Page 37 of Teacher's Pet

Turning, I walk away.

Hoisting my bag onto my shoulder, my movements are deliberate, controlled.

Everything I don’t feel inside.

Noah doesn’t move. He just watches, silent, unreadable, as I step back, putting space between us.

"Perhaps you should have fucked me Friday when you had the chance," I say, voice low, biting. "Much easier to get what you want when I’m too drunk to get away."

The words land like a slap, sharp and venomous, but I don’t wait to see how he absorbs the hit. I turn on my heels, willing myself forward, even as my thoughts twist and tangle in my mind.

I wanted his touch.

I wanted everything that’s happened.

I like how he handles me.

I like the power he holds.

But I can’t stomach the idea that I’m just one of many.

He made me feel special.

Maybe that’s the real problem.

I don’t look back. I don’t give him the satisfaction of seeing hesitation in my eyes.

The moment I shut the door behind me, a sharp crash echoes from inside. The unmistakable sound of his desk contents hitting the floor.

A slow smirk tugs at my lips.

There it is, Noah. That anger.

The real question is, did I just drive him away?

Or did I just pull the beast even closer?

Chapter 11

Noah

God, I fucking hate this.

Every single part of it.

I wanted to chase after her, grab her the second she walked out that door, and fuck her so hard she’d never even entertain the idea that I could be focused on anyone else. I wanted to erase every doubt, every comparison, every fucking insecurity she threw at me.

If it had been any other woman, I would’ve rolled my eyes and moved on. No second thought. No lingering frustration. Just a dismissive shrug and onto the next.

So why the hell did I lose control the second she slammed that door shut?

Why did I trash my desk like a rabid animal?

Why the fuck have I been teetering on the edge all goddamn day?

Every smart-mouthed student that crossed my path today barely made it out unscathed. My patience, usually controlled, was nonexistent.

All because of the way she looked at me after she slapped me.

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