Termination and departmental consequences. That's what would happen if I were to cross that line.
I'm not going to cross that line, I reassure myself. Just because I thought about Colton that way doesn't mean I'm going to act on it. It's harmless.
Fantasy. That's all it is.
* * *
Colton is sitting in his chair in front of the desk, leaning back, his legs spread out. "Hey, Teach," he says, looking up from his playbook.
"Don't call me Teach." The word reminds me of the tutor-student rules. And the fact that the last time I thought about Colton, it was with me bent over my bed and a vibrator in my pussy.
Nope, nope, nope. Not going to think about that.
Definitely not thinking about that.
I set my bag down on the floor and take out a notepad. Mostly I'm trying to hide my face because I swear what I did must be written all over it.
He's going to know. How am I going to look him in the eye?
"Did you get your paper back from your history class, yet?" I ask. "Hopefully the suggestions I gave you were helpful."
He doesn't say anything, but when I look up, he's watching me expectantly.
"What?" I ask, my hand flying up to my mouth. "Oh, God, do I have something in my teeth? I was eating a sandwich on the way here because I was running late and – "
Colton laughs. "Nope. I just have something for you."
I eye him warily. "If you're about to tell me you gift-wrapped your penis or something totally inappropriate, I'm not looking."
Colton grins. "This is innocent," he assures me. "But I like where your mind is."
"My mind is nowhere," I lie. Certainly not on the way Colton looks right now, in worn jeans and flip flops and a t-shirt that stretches tightly across his chest. I wonder if the fabric is soft. It looks like it would be really soft. I clear my throat. "My mind is on the fact that you have a ton of work to do."
"Relax," he says. "It's nothing inappropriate. Don't worry. I'll be sure to get you something inappropriate, though."
"Thanks, but no thanks," I say, except my mind wanders straight to what Colton means by inappropriate.
"I wanted to show you this." He reaches into his bag and pulls out a paper.
"Your history paper," I say. My eyes scan the first few sentences. It's good. Much better than when I saw it before. I jump to the bottom of the page. "You got a B!"
Colton grins. "I know it's not an A," he says, shrugging, "but I felt like you should work a little harder before you get to come on my tongue."
"Before I get to –" I say through clenched teeth. Then I stop myself. He just needs to be redirected to an appropriate topic. Like a small child. But I still have to cross and re-cross my legs again because my panties are immediately damp the second he says the filthy phrase. "Never mind. You got a B. That's great!"
"No big deal."
"It is a big deal. It's a good start, at least. It's more than what you need to make sure you're not on probation."
"What's my reward?" he asks with a crooked grin.
"The knowledge that you can be academically successful," I say primly.
"I was hoping for something a little more interesting."
I roll my eyes. "I'm not pimping myself out to reward you for your schoolwork," I say firmly.
"Pimping yourself out?" he asks. "I was thinking it would be a mutual reward. You give me an incentive to keep getting good grades, and I reward you by giving you the best orgasm of your life, completely ruining you for future men."
"There are so many things wrong with that statement that I don't even know where to begin," I say, my voice firm. Professional. "You're totally delusional to think that you'd be the best orgasm of my life. Which you won't be, because I'm not going to sleep with you, or let you put your face between my legs, or whatever totally repulsive suggestion you have next."
"Oh, I can guarantee that I'd be the best orgasm of your life, Cassie Rae," he says, leaning forward. The drawl is accentuated now, practically dripping from his words. Why does that drawl make everything he says sound like sex? When he leans forward across the table, I watch his lips as he speaks. He's close enough that if I were to just move a little bit, I could touch my lips to his. But I don't.
And I remind myself that I don't want to. Not at all. Colton King is an arrogant jock. And a player. And my student.
Kissing him would break all the rules.
I clear my throat and force myself to slide back in my seat, purposely putting space between us. Space is exactly what I need.
Space and an ice-cold shower.
Except that even after the session is over, what he says plays on a loop in my brain over and over and over: I can guarantee that I'd be the best orgasm of your life, Cassie Rae.
10
Colton