Page 129 of Forbidden Lessons

My gaze flicks to his eyes. They’re crinkled at the corners, mirroring his warm smile.

“Was wondering where I’d bury your body.”

My laugh is uneasy, but not because of his stupid joke. I can feel how hot my face is, how puffy my eyes are.

And someone as intelligent and observant as Professor Rooke doesn’t miss those cues.

“Haven…have you been crying?”

“No.” I turn away, and then shuffle to the edge of the bed so I can stand up and avoid further interrogation.

Unfortunately, the hungover, half drunk fool who’d possessed my body this morning had decided it would be a good idea to only come to bed in a t-shirt and underwear.

Bastian’s much taller than me, but his t-shirt barely reaches past my ass. And while his t-shirt smells glorious, feels glorious, and might even look glorious draping off me like a night-shirt, if you’re into that kind of thing, there’s no way I’m letting my professor see me half naked.

Even though, technically, it would make us even at this point.

Even though, technically, I was in the wrong for putting on his clothes in the first place. Although…was I? I’m in his house, in his bed. I’ve eaten his food, drunk his wine, gotten drunkonhis wine.

I’m pretty drunk on him, actually. Like DUI levels of intoxicated.

Maybe I want him to see me half-naked.

Maybe I want him to see me all-the-way naked.

Maybe I want him to show me the calculations on how he came up with the answer that I thought chocolate was better than sex because I wasn’tdoing it right.

But I’m supposed to be keeping my head down and doing well at school, not sleeping with one of my professors.

So nope.

Standing up is not an option.

I drag the sheets around my middle, trying to be inconspicuous about it.

Shouldn’t have bothered.

Bastian is more concerned with my tear-stained face than my exposed ass.

He pads over to my side of the bed and drops to a crouch in front of me.

“Talk to me.” The intensity in his eyes is too much to handle, so I look away.

“I had a bad dream, is all,” I mumble.

Tears are threatening again, because no one’s ever seen me like this.

Except Kai, of course.

Bastian tucks my hair behind my ear. “Repressed trauma can often?—”

“Oh shut the fuck up!” I snap, knocking away his hand with my arm.

My hand flies over my mouth, then slides up to my eyes. “Shit, sorry.”

Bastian grabs my thigh through the sheets bundled in my waist. “Haven, it’s okay. I told you, I was a therapist. I’ve seen it all. I know you’re not angry at me. You’re just?—“

I keep my hands over my eyes, because it makes it easier. “Iamangry at you,” I whisper. “I don’t know how to make this any clearer, Professor. Idon’twant to talk about my past, and I certainly don’t want you psychoanalyzing me every five seconds, either. Stop pushing. Stopprying.”

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