Page 32 of Teacher's Pet

"Are you alright, Ms. Burns?" His voice is steady, laced with a sincerity that makes my stomach turn. The way he says it, so calm, so composed, makes me want to scream.

Tugging my wrist free from his grasp, I narrow my eyes, a sharp edge slicing through my tone.

"Fine," I hiss. "Just trying not to make any more mistakes."

I don’t give him a chance to respond. I leave it at that, my footsteps quick as I push through the door and head straight for his classroom.

Because despite what I just said….

I already know I’m about to make another mistake.

Taking a seat, I immediately regret it. The thought of sitting in this classroom for the next forty-five minutes is unbearable.

I had chosen something more appropriate for the cold weather. A black skirt, black stockings, and an oversized, soft gray sweater. It was meant to be practical, comfortable. But now, sitting here, I’m painfully aware of how the outfit clings in all the wrong places, the way my skirt rides just enough to draw attention to the curve of my ass. It’s the last thing I need right now.

"Hey."

The voice makes me tense.

Looking over, I see Walker lingering near my desk, his bag slung over one shoulder, his expression hesitant, almost uncertain, as if debating whether he should even sit down.

"Hey," I sigh, not bothering to mask the exhaustion in my voice. Then, without thinking, I add, "Didn’t hear from you this weekend." The sharp edge in my tone makes it clear that I noticed his silence.

He finally sits, dragging his desk closer to mine, the screech of metal against tile filling the small space between us.

"I was wrong to blow up like I did," Walker mumbles, his voice low. "I was even more wrong to handle you like I did-"

"So we can agree that face-fucking me out of jealousy was less than desirable?" I cut in, my words dripping with disdain.

He takes a shallow breath, rubbing the back of his neck. The regret is there, but so is something else.

Something unreadable.

"Let me make it up to you," he says after a moment. "Let me take you out on an actual date. Maybe then you’ll see how sorry I really am."

Glancing at Noah’s desk, a sharp wave of regret settles deep in my gut.

I am no saint either.

What moral ground do I even have to stand on?

"You can pick the place," Walker continues, his voice softer now, almost hopeful. "Or tell me your favorite kind of food-"

I don’t let him finish.

Leaning in, I press my lips against his, cutting off his words, silencing the attempts to overcompensate for his actions. There’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. I kiss him with force, with purpose, pressing until his hesitation melts away and his hand comes up to cup the side of my face.

He takes control instantly, guiding me upward, pulling me to my feet as he deepens the kiss. His tongue slides over my bottom lip, testing, teasing, before I part my lips and let him in.

My fingers tighten around his shirt, holding him against me as he slowly backs me into my desk. His hands are everywhere, exploring, claiming, sliding over my thighs, testing the boundaries I haven’t yet set.

And I let him.

Because for a moment, it’s easy. A distraction.

All men are like Walker. Taking. Using. Maybe I can use him too. Maybe I can make him feel the same pain he gave me-

"Last time I checked, my classroom isn’t a porno set."

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