Trapped With My Teacher

By: Penny Wylder

“Then your other professors aren’t pushing you hard enough.”

“Oh, is that it?” I snort and kick my way into the cabin, then dump the wood back into our little mudroom pile. “You’re a complete ass to me because you want to push me harder?” Then I realize how that sounds, and my cheeks flush.

He notices too, his smirk widening as he drops his pile of wood beside mine. “Yes, Corina, I must admit. I do want to push you harder. Because you’re better than the work you’re putting out currently. And if people didn’t spend their whole lives bending over backwards to give you everything you want, then you could be so much farther ahead in your studies than you are now.”

I frown, tilting my head. “What are you talking about?”

He holds my gaze for a long moment. I never noticed his eyes before. They’re dark green behind those glasses, flecked with tiny bursts of gold around his irises. He holds my gaze long enough for me to forget what I just said, to feel my body starting to tilt forward, unable to resist his gravitational pull. Then he blinks, and the illusion snaps for a moment. I shake my head, pull myself backward. “You don’t think you’re spoiled, Corina? You don’t think you get everything you want, whenever you want it?”

I laugh once, harsh. “You don’t know me, Professor Lakewood.”

“Please.” He rolls his eyes, and I think he’s going to retort that he does know me, somehow. Though I don’t know how he possibly thinks he does, after just two months of torturing me in his classroom. But instead, he gestures at the cabin around us. “Although I never tire of being called professor, I think in a setting like this, Tony will do just fine.”

I set my jaw. Is this his idea of a peace offering? Screw that. “You don’t know me, so quit acting like you do. My work ethic is just fine. If I’m distracted at all, I’m distracted by you constantly picking on me, calling me out in front of the whole class, when I’m doing the same work as everyone else.”

That infuriating smirk of his widens. “So you’re saying I’m the reason you’re so distracted in class?” His eyebrows lift, and he takes a step closer. I hold my ground. Lift my chin to glare up at him. We’re barely a foot apart now. The air between us warms, and I can tell my cheeks are flushed again. I don’t care.

I narrow my eyes. “Sure, Tony. You’re distracting in that you’re unfairly critical.”

“I just expect the best performance from my students.” His gaze drops, lower than my face. I can feel him studying my body, my curves. I tilt my head to the side to allow him a better view. Let him be distracted for once. But his gaze snaps back to my face, every bit as focused as it was a moment ago. “And you, Corina, are smarter than the work you put forth. You’re smarter than most of the other students in that classroom. So yes, I am going to push you harder than any of them. Because you can take it.”

I swallow hard. There’s barely any space between us anymore. When did he get so close? I’m staring into those gold-flecked green eyes again, tilting forward, unable to resist. My heartbeat pounds, and my limbs feel tingly, my stomach tight with desire. The flash of fantasy I had earlier about him bending me over outside returns, even harder now. I imagine him pushing me back against the kitchen counter, lifting me onto it and tearing my shirt open. Tonguing my nipple as he peels off my jeans and slides his thick cock between my thighs…

“Then again, maybe I’m wrong.” He breaks away, steps back.

All the air rushes back into my lungs at once, making my knees feel weak. I reach back and grip the kitchen counter, this time just to keep myself steady on my feet. Dammit, Corina. I can’t let him get to me like that.

“Maybe you can’t take it. Maybe you’re just as big a failure as most of the other students I’m stuck teaching.” He shrugs and turns, brushing past me into the living room.

I glare after him, still too breathless to form a reply. By the time I think of one, I can hear the distant creak of the fireplace door, then the sound of him stacking another piece of wood onto the fire. I shake my head, square my shoulders and turn back to the kitchen supplies instead. Screw him. Tony Lakewood doesn’t know a damned thing about me. He can take his assumptions and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.

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