wonder if he notices. If he wants to see more.
He makes a show of flipping through the legal pad, then sets his pen down with a click.
“I’ve read your last paper,” he says, and my mouth goes dry.
“Oh?” I say, breathless.
He leans forward, arms on the desk, blue eyes fixed on mine with the full force of his intelligence and will. “Your thesis was provocative,” he says, slow and deliberate. “But lacking in evidence. I expected more from you, Miss Vreeland.”
I swallow. I can’t remember if this is supposed to be hot, or just exciting. All I know is that my nipples are already hard and the air on my thighs feels like an invitation.
“I’m sorry, Professor McKnight,” I say, trying to sound remorseful. “I can redo it if you want.”
He looks down, notes something on the pad, then back up. “Your grades have been inconsistent at best,” he says. “Your last test was a seventy-two. The one before, eighty-nine. Your performance in discussion is better, but still not exemplary.”
Talon keeps going. He’s not letting me off the hook.
“I’ve reviewed your attendance at well. I see you’ve missed several office hours, despite repeated invitations.” His gaze flicks from my face to my collar, then lower, to my breasts, but never for long. It’s like he’s fighting himself.
“I’ve been busy,” I say, knowing it’s not good enough.
He taps the pen. “Busy with what?”
I open my mouth and then close it. My mind is blank. I am blank.
He lets the silence hang. The tension is atomic.
“Is it that you have a boyfriend?”
My eyes widen innocently.
“Well, no! Maybe. Yes, I’m seeing someone but I don’t know if you’d call him my boyfriend,” I murmur, leaning into the roleplay.
Talon’s blue eyes flash.
“Is that so?” he purrs. “Does this so-called boyfriend please you?”
I stare at him, big breasts heaving.
“No, Professor McKnight,” I whisper. “Ernest leaves me hanging all the time, and ..and.. well, he has a micro-penis,” I confide in a whisper. “He doesn’t satisfy me at all.”
The handsome man smiles.
“I know you can do better, Miss Vreeland,” he growls, voice dropping. “But I can’t help you if you won’t help yourself.”
I nod, hair falling over my cheek. I push it back, trying to look up at him through my lashes. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. I want him to feel sorry for me. I want him to be angry. I want—
He stands, pushing the chair back with a scrape. He’s so much taller than I remember. The shirt is tucked into his jeans, no belt, just all man. He circles the desk and comes to stand right behind me, close enough to smell his aftershave, his sweat, the something else I can’t name. His groin’s in my face, but then he bends over.
“You want to succeed?” he asks, voice right in my ear.
I nod, the movement tiny.
“Then you’ll do what I say?”
I nod again.
“Say it.”
“I’ll do what you say, Professor McKnight.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder, the grip gentle but unyielding.
“Good,” he says, and the word is a benediction and a curse.
He leans over, and I feel his breath on my neck. “Next time, be on time. Leave the thoughts of the micro-penis at home. Or I’ll have to find a way to discipline you.”
I bite the inside of my cheek so hard it hurts. The heat between my legs is relentless, and oh god, but I’m damp already.
“Yes, Professor,” I whisper, and I hear the tiniest catch in his breathing.
He straightens, goes back behind the desk, and picks up the legal pad again. The air is thick, sticky, and electric.
“Any questions?” he says.
I shake my head, then add, “No, sir.”