Page 13 of Teacher's Pet

This is something I should report.

That is wrong.

So why the hell am I slick with my own desires right now?

I fight the urge to ignore everything that just happened and find my voice, taking a step toward Noah.

"I am not your problem, Noah," I hiss, throwing his first name at him like a challenge. "Do that again, and I’ll report your ass to administration," I snap, my tone sharp, my anger flaring.

He watches me, lips curling into a smirk, and then takes a step back, hands raised in mock surrender.

"See you in class, Ms. Burns."

He is the farthest thing from afraid.

Saying nothing more, I turn and walk away, the tightness in my chest shifting, now confused.

How did I go from fearful to lustful in the span of mere seconds?

Chapter 5

Noah

Watching her walk away, something dark and primal stirs within me, a twisted flame igniting as I replay the image of her reddened neck in my mind.

By chance, I stepped outside, and that’s when I saw it. The boy’s hands were all over her, shoving her against the wall, trapping her in a vulnerable, defenseless position. My body was locked in place, tense with the urge to tear him away from her. But then I saw it, the kiss.

It’s almost too much to bear.

I could’ve grabbed the back of his head and ripped him away from her by his hair right then and there.

His hand wrapped around her throat, tightening with possessive intent. His lips devouring hers, those plump pink ones, like he owns her. His other hand moving to her hip, pushing her shirt up, his fingers grazing her skin in a way I can't stand.

I see this kind of shit all over campus, students tangled up in each other, oblivious to the world around them. But why the hell does it feel so different when it’s Ana? Why does it feel like I’m ready to rip him apart?

And then, when I see the flash of fear in her eyes as he pulls away, something shifts inside me. The urge to beat the hell out of him morphs into something darker, something more violent, an instinct I never knew I had.

What the hell is happening to me?

Why the hell am I even considering the idea of touching a student like that? It doesn’t make sense.

This isn’t who I am.

But somehow, I take a sick, twisted satisfaction in seeing her so nervous around me. It churns something deep inside, something dark I can’t quite control. The worst part? I don’t even know why it excites me.

The darkest corners of my mind twist further, spiraling downward.

What would I find if I slipped my hand down her front, past those black sweatpants? What would it feel like to touch her there, to feel her pussy slick from my fingers?

Would she be soaked with anticipation from that bastard ex of hers or from someone else?

The thought makes my stomach tighten, something sharp and possessive lurching inside me. And that… that’s the real problem.

The fact that I already know which answer I’d prefer, that’s a problem in itself. It shouldn’t be this way. I shouldn’t even be considering it.

But I am.

I don’t want to acknowledge it. I can’t. Not for a single second.

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