Page 74 of Lesson Learned

Not that he could. There mightn’t be as many passers-by up here as there are on the ground floor, but I still saw a dozen staff while I waited.

“It’s run by the writer-in-residence and will feature some of New Zealand’s leading literary and genre authors. The three-week intensive involves a lot of open discussion, so you’d have to be prepared to talk aloud in front of the entire group about your writing.” He pauses to take a breath, tilting his head slightly, grey eyes twinkling. “Given your debating history, I imagine speaking in front of your peers is something you’re okay with.”

“Yeah.” I nod, growing more enthusiastic by the second. “That’s not a problem.”

“I’ll send you a link with all the information on it,” he says, shuffling the papers again. “If you decide to apply, I’m happy to help you with the application.”

“It sounds fantastic,” I say, being completely honest. “How big would the group be?”

“Ten students. It’s extremely limited but it means if you do get accepted, there’ll be a lot of interaction, a lot of focus for everyone in the program.” His gaze slides towards me again and I shift on my seat, feeling the constriction of my underwear growing with every passing second.

The underwear I shouldn’t be wearing.

“Was that all?”

He arches his eyebrows. “Were you in a hurry to be somewhere else, Ms Hubbard?” He taps his forefinger on the desk. “Maybe you had something you wanted to hide?”

I blush, lowering my head, but not quickly enough to escape Conner’s sharp eyes.

“You said you were obedient,” he whispers. “Are you ready to prove it?”

The deepening texture of his voice strokes against my eardrums, sending an expanding wave of aural tingles to shudder along the surface of my skin. I glance over to meet his gaze head on, then stare back at my hands instead, his eyes so hungry their imprint sinks into my flesh.

“How?” I ask in a whisper.

He beckons me with his finger, rolling his chair back so there’s space between him and the desk. “Turn around,” he says when I stand in front of him. “Put your hands flat on the desk.”

My gaze travels back to the door. There’s a foot high, three-inch wide pane of reinforced glass next to the handle, a quick way to check if someone’s on the other side before opening.

All I can see through the glass is the bare hallway wall, but if someone were to walk past, casually glance inside, they’d see a lot more.

“Seems you’re not so obedient after all,” Conner says, voice rumbling with disappointment. “What a pity. And it would be such an excellent opportunity for you. Another all-expenses paid learning opportunity to put on your fledgling CV.”

Anybody could walk by at any moment. The department head. The head teacher. Thesuperintendent.

I lay my trembling hands palm down on the desk.

“That’s better,” Conner says with an appreciative sigh. “Keep them there until I tell you otherwise.”

He stands, towering above me, my back prickling with his near presence. He touches a fingertip to my top vertebrae, then trails it slowly down along every bone in my spine. When he reaches the end, he follows the curve along the back of my thigh, down to my hemline.

The gentle caress hits against so many nerve endings, their individual clamour grows too loud to separate. I clench my thighs, then force the muscles to relax, mindful of his reaction when I tried to help myself along in the backseat of his car.

There’s a flash of movement. The blue sweep of a blazer walks past the door. I tense, waiting for the cry of discovery that cuts our scene far, far, far too short.

It doesn’t happen.

“Relax,” Conner whispers, the words rich with oil like the best peanut butter. “There’s no need to be tense when you’ve followed my instructions.” He pauses, his fingertips sliding between my thighs, sending a pulse of ecstasy rocking through me. “You have followed my instructions, haven’t you, Paisley?”

His voice is so quiet and my heart beats so loudly in my ears, I can barely hear his whisper.

“You wouldn’t ignore an explicit command, would you? Not when you knew I’d punish you for refusing.”

I close my eyes, struggling to swallow past the lump in my throat. His fingers move upward, barely touching against the tender skin of my inner thighs. Higher, and higher again until he presses against the fabric he forbade me to wear.

Conner’s hand stays between my thighs, a warm presence that makes me so wet that if I hadn’t worn anything, my arousal would drip straight onto his fingers.

He pushes the fabric aside, his finger playing along my pussy with a song as sweet and frustrating as any tune from a concert pianist. I bite my lower lip, holding back a moan, and give in, voicing the sound, when I taste the metallic tang of blood.

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