Page 34 of Riptide

“You look good like this,” he interrupts my spiraling thoughts, tone dropping to something darker. “In a tie. All serious. I had no idea that you were a teacher. Though if I’d seen your real name on the email, maybe I would’ve been more clued up. Foxx, huh? Did you think of that all by yourself?”

Heat flushes through me so fast I feel unsteady. I desperately try to contain my rapid breathing, and nod toward the door. “Go home.”

He grins. “That an invitation?”

“Finn.” My voice cracks like a whip. “This is my job. I can’t…we can’t…” I take a minute to compose whatever it is I’m trying to say and look at him, which is a mistake, because he’s hypnotizing. “Foxx is my middle name; it’s what I go by with friends. Nicholas is my first name.”

Considering me for a beat, his head tilts. “Is that what we are? Friends?” He stands and slings his backpack over his shoulder,but the glint in his eyes promises trouble. “Well,buddy, I’m going to be a model student.”

I don’t believe that for a second. Because even when he isn’t saying anything, I know I’ll be watching him every class. When he doesn’t raise his hand, I’ll still feel his presence. Every stretch. Every smirk. It’ll haunt me like it has been since we… Fuck, this is all a bad idea. Maybe I could ask to run a different class? I could take over from Bea’s Monday class. But that idea is quickly squashed because this is the only class that fits with my other schedule at CLU. And I took it because I love it, and they needed a reliable teacher to fill in. Shit, there goes that.

I shouldn’t want him. But wanting and doing are two very different things. I’m struggling to remember why the latter is a bad idea. “You should go.”

Before I can gather myself, he moves. One second, he’s lounging in the chair, and the next, he’s standing in front of me, too close, heat radiating from his body.

“You sure you want me to leave?” he murmurs. Blood starts pumping around my body at speed, and I’m not sure if its fight or flight, both? A mixture of wanting him, but knowing I can’t have him makes me want to run and hide, but also push him against my desk and take.

I open my mouth to say yes, to tell him again how inappropriate this is. But the words stick, caught behind the memory of his mouth on mine. His gaze dips to my lips. My breath falters. When he leans in, every muscle in my body locks. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t lean in. Don’t think about kissing him.

“You’re thinking about it,” he says.

I swallow hard. “No, I’m not.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Liar.”

Damn his voice. The rasp wraps around me like a rope, pulling me toward the edge of something I can’t afford to step into. Myknuckles whiten on the edge of the desk, a futile anchor against the gravity of him standing so close.

“See, you might wear the tie and play the part,Professor, but I remember what you’re like when you stop thinking,” he whispers, voice like velvet over gravel. “I remember what you’re like when you just feel. How much you like to push me, to bring me to the edge over and over until I’m weak beneath you.”

My knees weaken. “Finn…”

“Want me to stop?” His eyes flicker with heat. Do I want him to stop? Is that some kind of fucked up? “Stop reminding you how you moaned my name when you spilled all over me? Or stop standing here, pretending like you don’t want to do it again?”

I groan involuntarily, my jaw ticking. His mouth curves into a predatory grin.

“Tell me to go,” he says, voice soft but commanding. “Say you don’t want this. Say you didn’t think about me the last time you touched yourself. Say you weren’t picturing my mouth on you.”

I try. God help me, I try. But I remain mute.

Finn’s fingers graze mine where I cling to the desk. Just a brush of skin to skin, enough to ignite every nerve in my body. “Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s what I thought.”

He steps back, those blue depths holding my gaze the entire time. “See you next class,Professor.”

The door clicks shut behind him.

I collapse onto the chair, drag both hands over my face, and curse under my breath.

I’m so, so screwed.

Chapter fifteen

Finn

It’sbeenthreedays.

Three days since I got under Foxx’s skin, since I left him gripping that desk like it was the only thing keeping him upright. Three days of staring at a picture instead of the real thing, and still, nothing.

I’ve been checking the app, but nada. No messages. No reactions. No acknowledgment. I won’t pretend I wasn’t expecting something. Maybe a “this isn’t right” text. Maybe he would finally break and block me. Maybe there’d be some sign that I have been on his mind the way he’s been on mine. But instead, I get a solid wall, locked down tight, like he’s doubled down on his own resistance.

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