Page 8 of Teacher's Pet

I like seeing her so vulnerable because of my authority.

I regretfully loved it even more when she took off that hoodie.

She doesn’t notice, too busy throwing me nasty looks, but many of the boys in the classroom stare at her, eyes devouring her enticing curves and fiery red hair. Her cheeks flush pink, her eyes a bright green-blue. She traps her bottom lip between her teeth as she writes, and I struggle to hold back the urge to explore her chest with my eyes, focusing instead on how her nipples poke through that tight shirt.

Why am I looking at her so closely? I’ve been with enough women to keep thoughts like this stowed away. It’s not like I’ve never seen a woman like her before. There are hundreds of beautiful women on this campus, plenty in teaching positions, yet I can’t stop myself from watching her devour Walker’s half-assed attempt at flirting. The moment she takes off her hoodie, he makes a beeline for her desk, doing what so many boys in the class are too nervous to do... flirt with her.

Now sitting inches apart, they scoot their desks closer together, flipping through Shakespeare's plays, trying to decide on a scene.

His knee brushes against hers, and his hand hovers near her thigh, but he quickly decides to keep it to himself, despite how desperately he wishes he could feel her.

I tap my pen against my desk, forcing myself to look away from the pair and focus on the other students huddled together in their groups. It’s not like he and Ana are doing anything out of the ordinary, so why the hell am I so agitated by the sight?

Trying to concentrate on finalizing my lesson plans for the week, the quiet room is suddenly rattled by an addictive laugh, quickly stifled by her hands as she glances up at my desk.

Red in the cheeks from embarrassment, Ana hides her laugh. Moving his head away from her ear, it’s clear Walker whispered something to her, causing her to burst out in laughter. Laughter I wouldn’t mind hearing again.

The problem is, I hate that he’s the one making her laugh.

"I didn’t realize Shakespeare was such a comedic topic, Ms. Burns," I say with annoyance, making sure to enunciate her name.

"Sorry, Mr. Ackerman," she replies with an icy gaze. "Won’t happen again, sir," she adds, throwing me an innocent expression.

The flood of heat begins again at the sound of "sir" from her mouth, and I thank God for this desk. It’s the only thing hiding the burden I’m forced to carry right now.

Keeping her cold gaze fixed on me, I challenge her with one of my own.

She only looks away when Walker whispers something else to her, and I watch as she nods, her face lighting up with a smile at the sight of him.

As the bell chimes, signaling the end of class, the students begin gathering their things, eager to rush off to their next class. My eyes follow Walker as he trails beside her, and before I can stop myself, my mouth starts moving faster than my mind.

"Ms. Burns, you mind staying back for a few moments?" I ask, watching the confused expressions flash across both her and Walker's faces.

"Why?" she asks, already bracing for a fight.

"Your attitude this morning hasn’t been addressed," I warn, surprised by the authority in my voice. "We can talk in front of your friend or you and I can have a private discussion."

Her eyes narrow with anger, making it clear I've pissed her off once again.

"I’ll catch you around campus," she says to Walker. "I’ll text you about the movie if my friends are okay with you coming," she adds, flashing him a bright smile, earning a smirk from him.

"I hope to hear from you."

She gives me a brief, nasty look, and I can tell Walker is far from amused by me.

Pity.

She moves closer to my desk, watching Walker leave before crossing her arms when we’re finally alone.

"Yes?" she asks, her voice dripping with disdain, allowing herself to look down on me.

I clench my jaw, waiting until I know I’m safe to stand, then rise slowly, allowing my body to move around the desk. I take my stand, looking down at her, feeling her confident facade begin to falter the longer I hold her gaze.

What is she thinking right now?

Is her heart racing at the idea of being in trouble?

Or is it racing because of me?

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