Page 25 of Kismet

Shaking with need, my mind zeroes in on doing exactly that… touching him. I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything as much as I want that right now. Bringing my hand around to his front, I cup him over his sweats. He gasps at the contact, rocking into my hand, and nuzzling his face into my neck.

“Pull these down.” My voice is hoarse and raspy.

His hands leave my neck and hook inside his sweats, but before he can get them down, the lights turn back on. Reality washes over us like a bucket of cold water as our gazes lock. His lips are swollen and red, hair tousled every which way, and eyes hooded and filled to the brim with lust.

He’s absolutely beautiful.

But I shouldn’t be here, doing this with him.Fuck.

He must see the guilt pass through my eyes, understanding swimming in his. Climbing off me, he adjusts himself, turning away and walking toward the window.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs. “That was my fault, and it shouldn’t have happened.”

“No, Cash. I’m the teacher and you’re the student. I shouldn’t keep putting you in these situations. It’s wrong and unethical. Honestly, you should report me.” I’m pacing in front of him, hands on my hips. Freaking the fuck out.

He spins, facing me, determination washing over him. “Will you stop doing that?”

Confusion screwing up my face, I ask, “Stop doing what?”

“Being a martyr. Acting like you’re forcing me to do something I don’t want. When in reality, I want it just as bad as you. If not more. You’re all I’ve been able to think about since that night in Portland.”

At that, I stop pacing. Standing right in front of him. “I am?”

“Yes! So, stop. You’re not forcing me to do anything, and I’m an adult, Stone. You may be my professor, but I’m still an adult and capable of making my own choices.”

To emphasize his point, he closes the distance between us, pressing his lips on mine again. I don’t hesitate, grabbing him on either side of his face, tilting his head and kissing him deeper. The softest mewl leaves him, lips parting willingly as I taste him one last time. Because it has to be the last time. I can’t keep doing this.

This kiss lacks the aggression the last one had, but it’s packed with just as much passion, if not more. I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing, or why I can’t stay away from him, but his lips are where I want to be. Right or wrong, it’s the truth.

“I should probably get home. The storm sounds like it’s finally let up.”

“Yeah, me too,” I say. “I’ll reach out to the dean in the morning about the power outage, and we can get those grades in by tomorrow night.”

“Okay, um… I’ll talk to you later, then.”

He walks out. I watch him go; a mixture of guilt and thrill coursing through my veins.

Chapter Eight

Stone Philips

I don’t know how I managed it, but I was able to mostly avoid Cash all last week, and now we’re on winter break. Maybe the time apart will be good. Sever whatever tie we have together, because it can’t happen again. I know I keep saying it can’t… but it really can’t. I’m not that guy. I don’t cheat on my wife. I don’t break ethical rules like fooling around with students. That’s not me. It’s not who I want to become.

No matter how great being near him feels. No matter how natural his lips feel pressed against mine. The fact is, I’m married, and he’s my student. Even if my marriage is dying, that doesn’t give me the right. And I could be fired for this.

Tonight is the university’s Annual Award Banquet. I’m being presented an award, so attendance is a requirement. Aida is coming with me, and I couldn’t be more bothered by it. We haven’t spoken a single word in person in almost a week. She’s been holed up in her room for days, doing God knows what. I finally had to text her last night, reminding her of the banquet.

Of course, she bitched about it again. As if doing something for herhusbandis too much to ask. I can’t win with her. Either I want too much, or not enough with her. First, she complains I’m not home enough, then when I am home, we couldn’t be further apart. I already can’t wait for this night to be over. Her annoyance ruins any excitement I have about the award.

I’m in my office, per usual, with my door closed and a glass of whiskey in front of me. Pulling out my phone, I bring up my sister Molly’s number, hitting call on FaceTime. For a minute, I think she’s not going to answer, but eventually, her line connects.

“Hey, baby bro,” she greets with a smile on her face. Molly lives in Texas with her husband, Julian. We don’t get to see each other much in person these days, so FaceTime is our saving grace.

“Hey, Mol. How’s it going?”

“It’s going. Just finished cleaning up dinner. What about you? Your award ceremony is tonight, right?”

“It is. I have to get ready for it soon.”

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