Page 24 of Teacher's Pet

"We have mutual friends," Walker sighs. "He said so many awful things about you, but I saw you around campus and wanted to form my own opinion." Pinching the bridge of his nose, he exhales deeply. "But I let Cole get in my head about what you wanted. Clearly, he just wanted to screw you over for being his ex, and me for choosing to look past what he said and still pursue you-"

Unsure how to feel, I pull the strands of my hair from his fingers.

"Well, I hope it was worth it."

"Ana, I didn’t-"

"You could’ve asked me," I reply, my voice hoarse. "What you did, Walker… it scared the hell out of me."

"I wasn’t trying-"

"I need time to think about what just happened," I hiss, stepping back. "Just go."

He looks pained, regret clouding his expression.

Grabbing his bag, he rubs the back of his neck, clearly struggling.

"I’ll make this up to you, Ana," he whispers, his voice heavy with regret. "I promise I’ll-"

"Time, Walker," I whisper, my voice shaking. "I need time to think, and I can’t do that with you here."

He says nothing else, just nods before making his swift exit.

Finally, I let out a sob, my emotions pouring out all at once, my eyes drifting to the wine bottle.

I guess I’ve found my therapy for what just happened.

Chapter 8

Noah

Whoever said drinking on a work night is reckless clearly hasn’t savored the satisfaction of four cold beers after hours of relentless grading.

I swing the keys to my motorcycle casually on my finger, enjoying the slight buzz that lingers from the hoppy ales I just finished. The feeling is a welcome release, a brief respite after staring at papers for so long my eyes were starting to see red ink even when I blinked. I’ve done more than enough for the night.

My work here is finished.

Leaving my ride at Spokehaven feels like the smarter choice, especially when I think about how hard it would be to convince the bartender that I’m perfectly capable of riding a motorcycle after a few beers. No need to test my limits tonight.

Ready to end the night with a quick tug to myself and some much-needed sleep, the way my mind chooses to handle my daily frustrations always ends sexually in one way or another. It’s always the easiest way to shut off the noise, to clear the fog that lingers in my head. The need always bubbles up, inevitably.

At first, I thought there was something wrong with me. How could I be the only one who finds solace in the act of release, who turns every bit of irritation into a desperate need to feel some physical satisfaction? It’s not like I know anyone else whose immediate solution to the weight of their day is to fuck a woman so hard she looks as if she just survived a cage match, her body battered, but in some twisted way, satisfied.

During the work week, it’s harder to justify staying up late and doing all the things I want to do to a woman, knowing full well I’ll be exhausted for the next day’s grind. There’s no way to properly balance it all, to get the release without paying the price in the classroom the next morning. But tonight felt different. This was the first time I went to the bar, my frustration growing, knowing I couldn't have the one woman I craved.

A woman who just so happens to be my student.

I can’t even explain what came over me in the library with Ana. The tension between us, the way she looked at me, it made something dark and primal stir inside me. In that moment, I craved the way she feared my control more than I feared the consequences of my actions.

The thought of making her realize I held all the power, that I could dominate her every move, consumed me.

Even worse, I wanted her to yearn for the need to feel my touch. To ache for it as much as I did. The idea that she might crave me as much as I craved her was twisted, and I can’t deny it.

It’s fucked up. I know that.

Never in my career have I had an interaction like that with a student.

Don't get me wrong, there are plenty of students who catch your eye, make you take a second glance, but Ana... this is the first time I’ve found myself nearly turning around to get another look, unable to tear my gaze away. The encounter with Ana was a one-time thing. A slip, a lapse in judgment, something I can’t afford to repeat.

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