Page 8 of Lunar Crest University

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 29TH, 2023

The universe has it out for me.

There isn’t any other explanation for the girl who got my cock hard the other night, perched between my legs as she bandaged me up, to be sitting in my classroom right now. I never planned on seeing her again, yet here she was.

She stares intently down at her notebook with those emerald eyes, chewing at the end of her pencil that rests between her full lips. Her black, rippled skirt slides up her porcelain thighs. I even selfishly notice how her cheek dimples on the left side of her mouth when she smiles, how her nails are painted the same raven color as her hair. Finley Dunaway has to be some sort of personal curse—sent by whatever karma gods have it out for me these days.

She always sits in the third row, the fourth chair from the left, and always munches on that damn pencil.

A fucking curse.

After that first day, I thought I’d successfully dismissed the entire situation, but the image of her doe eyes staring up at me,all wide and confused as she kneeled between my knees, haunts my mind. Her thick eyebrows, dark lashes, and her button nose; all of it haunts me. Yet, here I am, telling her to forget about it while I sit here every other day at this fucking desk, constantly reminded of it every time I lift my head to look at her.

She’s my student.

I didn’t know she was my student when I was thinking inappropriate thoughts about her while sitting on her toilet.

Whisking my glasses from my nose, I rub my temples in annoyance as the all-too-familiar ache starts to soar in my head. Not only is she a constant reminder, but she’s a constant headache too.

I might have had the slightest chance of resisting these nagging thoughts if she hadn’t shown how fiery she could be as she stomped out of my classroom the other day. No way did I fathom she had an attitude underneath that soft exterior. My slacks had grown tighter the moment she snapped back at me, and they continued to feel that way forfifteenminutes after she left. Case—closed. Death warrant—signed. It was fucking humiliating.

I wanted to kiss that pout right off her lips.

And I can’t do that.

The assholes I owe money to won’t like her curiosity, so I have no choice but to keep her at arm’s length. It’s in her best interest. It’s inmine. Any thoughts I had that night couldn’t happen now, especially not when I’m her professor. This job is too important—everythingis relying on this job.

Shoving my glasses back on, I sigh as I lift my head, and my breath catches in my throat as I meet a pair of green eyes. It’s as if she heard my thoughts or I called out her name. She stares at me ardently as her thick brows pull together before she fidgets in her seat, looking back down at her notebook and freeing me from her gaze.

I haven’t gotten laid in a while.

That’s why I’m making stupid decisions. It has to be.

The students have been instructed to readBeowulfthis week, and for class today, I thought to have them to write in their notebooks which theme stood out the most. The theme of evil is the most apparent to me. The epic poem represents evil as an inhumane force, a mysterious being. It portrays evil as a threat in the dark while also humanizing it.

Perhaps, in some ways, it makes me feel like I can be humanized.

Which theme stands out to her?

No. No, no, no.

“Alright, class. Ten minutes left.” I clap my hands together as I stand from my chair. “Who wants to share which theme they chose?”

Crickets.

“Volunteers?” I suggest as I cock an eyebrow. “No volunteers?”

More crickets.

“Okay, fine. Ms. Dunaway.”

Her shaky hum echoes through the room as she lifts her head nervously to look at me. Her hair cascades down her shoulders in silky waves today, framing her oval-shaped face. Brushing a few strands behind her ear, she sits up straighter as she swallows.

“Which theme did you choose?” I ask her.

Her eyes dart around sheepishly as her tongue flicks out to wet her lips. “Mortality.”

“And do you find it more tragic or heroic?”

---