Page 27 of Lessons with the Mothman

I turned and faced the desks, three rows of three, not all of them a perfect match, like he'd collected them from different classrooms.

It'd only been a week since I'd asked him if we could get away with having sex. How had he done all this in that time?

I took the middle seat of the nine, my skirt long enough to keep a little modesty between me and the warm plastic. I read the words on the board. Biology 101. I pressed my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing as Elias shuffled materials on his desk, grabbing one blue book and one pencil.

My eyes widened.

"I think a short essay is the most appropriate penance, don't you?" Elias asked, head tilting and lips smiling. I hadn't really considered his age before—it wasn't that easy to read in his still unfamiliar features—but the gentle patronization in his tone dragged me back in years, and I had to fight down the trained habit of drawing myself up, cooling my expression to hold my own against an older man.

"I did say I'd do whatever it took," I said, shrugging. "I guess an essay isn't so bad."

"I suppose I could've asked you to email it, but I need you to take this seriously. I know the kind of work you're capable of, Miss Dempsey. I expect you to apply yourself."

He'd always been taller than me, but he towered over me as I sat in the desk, sunlight making him brilliant and almost blinding.

"Five hundred words. Take as much time as you need." The essay book rested on my desk with a rustle of pages, sharp pencil settling on top.

"Five hundred words on…"

Elias's claw looked sharp, but it moved flexibly as it tapped against the cover of the book. "It's in there. I'll be at my desk if you have any questions."

I set my hands on the desk, the ridges of the pencil rolling under my fingers as I drew it closer. It wouldn't come as much of a surprise to anyone to admit I was an eager student. I obviously wasn't in any rush to give up academia. Still, I wondered if Elias could've guessed how his thoroughness, right down to the yellow pencil with a freshly sharpened tip, would give me a small thrill. It was a fantasy I hadn't indulged in, realized to exacting detail.

I flipped the book open to the first page, and my sudden breath echoed in the room. Elias's steps back to his desk paused.

HOW I TOUCH MYSELF

I bit my lip, taking a moment to study Elias's small, even handwriting, letters blocked carefully along the top line.

Elias had turned to watch me and our eyes met, the heavy black of his lightened in the sunlight, a hint of a smile in the corner tilt of his gaze.

I leaned back in my seat, spreading my knees apart, letting one hand fall to my lap to hitch the hem of my skirt higher. A grin flashed over his features and then he sobered, a smalltsking sound from his tongue and teeth. The warning made me shiver, my body freezing in place as he shook his head.

"Handwritten, Miss Dempsey. There's no need for a demonstration…yet."

I hunched forward in my seat, drawing my knees back together and hiding my smile.

I like to start with my clothes on. It makes it feel more like a seduction…

I shifted in my seat,a short sigh escaping, matching the airy breath as I turned another page. My skin was hot, and sweat beaded on my back, both from the sun shining through the windows and the steady pool of arousal that had been building the longer I thought about masturbating. I'd taken my hair down, the claw pulling uncomfortably at my scalp, but it just made me even more warm and I kept trying to twist it back away from my neck, only for it to slowly explode once more.

My tongue flicked out on my lips, and I scratched out "fondle" and replaced it with a more specific method. The clock above Elias was ticking loudly, and more than thirty minutes had passed. This was one of the most indirect methods of foreplay I'd ever experienced, and I found it agonizing.

And wonderful.

My hand landed in my lap, fisting and pressing over my throbbing sex.

Elias's throat cleared and I snatched my fist away, sitting up and turning another page, racing through the words once more, barely seeing them at all. It was enough.

"Done."

I sat up, resting my elbows on my desk. I flipped the book closed and my eyes lifted slowly to his, waiting.

"Bring it here. I'll grade you now," he said, pushing back his own seat, wings stretching.

I rose on weak, tired legs, blood rushing below my waist. The room seemed impossibly long as I walked, until suddenly I stood at the corner of his desk, holding out the essay book in one hand. Warm, soft fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I wondered if he could feel my pulse racing as he tugged me closer, between his body and the desk.

"Up."

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