Her.
I want her.
But I can’t have her. I never will.
It’s inappropriate at the least. Taking advantage at the worst.
The best I can hope for is her forgiveness. The worst is her justifiable anger.
I don’t expect the brush of her lips in the hollow of my throat. I don’t expect the kiss she places there. I don’t expect the rush of desire that shakes my whole body, and I don’t expect the urge to take her into my arms and kiss her until she can’t think at all.
All I know is that the moment she steps away from me will be the worst moment of my life, so I close my arms around her and pretend that nothing about what I want to do to her will ruin either one of us. Or destroy our lives.
Chapter Three
Steph
His hand cups my nape. His thumb strokes the sensitive skin just below my ear and I shiver, an involuntary shudder that courses down my body. He’s doing the very thing he’s accusing someone else of doing, but unlike with Daniel, this attention is not unwanted. I could tell him no at any time and he would stop. He would listen and act. I’m not scared. I feel…safe.
Excited.
Aroused.
Part of my higher mind still works. I shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t be in his arms. I should be out the door and halfway down the corridor, but my professor threads his hand through my hair and tips up my chin. His gaze snags on my lips and moves back to my eyes. The intensity in his dark depths is my undoing. I can’t move. Can’t think. My stupid feet remain where they are.
I don’t know how one short conversation has changed so many things. He asks me to tell him to stop when it’s the last thing I want.
He can’t know anything about Daniel, but he looked close enough to know something.
It’s that look. That understanding that holds me in place. That…caring.
He sees through the walls I’ve spent years constructing as though they’re nothing but cling wrap.
He sees me.
And that’s dangerous because it makes me want things I shouldn’t want and can never have.
His reaction isn’t what I expect. Nor is the pleading in his tone when he asks for my…what? For my forgiveness?
For my permission.
The answer is yes.
His shirt is open, revealing a patch of tantalizing tanned skin. His masculine scent rises from his body and infuses into my bloodstream. His thumb strokes my cheek so softly. Gently. There’s a slight tremor in his thumb as he smears my tear track away.
I lean forward and press my lips to the base of his throat where his heart visibly ticks and something clicks and eases inside me.
So right.
So wrong.
He’s my professor. I shouldn’t lust after him. Shouldn’t feel the way I do. Definitely shouldn’t be kissing him in his office, but I can’t stop. Not when I inhale and my lungs fill with his intoxicating masculine scent.
“I’m so sorry. Please, forgive me.” His tone is contrite yet full of yearning. I should tell him he has nothing to beg forgiveness for, but when his gaze flares hot and his hand curves around my nape I stop thinking.
I act.
I rise on my toes, our breaths mixing. I close my eyes, fall into the sweet grip of nerves and desire. His hands on me tremble when I lean in.