Beauty and the Professor (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 1)

“More. Yes,” she babbled. “Blake.”

He pushed her knees up and back with both hands. “Say Please, Blake.”

She was unable to move like this, with her bent legs tucked against her chest, bound by the tight constraints of her own body and his unyielding hands on her knees.

“Please.” She swallowed. “Blake.”

“Again.”

She sobbed softly. “Please, Blake.”

Without removing his hands from her legs, he lined up his cock. The head felt impossibly broad and she so exposed. In a smooth thrust, he pushed inside. He gave her exactly what she wanted, as he always would. Whether in bed or in life, whether her body or her heart, she could always trust in him to fulfill her. It poured into her, his love and admiration, leaving only a little room for doubts. A very small place where she hoped she was doing the same good for him.

Chapter Thirteen

Blake

Blake looked over his lecture notes. Again. He already knew the outline forwards and backwards. He could theorize and expound for hours on every point listed—and had done so, in email exchanges and phone calls with old friends and a few new ones in his seclusion since the explosion. He knew the nuances of the material, he felt passionately about the real-life impact. In Erin’s slang, he had this on lock.

But he couldn’t shake the disquiet. That fear he was making a mistake. The fear that it would all blow up in his face, though that had already happened—literally. What could be worse than the pain of first-degree burns and losing his teammates in a single blast? Of having his fiancée break things off when he returned home and losing the ability to follo

w in his father’s footsteps as a senator?

All he had to do now was stand in front of thirty grad students and ignore the way their gazes would nervously dart away from his face. The small classroom had a single large table with chairs gathered around and cluttered into the corners. A desk was at the front, but the whole effect was intimate. Perfect for the discussions that were common in advanced graduate classes. A little too close for comfort, considering.

Maybe his nerves had more to do with a certain student in particular.

God, Erin. He was crazy about her. She needed this class and he needed this job—this chance to re-enter society on a temporary, part-time basis. He’d looked up the university bylaws to be certain, and surprisingly there was no specific language forbidding it. Still, he assumed the clause on professional behavior would preclude everything he did to her sweet body each night. And again, the next morning.

Fuck.

He should quit. Confess a conflict of interest to the dean and walk out. And leave them hanging with no one to teach this course… It was professional suicide. He’d get blacklisted from every university in the country. Not to mention all the students whose schedules and graduation plans would go haywire if this class fell through. Including Erin. But if something went wrong…

He stood. He’d quit and deal with things how he always did—head-on. Anything was better than jeopardizing his relationship with her.

The papers slid haphazardly onto the chipped rosewood desk as he stood. Determined now, he stuffed the whole bundle into his briefcase. His loafers whispered on the scuffed hardwood floors. He swung open the ancient heavy door and almost ran directly into Melinda.

Melinda, the woman he’d once loved. The fiancée who had dumped him when she saw his face and realized he’d never live up to the promise of public service. The person who’d gone into his house that night and made herself at home. He did not have time for this shit, and he almost brushed past her and kept walking. But then he remembered Erin’s face when she’d seen Melinda at his house. Erin had been hurt by her asshole boyfriend before, but anyone would be concerned about the situation. Melinda had been his fiancée, for God’s sake, and she was suddenly showing up in his home? He had to nip this in the bud.

Frustrated, he practically growled, “Come in. Close the door before anyone gets here.”

She smiled, her lids lowering. “Whatever you say, Blake. I always liked it when you gave me orders.”

He shook his head. “It’s not like that, Melinda. You and I are done, exactly how I told you when you came to my office. I thought you understood then, but apparently not. What the hell were you thinking breaking into my house?”

She pouted. “I had my old key. Anyway, I realized I made a mistake letting you go.” Her voice dropped, the same way he’d always found so damn sexy. Now he felt nothing but impatience and annoyance.

“So, telling me I could never be the man you’d once loved…that was a mistake?”

She threw up her hands. “I didn’t know how to deal with it. It was hard, okay?”

He felt a stirring of sympathy. The whole situation had been a fucking mess. He didn’t want to judge her too harshly for bailing. He knew very well what the explosion had ruined, and it was a lot more than his face. But that didn’t mean they could turn back the clock. He wouldn’t even want to.

“It’s over between us. I’ve moved on.”

Her eyes narrowed. “So there is another woman.”

Annoyance clawed at him. “I don’t care what you tell yourself about this. You can paint me as the monster. Lord knows I already look the part. But we’re not doing this anymore. I’ve had the locks changed. If you show up again, I’m calling the cops.”