Page 22 of Teacher's Pet

He slides off the bed, grabbing his bag, but pauses. He pulls a bottle of wine from the bag, tossing it on the bed with a sharp motion. "Maybe I should’ve started with that. Might have made what you said feel a little better."

He heads for the door, and I scramble to find any excuse for my actions.

"Is this the last time I’m going to see you outside of class?"

His hand lingers on the door, and he pauses, resting his forehead against it.

"I really wanted to give you a chance, Ana-"

"Then let me try again," I blurt, my voice cracking. Grabbing the bottle, I approach him, the tension between us thickening with every step. I poke his back with the point of the bottle, and he turns just enough to meet my gaze.

"I can’t excuse my fuck up, but clearly, my ex isn’t here," I say, tugging his hand and pulling him back toward the bed. "Open this bottle with me and let me show you that I’m thinking aboutyou, no one else."

He hesitates, his mind clearly torn, but there’s something in his expression that softens, even if only a little.

"Ana-"

I don’t have time to wait. Words won’t fix this. Maybe actions will.

"Let me prove to you that my focus is on you and only you," I plead, my voice low and desperate.

"Ana, you don’t have to-"

Tossing the wine onto the bed, I close the space between us, taking matters into my own hands.

"Walker," I hiss, my breath shaky. "Close your mouth and just enjoy this."

Lowering myself to my knees before he can protest, my fingers tremble as they fumble with his belt, quickly giving him a clear idea of where this is heading. His anger slips away, replaced by a deeper need, the desire to feel my lips on his cock outweighing everything else, my screw-up forgotten. I can already feel the blood rushing behind his pants, the pressure building, and I tease him with soft, lingering kisses up and down his length, just above the fabric of his pants.

"I'm sorry, Walker," I whisper, my voice almost childlike in its innocence. "I'm so sorry."

In most situations, I wouldn’t stoop this low, wouldn’t resort to giving a man head just to make things right. But this isn’t like most situations. My ex is prowling around campus, ready to drag my name through the mud. The last thing I need is for anyone to put together Mr. Ackerman’s association with Noah’s name. Thankfully, most professors here are so obsessed with formalities that they don’t give students the chance to dig into their full identities.

It’s the only shield I’ve got.

Tilting my chin up, I look at him through the most innocent doe eyes I can muster. As he bites his lip, it’s clear he’s made his decision.

"Well, don’t stop now."

I flash him a sly grin, my fingers already working to unlatch his belt. I slide the zipper down his pants, his cock confined behind his boxers. My eyes flick over him quickly, assessing his size.

It’s nothing extraordinary, just average.

No matter, it’ll be easy to give him the pleasure he’s craving.

With a slow, deliberate movement, I grip the hem of his boxers with my teeth, pulling them down, revealing his need. My breath catches as I take in the sight of him, but it’s his hand that surprises me. He grabs a fistful of my hair, pulling it back to expose my face, his eyes dark with anticipation. He’s waiting, but not for words. He’s waiting for my apology.

Wrapping my lips around the head of his cock, the salty precum spreads across my tongue. Watching as his head falls back, a soft groan escapes his lips, and I take my time, dragging my tongue up and down his shaft, savoring every inch of him. When I reach his sensitive tip again, I pause, teasing him before slowly moving back up.

His hands tighten in my hair, urging me down, pulling me further as his breath hitches. As I reach the base, I feel him slam into the back of my throat, the sudden force taking me by surprise. I choke on him, my body reacting out of instinct, but I don't pull away.

I gag on him from the force of his thrust, the sound of it mixed with a low groan from him as he feels my clear discomfort. The spit drips down the sides of my mouth, the wetness pooling on my chin. His grip on my hair falters for just a moment before he switches, his hands gripping the sides of my face, holding me still.

With no warning, he takes full control, thrusting his hips forward, his length pounding into the back of my throat with unforgiving force. Losing any sense of control, the pressure builds.

This isn’t just for his pleasure anymore.

It’s not about me at all.

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