Page 65 of His to Teach
He looks up at me, pleasure washing over his expression when he sees who’s interrupted him. “Harper.”
I take a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about my grade.”
“Your grade?”
I let my eyelashes flutter a little as I look down at the scuffed hardwood floors. “Can I sit down?”
“Harper, what are you?—”
I sit before he can finish, my eyes still trained on the floor, the picture of shy innocence. Or, at least, I hope that’s what I look like. God knows I’ve never tried anything like this before.
I push the nerves away, refusing to give into them. I want to do this. I need it.
“Sir,” I continue, putting emphasis on the word, “I really don’t know what I could have done to receive such a bad grade. There must be a way to make it up to you.”
There. That had to be obvious enough. Right?
He leans back in his chair, watching me over the rims of his glasses. God, he’s hot in those. He usually only wears them when he’s been reading for too long. I’ll have to remember to ask him to keep them on while we fuck. If we go through with it…
“I feel like I’m missing something.”
I look up at him, my eyes wide, and twirl a lock of hair around my finger. “I’m sure you’re not, sir. You’re so smart, all the other girls say so. I’m so sorry that I messed up my paper. Isn’t there some extra credit I can do or something?” I let my other hand drift over to his thigh, safely hidden under the table, just to really drive my point home. “I’ll doanything.”
“Harper.”
I look up into his eyes and he studies me for a long moment. “This is what you need?” he asks, his voice quiet and understanding. I feel a rush of relief so strong my knees go weak. I nod, eager, and he continues to watch me. Finally, he tilts his chin briefly, as if in agreement. And then his entire face changes.
“You were hoping to talk to me about your grade?” he asks, his tone patronizing, an eyebrow raised in smug question. I swallow, wondering why that turns me on so much. For him to be looking at me like that. Like he thinks I’m a silly little girl, unworthy of his attention or time. It should make me angry—or turned off, at the very least. Instead it makes me feel desperate to show him just how worthy I really am.
When I don’t answer he makes an impatient noise in the back of his throat. “Were you hoping I would divine your concerns?”
“Sorry, I’m nervous.” I realize that I really mean it—I’m nervous as hell. But I’m also really, really excited.
“Nothing to be nervous about,” he says silkily. “What is it you wanted to say?”
“I’m confused why I got such a bad grade,” I say in a rush, determined to follow this through. To play my part. “I don’t know what I did wrong. And that grade is gonna mean I lose my scholarship, and I won’t be able to afford school. Isn’t there any way I could rewrite the paper? Maybe if you could just tell me what I did wrong?—”
Nate holds up a hand, silencing me. “I never allow re-writes,” he says flatly. I force my face into a disappointed frown, moving to stand, but his next words freeze me in place. “Surely you’re not giving up so quickly?”
I look up at him, the darkness in his eyes making my stomach drop. “No, sir.” His eyes darken further at my use of that word. “What can I do?”
“Occasionally I allow for extra credit.”
I swallow, trying to hide my grin of triumph. “I’ll do it. Whatever it is, I’ll do it.”
Nate laughs, low and dark. Damn, he’s good at this. He makes it easy to believe that it’s real, that I really am a desperate girl and he holds all the power. I suppose it isn’t too far from the truth, when you think about it.
He leans towards me slightly. “Just the kind of enthusiasm I want from my students. Maybe you should listen to my terms first.”
I nod eagerly. God, I want to hear his terms.
“I’m not talking about extra papers or projects here,” he says quietly. “I have no desire or time to grade more redundant, insipid tripe from college co-eds.”
His words are rude, misogynistic, beyond condescending. But there’s a challenge in his voice, like he wants me to pushhim. I bite back a grin, making my voice angry. “Perhaps you’d get better quality if your own teaching skills were up to scratch,” I say hotly. “Don’t students reflect on their teachers?”
He stares at me for a moment, and my stomach clenches with real fear. I’ve seen that look on his face before, usually right before he takes his paddle to my ass. But to my surprise, Nate starts laughing.
“You have more spunk and fire than I realized, Miss Cain,” he says. “Maybe this will work out to both of our benefits. Fine, let’s talk details.”
