Page 11 of Tempting Teacher

“Fuck!” Roaring out my frustration, I rest my head in the crook of my arm. I cannot allow myself to develop feelings for this girl. She’s a client, and can never be anything more. Feelings don’t bode well for a man like me, and she certainly deserves someone a thousand times better. Rinsing clean, I turn off the water and step out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my waist, run a hand through my dripping hair, clenching my teeth as I realize I’m still fucking hard.

I wait almost two weeks to text her. I almost don’t. But there are ten thousand reasons still sitting in a sealed envelope on my kitchen counter that persuade me. I knew she was getting worried. She had texted three times in the last five days asking about our next lesson. I was an asshole. I ignored every text. I needed space from her. Needed time to wrap a noose around any kind of feelings my heart seemed to think were possible with her. I choked that fucker out and now the only thing in the game was my head. Now, twelve days later, I was finally texting her back. “Ready for your next lesson?”

Her response was instant. She had no idea how to be coy. She just acted on impulse instead of playing games. Which of course, made her all the more attractive. The only way this was going to work, was if I did this at her place, not mine. I needed to be able to get the fuck up and out when our lesson was over. I sure as shit didn’t need her scent on my couch, in my apartment, or anywhere near my bed.

“Tomorrow. 4pm. Give me ur address.”

“I’m staying at my uncle’s apartment. I don’t feel right doing that here.”

Jesus fucking Christ with this girl. Nothing could be easy with her. I glance over at the envelope on the counter and consider it might be better to just return it. The devil on my shoulder feels differently though, a second later my fingers tapping out a reply.

“Then find a place and send me the address. Otherwise, lesson is off.”

This time her response isn’t immediate. After staring at the phone for ten full minutes, I begin to wonder if she’s changed her mind. A surge of disappoint washes over me, my reaction a little unexpected considering I’d made the decision to keep this entirely business. Even more surprising, the way my heart rate increases when she texts an hour later with an address.

The next day, promptly at four, an Uber drops me off in front of the address she sent. Looking up at the building, sitting pretty on Fifth Avenue, directly across from the park, I wonder where the hell these people get their money. A doorman greets me as I approach, and I tell him I’m there to see Ms. Knight. He opens the door and directs me to the elevator, inserting a key below the floor numbers before pressing PH, and then stepping back out. “It will open directly into the apartment, Sir.”

A few minutes later, the door slides open and I step into an empty foyer. “Hello?”

“In here.” Her voice calls from the right, so I tread in that direction, meeting her in the hallway a short distance later.

“Hello.” She clasps her hands in front of her, fidgeting with her fingers. “I see you found it okay.”

“Your uncle’s place?” My gaze travels the length of her, noting she opted for something more conservative this time, dressed in black capris and a loose, mint green tank top.

“My cousin actually.” Her eyes dart over me, her cheeks flushing a light pink. Too fucking innocent. “Jeffrey. He’s out at the Hamptons for the rest of the week.”

“Where do you people get all your fucking money?” This time I muse out loud, as I scan the art work lining the hallway.

“Excuse me?” Her small hand lands at the base of her throat.

“A house in the Hamptons, this apartment, your trust fund, those diamonds in your ears.” I cock my head. “Someone has a lot of money.”

“Oh. Well.” She shrugs. “My mother and my aunt are heirs to Erickson Energy.”

My brow kicks up. Holy shit. That is one of the largest companies in the world. And she grew up buried in the country somewhere? “You’re practically royalty.” I surmise.

“No.” She turns and beckons for me to follow. “I’m just a girl.” She looks over her shoulder as she continues. “A little girl, according to you.”

Noticing how good her ass looks as I trail behind her has me thinking otherwise at the moment, but I stay quiet. We enter a large open space containing a seating area, a dining room, and a kitchen fit for a five-star chef. Everything is decorated in gray and white, with black accents throughout, giving it a masculine feel.

She stops when she reaches a long marble bar bordering the kitchen. “Would you like something to drink?”

There’s a glass of white wine sitting on the counter. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.”

“Sancerre.” She circles the bar and opens the refrigerator. “Is that okay?”

“Fine.” I watch as she pours the glass, noticing her hand is trembling, a stab of guilt hitting me at how nervous I make her. She carries the beverage to me, grabbing hers as she passes.

“Summer.” I wait until she meets my gaze. “We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

“I want to.” She rushes out. “You just didn’t text me back for so long. I didn’t know if I did something wrong. I thought maybe you had changed your mind.”

If she only knew what was going through my mind right now, she would run the other way. But of course, I don’t tell her that. “I had work, other obligations.”

She takes a long gulp of her wine. “Okay.” Her eyes peek up at mine under her lashes. “So, we’re good?”

“We’re good.” I walk to one of the couches. “But I would like to combine two of our lessons today. It will make things easier on my schedule.” And my cock. And my sanity. And my conscious.

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