Page 105 of Ward Willing
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Zoe raise her hand.
Schooling my features into neutrality, I let my eyes slide to hers, andfuckthis was a bad idea. She’s watching me with a tiny smirk, eyes twinkling with mischief.
Such a fucking tease.
“Yes, Ms. Arma?” I ask, my voice a little too gruff.
“Are we partnering up for this assignment?” she asks, her voice slightly too sweet to be genuine.
“No,” I say sternly. “But feel free to talk amongst yourselves if needed.”
I’m about to turn around when she raises her hand again, chin high and eyes boring into mine.
“Yes?” I nearly growl.
“I think it might be beneficial to pair up, so that we’re not working alone for the duration of class. And, that way we can bounce ideas off our partner.”
My jaw rolls as I heave a heavy sigh, irritation trickling through me. “If I wanted you to get paired up, I would’ve specified that.”
I turn around quickly as a few people murmur, sitting down at my desk and willing my eyes to stay down on the papers I was in the middle of grading.
I manage to make it a few minutes, and when I chance a look up, I see people working quietly—Zoe included.
The next twenty minutes go quickly as I finish up my work, and at 11:00, I instruct everyone to begin on the crafting portion of the assignment. I let myself look at Zoe, and our eyes meet for a fraction of a second before I look off into the distance, my face composed and giving nothing away.
At 11:45, I dismiss everyone, and the flurry of movement is distracting and loud enough for me to slowly walk over to where Zoe is sitting, legs crossed, as she packs her computer up.
“May I have a word with you?” I murmur.
She looks up at me with wide eyes, and I watch as her throat bobs. “Okay. Your office?”
Giving her a single, tight nod, I walk to my desk and gather my things. I don’t bother waiting for her; she knows where my office is. And if she doesn’t, she’ll figure it out. Once I unlock my door, I leave the door open and take a seat behind my desk. I turn my computer on for the first time in weeks. My typewriter and legal pads get much more use, and I can check my email on my phone.
But it gives me an excuse not to look up when she walks in.
In my peripheral vision, I watch her start to sit down, but I snap my eyes up to hers.
“Close the door.”
I swear I see her visibly shiver as her lips quirk to one side, and she turns around and closes the door before walking over to my desk.
I have every intention of asking her about the sign—possibly making her squirm a bit. In fact, I’d been planning what I was going to do and say when we were alone, so I could convey, again, that I want to partake in this dynamic with her.
But what I don’t expect is for her to walk around to my side of the desk and drop to her knees.
My body goes taut, and I lose the ability to speak when she leans back and places her palms on her thighs. As she straightens her spine, the smirk she’d been wearing earlier drops off her face, and instead it’s replaced with an open, focused look, and—fuck.
I like it.
No. Iloveit.
Her eyes are downcast, and she’s staying almost impossibly still. It hits me then thatthisis what she’s done with other men as their submissive. Did they delight in her long neck, too? Her shiny, wavy hair that’s the exact shade of dark chocolate? Her petite body and heart-shaped face? Because right now, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything more beautiful. A wave of possession washes over me when I think of this being something she’s done with others, and I make it my personal mission to ensure I erase every single one of them from her memories.
I don’t know what to say in this situation. I don’t have any experience with this, so I go with what feels right in the moment.
“I only have fifteen minutes before my next class,” I say slowly.
Her eyes are still on the floor, but I see her lips twitch slightly. Still, she doesn’t look up or answer me. In my research, I vaguely recall that some want permission to look up and to speak, so I wager a guess and try to keep the wince out of my voice when I speak next.
