Page 19 of Teacher's Pet

I quickly pull away, stumbling back, my feet tripping over the pile of books at my feet. A rush of shame floods me, my underwear slick with the evidence of my own desire. I cross my legs, trying to soothe the aching need, but it does nothing to ease the yearning pulsing through me. I fumble with my clothes, desperately adjusting them.

From the corner of my eye, I see him rise from the windowsill, his hands tugging at his pants, desperately trying to hide the strain of his cock beneath the fabric.

His hand runs through his hair, and for the first time, the weight of regret settles in both of our expressions.

I feel the conflict swirling between us, every possible outcome running through my mind. The want, the need, they still burn inside me, and yet the guilt keeps creeping in.

I can't let this happen again.

We’re in a public library, and we both let it go this far.

"I-I've got to go," I whisper, grabbing my bag from the floor, the words barely escaping my throat.

I glance around the shelves, searching. No one. Whoever made that noise is long gone, disappeared into the shadows.

"Ana-"

"Don't," I cut him off, my voice sharp as a whip. "I don’t know what kind of powerplay you get off on, but I’m done entertaining it." I throw him a cold, icy gaze, every word laced with finality. "Consider this a one-time slip-up."

He stays silent, his jaw tightening as he tucks his hands into his pockets. I watch his eyes fall, and the anger spreads across his face, darkening his features.

"I'll see you in class, Ms. Burns."

His words hang in the air, heavy and thick. I don't wait for more. I turn, moving swiftly toward the door, my heart pounding in my chest, eager to escape. The library feels suffocating now, like a place I never want to set foot in again.

I leave as quickly as I can, already thinking about the hot water of a shower, needing to cleanse myself. The last thing I need is the sharp reminder of how much my body ached for his touch, that deep, unsettling yearning still burning between my legs.

Chapter 7

Anastasia

"So she's a law student whose whole personality is the color pink?" My voice drips with disdain as I stare at the cover of the light-hearted comedy.

"And she kicks some ass in court. I figured you, of all people, would be thrilled to see a woman in power," Elijah snaps, throwing a pillow at me with an exaggerated sigh.

I flinch slightly, the motion sharp, and then curl up next to Walker on the bed, though it feels like my mind is elsewhere entirely. Megan pops a Milk Dud into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as she eyes me with that signature knowing smile.

"I can appreciate a woman more than Ana can. Play it," she teases, her voice light but sharp with something I can't quite place.

Megan's voice rings in my ears, but it's hard to focus. My head is still spinning, the library, Noah, his touch, everything feels like it’s echoing in my body, refusing to settle. I should be present here, in this moment, but all I can think about is what happened earlier. The quiet tension, the pressure between us, and the way my skin still tingles where his hand brushed me.

Megan shifts, her ease in her own skin a stark contrast to the confusion spiraling in mine. Though rooted in her academics, the one thing Megan’s parents have failed to accept is her preference for women. At home, she hides her truth, but here, it’s obvious she leans toward the feminine side of her sexuality. It’s a guarded secret, but for some reason, today, it feels like the most obvious thing in the room.

"I guess I’m just not in the mood for movies," I mutter, my words barely a whisper, my voice distant even to myself.

Still shaken from my interaction with Noah, seeing Walker only an hour later feels like a slap to the face. I spent an extra twenty minutes in the shower, scrubbing at my skin like I could somehow wash away the guilt.

Guilt that feels almost ridiculous, considering how good Noah’s hands felt on me.

Now, sitting next to Walker on my bed, the guilt tightens in my chest, making it hard to breathe. How could I have let Noah touch me like that? How could I have so eagerly responded to him? The idea of crawling into Walker’s lap, of grinding against him the way I had Noah, feels absurd, almost shameful.

"Even though I’m here?" Walker’s voice breaks through the fog of my thoughts, his hand slipping into mine. He gently rolls his thumb over my knuckles, a gesture meant to reassure, but it only makes the storm inside me swirl faster.

I lean into him, trying to calm the chaos in my head, giving him the attention I know he came here for.

He’s safe.

He’s not my teacher.

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