Trapped With My Teacher

By: Penny Wylder

That, at least, he has no answer to.

I make myself the strangest dinner combination in history. Porridge with some of the grains I found, mixed with a little bit of the bottled water—I’ll stick to that until we have to resort to melting snow. For a side dish, I fry some of the chicken I found in the freezer.

About halfway through cooking, the power flickers and dies. I ignore it. Like I said, thank God for gas stovetops.

A few minutes after it dies, though, I hear the floorboards creak as Professor Lakewood—no, Tony, definitely after the way he’s teasing me now—steps into the kitchen.

“Want some dinner?” I ask.

He steps up behind me, so close I can feel his body heat radiating in the narrow cabin. It’s starting to get cold here in the kitchen. Pretty soon we’ll have to close off the door, hole up in the living room with the fireplace and hope that provides us enough heat for the night. It’s positioned right between the living area and the tiny bedroom, so it should warm both of those well enough, but I doubt it will reach as far as the kitchen.

The cold is what I’d like to blame for the way I shiver and catch my breath. Really, it’s him. Thinking about his body so close to mine, those taut muscles I glimpsed earlier as we chopped wood together. His know-it-all smirk. So infuriating, and yet…

I swallow hard and tighten my thighs. And yet, I can imagine how that smirk would look as he pulled me into a kiss. How his tongue would invade my mouth, and those strong arms of his would circle my waist, pull my soft body against his hard one. I wonder what kind of cock he’s hiding in those jeans…

Stop it, Corina. I can’t do this. He’s my professor.

“What are you making?” he asks. His breath ghosts against the back of my neck, making the hairs rise.

“Whatever we have.” I eye the stove. “Chicken and porridge.”

He laughs softly, breath feeling hotter now. “Regular Martha Steward here.”

I snort and step aside, mostly so I can move my body away from his, breathe again without thinking about stepping backwards, bending over to push my hips against his and see what he’d do. Instead, I pass him the spatula. “Let’s see what you can do, then.”

He sizes me up—and takes his time about it, too. His gaze drops to my chest, lingers for a moment, before he spins around and starts digging through cabinets. I let out a faint sigh of relief when his gaze leaves my body. Whenever he looks at me, it makes me want to jump his bones right then and there. At least when he’s paying attention to something else, I can focus somewhat.

To my surprise, Tony starts pulling out spices and sauces I didn’t even notice when I did inventory earlier. It’s not like those spices add any calories to a meal, so I didn’t bother to note their nutritional value. But he uncaps a few and splashes them across the chicken, and suddenly the smell wafting through this narrow kitchen isn’t boring anymore. In fact, it smells almost… good.

“What are you doing?” I ask. Unconsciously, I lean a little closer to him.

He casts me a sideways, knowing smirk, then gestures for me to hand him one of the spices. I pass it over. “You might be the survivalist, Corina, but you still cook like a student. Try adding a little spice to your life once in a while.”

My cheeks flush once more, and not from the heat of the stove as he tosses the chicken. “I have spice!” I protest. “I do lots of spicy things. Just not cooking at home.”

“Cooking can be fun when it’s not only for yourself,” he points out with a casual smile.

My eyes narrow. I know he’s not married. Every girl in class made sure to research that the first day we walked in and saw him smirking up there by the blackboard. “Why? Do you enjoy cooking for your many hookups, Professor?”

“Not as often as I’d like.” His gaze darts to mine, catches my eye and holds it. “I enjoy cooking for two.”

“Well lucky you, now’s your chance to change that,” I say without thinking. Then my eyes widen when I realize what I just said. Enjoy cooking for your many hookups?

For his part, Tony just laughs. “Lucky me indeed,” he says, and I expect him to follow it up with some sarcastic comment about being trapped in this cabin with his least favorite student. But he doesn’t. He just turns back to the stove and keeps cooking.

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