Her head’s thrown back on the pillow and even though I don’t have the sound on, I can imagine the prettiest, softest moans filling the room. Her eyes flutter closed as she fingers herself, and I’m so fucking hard it’s painful.
What does she think about when she touches herself? When she’s writhing in climax and blood rushes through her body? What does she fantasize about?
I can’t watch her come. I’ll never get the image out of my mind. I’ll never be able to control myself.
I slide my phone onto the bedside table with herculean effort, punch the pillow again, and shut off the light.
I wake the next day with a raging hard-on that even a shower and banging one off doesn’t help.
School. Classes. Teaching. I shake my head. It’s got to be what gets me through.
I can fucking do this.
The phone rings, as if the devil himself’s keeping tabs on me. Piero.
“Morning, Professor Caprio,” he says with a chuckle. Oh, he thinks he’s clever.
“Morning, boss.” I stifle a sigh.
“How’s that daughter of mine doing?”
“She’s good. All set to start class today.”
“Very good. Thank you, Enzo. I owe you a debt of gratitude. I wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing my daughter was that far away from my protection.”
He trusts me way fucking more than he should.
“Understood, sir. I’m keeping very close tabs on her.”
“Does she know who you are yet?”
I swallow. “She might have a vague idea.”
He chuckles. He never hid his need to protect her. “Sweet little bella. She’ll make her mama and me proud.”
“Yes, boss.” I roll my eyes. I don’t want to listen to him go on about her perfections again. I’m damn well aware of the fact that he adores her. “Time for me to go to class.”
“Best of luck, son. I trust you. Thank you. And listen, Enzo.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Take good care of her this semester, and I might be convinced to bring you home early.”
God, yes. I can do this. I will do this.
“Yes, sir. You have my word, sir.”
We disconnect the call. I pinch the bridge of my nose and curse under my breath. Thank Christ my own apartment’s private. If Piero had any idea…
My buzzer rings, and I slam the button to listen in. “Yes?”
“Let’s go, douchebag. Came to walk you to class, professor.” Emilio.
I grab a travel cup of espresso, my briefcase, and meet Emilio on the front step.
“You look like shit,” he says affectionately, handing me a white paper bag.
“Thanks. What’s that?”
“Finest pastry in the North End to start your day off.”
“I’m good, thanks. I don’t eat breakfast.”
“That’s right, you chew coffee beans and bullets with your protein drink,” he mutters with a shrug. “Eh, more for me.” He grabs a cinnamon twisty thing drenched in thick white icing from the bag and takes a huge bite, crumbs spraying everywhere. He groans.
“Christ, man, this is fucking heaven,” he says around a mouthful. “You sure?”
I smack him upside the head. “Didn’t your mama teach you not to talk with your mouth full?”
He just takes another greedy bite and chuckles, then waves goodbye as I head to my first class. Criminology 101. I enter the room, brightly lit and squeaky clean, and for the first time, I look forward to it. I know the criminal justice system as well as any of the other teachers here, though my knowledge came from first-hand experience, not books. Hell, maybe that gives me an advantage.
Students start to trickle in. Unlike Mia, they look like children to me. One girls with glasses and freckles, her hair still tied in braids. She gives me a sheepish smile, blushes furiously, and takes a seat in the very back. A guy comes in wearing shorts and a faded tee, a baseball cap shading his eyes. He jerks his chin at me in greeting.
“Morning, professor.”
“And you are…?”
“Jay Clance.”
“Morning, Mr. Clance. Hat off inside the building, please.” I’m determined to maintain my cover as a stern, law-abiding citizen.
He takes his hat off and slinks to a seat. One by one, they enter the room. I’ve got eighteen students in the first class, and so far seventeen have entered the room.
I glance at the clock. Two minutes. I take my syllabi out and tap them on the desk. Silence in the room while we wait for the last student to come in. I won’t tolerate tardiness.
As the clock strikes eight, a blonde runs in the room, her hair trailing behind her, and slides into a front-row seat. I push myself off the desk and go to shut the door, but I hear a set of clickety-clack heels running down the hall. I stick my head outside and look.
No fucking way. She isn’t coming into my classroom. I know her schedule and mine, and she isn’t on this roster. Did she change classes? But no, when Mia sees me standing outside the door to the classroom, she looks as startled as I am.
I shut the door behind me, and block her from entering.
“Where the hell are you going?” I hiss.
Her eyes flash at me a split second before she swallows hard and squares her shoulders. She waves her schedule at me. “Criminology 101,” she says. “Tell me the teacher isn’t you.”
Mia
Holy fucking shit. It’s him. Belt guy.
I thought I might be able to go one day without seeing him again. This takes the humiliation I experienced yesterday to a whole new level.
I guess I should have expected this. This is the kind of shit my father loves to pull. He’s an expert at embedding his people in vanilla jobs and positions of authority. I suspected he had people at the college. I didn’t think he’d have one as my lecturer.
I feel my ass heat up all over again. It feels like it is throbbing. God. This might be the most humiliating thing that has ever happened. The college is noisy, but I can’t hear anything. Blood is rushing in my ears and I’m seriously thinking about turning and just walking away. Fuck it. I’ll drop the class. But what if I do that and this guy tells my father and then I get my ass yanked out of college completely? There are conditions on my being here, and dropping classes on day one definitely breaches them.
I’m not giving in. I’m going into that class. I’m going to take my seat, no matter how hard taking that seat is going to be. I’ve already experimented with sitting today and found it uncomfortable. I brought a pillow with me. It’s just a thin piece of foam, but it makes all the difference between being able to physically tolerate having my ass contact a seat, and having to, well, physically stand.
His eyes drop to it, and a smirk passes over his handsome face.
“You came prepared.”
“I should report you,” I hiss.
“For what?”
“Beating your students.”
“I don’t think either of us would want to bring that to the administration. It’s the sort of thing that could get us both recalled.”
Chapter 4
Enzo
Christ, why does she have to look as if she just stepped off a runway? She’s wearing a blush-colored sundress with thin lace straps that barely covers her breasts.