Page 31 of Teacher's Pet

"Never mind," I sigh, shaking my head. "The fact that I don’t want to elaborate should say enough."

Setting my head back down on my desk, I hear her shift, the soft sound of her heels clicking against the floor as she slides off her desk.

"Well, when you feel like opening up, you can always show up thirty minutes early," she offers.

"Thank you," I murmur, my voice laced with full honesty. "I just-"

"Am I interrupting?"

That voice.

My breath catches, and I lift my head, my gaze locking onto Noah’s the second I see him lingering in the doorway.

Mrs. Briar waves him in without hesitation.

"Not at all, Noah, just having some girl talk."

The heat rushes to my cheeks so fast it makes me dizzy. All I can visualize is the way he looked at me in that classroom.

The way his fingers worked inside me, the way my body responded to him, to his control.

A slow, forbidden pulse of pleasure stirs deep in my core, and I clench my jaw, willing the sensation away.

God damn it.

Noah moves toward Mrs. Briar, his posture relaxed, his expression unreadable. But he doesn’t look at me. Not even a glance.

Interesting.

So he can function through the workday just fine, pretending like nothing happened. Pretending like he didn’t have three of his fingers buried inside me before forcing me to lick my cum from them.

"I was just stopping by to run a lesson plan by you," he says, his voice smooth, casual, untouched by what lingers between us.

His grin is easy, effortless.

So void of the power he had over me in that classroom.

Draped in his usual long brown coat, a light brown shirt, and fitted black pants, Noah looks effortlessly put together, stunning, as always. But I know better now. I know what’s hidden beneath those layers, beneath the carefully curated professionalism. I know the strength of his hands, the way his fingers feel buried deep inside me, the way his voice drops when he’s in control.

The thought alone sends a slow stir of nerves through my stomach, an uneasy heat curling in my core. The idea of feeling something more than his fingers within me lingers in my mind.

I swallow, my throat still raw, my voice still recovering from Walker’s brutal treatment.

"I think I’d better go," I rasp, the words barely leaving my lips.

Mrs. Briar watches me with quiet curiosity, but she doesn’t press.

"Sorry for bothering you," I add, forcing a small nod before moving past the pair.

But the second I step forward, I freeze.

A firm hand wraps around my wrist, halting my escape.

Noah.

The warmth of his skin against mine sends a jolt through me, a direct contradiction to the sharp nerves that creep in. Slowly, I turn my gaze upward, meeting his eyes. And just like that, all the tension from Friday night comes crawling back, tightening around my lungs like a vice.

Where the hell is a bottle of wine when you need it?

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