Page 26 of Cross My Heart

He knows.

Oh my god. My heart stops, and my cheeks burn. I want to disappear right down the back of this chair, but instead, I have to sit here, clutching my crumpled essay pages while Saint smoothly moves the conversation on to one of the other student’s essays.

He knows it was me!

My pulse races, and my blood runs hot in my veins. Suddenly, I’m aware of my body in a whole new way: every shift, every brush of fabric against my skin. I can’t help flashing back to that dim, candlelit room, and the way it felt to have all eyes on me.

Saint’s eyes, watching me.

Watching me come undone.

“… It was the challenge to religious authority…”

Saint glances over as one of the other students speaks. He meets my eyes, and gives me a slow, cryptic smile, allowing his gaze to pour over me, like he’s replaying his own filthy memories of that night, right here in the sunlit office.

I inhale in a rush, suddenly feeling naked, like my skirt is hiked up around my waist again.

Like I’m spread to him, on display.

Saint’s lips curl. He's enjoying this.

And so am I.

An illicit, rebellious thrill rolls through me. Slowly, deliberately, I cross my legs. I’m wearing casual jeans and a sweater, but still, I see his jaw clench in reaction. I smile, and casually nibble the cap of my ballpoint pen.

Saint stares at my mouth, his gaze turning dark, as if he’s imagining my lips wrapped around something very different.

I shiver with lust, picturing it too. Taking his cock deep, hearing him murmur filthy instructions, urging me on.

‘Good girl…’

“… To judge the era. Right, Professor?”

Saint doesn’t skip a beat. “That’s right, Flora,” he gives a curt nod, finally dragging his eyes away from me. I’m almost disappointed to lose his focus, but I feel the tension shimmer between us for the rest of the class, stirring something inside me.

Something reckless. Something wild.

Down girl, I remind myself, as he wraps up the discussion, and sets the reading for next week. Flirting with Saint like this is just asking for trouble—especially when I’ve sworn to avoid all distractions from my mission.

No matter how filthy and tempting they might be…

“That’s all,” Saint finishes, getting to his feet. “Essays will be due Sunday night, and try to review at least three of the journal articles, as well as the main texts.”

The other students take their time packing up, chatting about certain points from the session, but I just grab my things and bolt from the room. I hurry back down the staircase and into the drafty cloisters, my cheeks still flushed and heated.

“Ms. Peterson? Tessa?”

The sound of my name on his lips for the first time stops me in my tracks. I turn, as Saint catches up with me. “You forgot your essay,” he says, holding out the pages which I can see are marked with comments in blue ink.

I take a breath. If he's expecting me to blush, and act ashamed by what happened, I won't give him the satisfaction. I draw myself up to my full height and casually take the pages. “Thanks.”

“I have to say, I enjoyed your performance,” he continues, lips curling in a knowing smile.

“In the class,” I clarify, teasing.

He smiles wider. “That too. You’re right, I think. A man’s perspective on female pleasure will always be at a distance…”

“As if he’s watching from across the room?” I can’t resist shooting back.

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