Blake hummed in agreement and approval. “Precedent is useful for a lot of reasons, but stories are how we connect with the world, how we understand the bigger picture. I told a story about Rome, and you naturally co
nnected that to Iraq. There’s power in stories. Never underestimate that.”
He directed their attention back to the textbook, but Erin felt much more interested in these theoretical words now that she understood the application. Everyone seemed to join in with enthusiasm, even the boy who had challenged Blake before. Any animosity had faded under the strength of curiosity…and the power of stories.
No, she wouldn’t likely underestimate that again. Nor would she underestimate him again. He may have been reluctant to accept the job, but once here, he would have no reservations about performing to his fullest. And his fullest was very, very good.
If she hadn’t known him before, she was pretty sure she’d have a major crush on her professor at this point. But she had known him before, had seen him joyous and brought low. She’d seen him laugh with abandon and climax with an agonized groan. Her feelings right now transcended a crush. They soared into love.
Chapter Fourteen
Erin
Erin spent her days in class or in the library working on her research paper. Her nights were always spent in the same place—Blake’s arms. Sometimes in her apartment, but more often at his place so as to let her roommate sleep in peace. Courtney never mentioned the noise except to keep a running tally on the whiteboard in the kitchen of how long it had been since she’d gotten laid.
The two summer sessions were highly abbreviated. Instead of meeting twice a week for a whole semester, they met every day for six weeks. The next thing Erin knew they were halfway through. Halfway to her goal and completely, head over heels in love with Blake.
She’d been worried about him being her professor—more than she’d let on to him or Courtney. But he was respectful and considerate to all his students, and she was eager to learn from him. Everything was almost perfect. Almost, because they still had to keep things a secret. That night, she drove to his place.
She wanted to throw her arms around him when he opened the door. His grin was mischievous, holding both a question for her and pride at a job well done. Instead she settled for a huge smile in return. She couldn’t have held it back anyway. He’d been amazing in class, authoritative and relatable as usual.
“You were fantastic. I knew you would be, but damn. You even surpassed what I was thinking.”
He shut the door as she passed. “No one ran away screaming, so I’m calling it a win.”
She rolled her eyes. “No one even notices how you look anymore.”
Though she noticed how he looked now, still wearing his slacks and dress shirt, though he’d rolled the sleeves up. His clothes were a little rumpled, his hair a little mussed. Her hungry gaze roamed his body, and when she met his eyes, the desire in them matched her own.
He pressed her against the wall. His kiss said it wasn’t a good time for discussion. It demanded things of her, things like submission and sweetness, like passion and playfulness, and she was too happy to oblige. His tongue darted into her mouth and then out again, quicksilver, and she was left to chase into his with her own.
His hand cupped her neck, a solid and comforting touch that morphed into something dirtier as he grasped her hair. She gasped at the sensation. Her cunt clenched in time with his fist. His other hand slid up from her waist, underneath her shirt, the hot contact enough to melt her into the implacable surface behind her.
He broke the kiss but continued to touch her, everywhere, as if it had been months or years instead of hours and days.
“It’s harder than I expected.” He nibbled a path down her neck.
Oh God, that felt good. Her hips bucked. “Teaching the class?”
“Pretending I don’t know you.”
Her heart squeezed. “For me too. But I’m proud every time I see you there.”
His smile was almost boyish. She had a hard time even seeing the scarring as some specific impediment. It was just the way he looked—a part of him. The only reason she regretted it was because she knew it gave him pain.
He would occasionally turn away and grit his teeth. It came and went, he said, like being burned all over again, echoes of the past. She would have done anything to take that away if she could. She loved, loved, loved him. And he loved her back, she was sure of it. So this insecurity business could die an ugly death, as far as she was concerned. No reason to hold him accountable just because some guy had been a jerk her sophomore year.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. He raised an eyebrow, and she continued. “I heard the tail end of your conversation with Professor Jenkins. The first day of class.”
“Shit.” He shut his eyes. “I’m sorry. I hoped you wouldn’t see her there. Erin, I swear I didn’t—”
“No, it’s okay. You don’t have to explain. I trust you, and I understand that she might come speak to you once in a while. You guys do share an employer, at least for the semester. So I didn’t want you to have to worry that I’m going to freak out if you have a conversation. I wouldn’t even have said anything, except I don’t want you to feel like you have to hide from me.”
He pulled her to the couch. “I appreciate your progressive views on the matter, but as our fellow classmate would say, bullshit.”
She blinked. “What?”
“You have every right to be upset about finding me like that or at the very least to know what we talked about. And even if you don’t insist on it, I want to tell you. I made it clear to her that we were over. I told her if she came to my house again, that I’d call the cops on her.”