God, I have never been so attracted to someone. When Ethan starts listing off readings, I create little checkboxes for each and list them in my notes.
I’ve considered backing up my note taking with an audio recorder before, and I might need one for this class.
I can listen to the tape and make my notes more accurate. And then I can listen to them again and shove my hand down my pants like I wish I could now. I swear my clit is telling me to rub it. I generally don’t get much pleasure out of masturbating without my vibrator. Things feel good, when I touch myself, but I can’t make myself cum without the vibrator. I bite my lip now and listen to Ethan’s voice and I’m squirming in my seat. He gives so much homework, and even that turns me on! He appeals to my nerd side in a way that I didn’t know was possible. I think I might faint.
I look around again. No way anyone can actually smell how aroused I am? I think I can and I’m embarrassed. I feel like my pussy is wet enough to make my light pink sweatpants damp, and that’s just too embarrassing. I may die on the spot. I have to talk to Ethan after class, and not about my soaking wet pussy. I don’t see Aiden in the classroom today. Campus police hasn’t contacted me.
A line forms and plenty of people seem to want to ask Ethan questions. I wait, seeing how they fawn over him. He brushes them off, but Ethan keeps looking at me.
I think this is exactly what Delia would call eye-fucking. The intense look Ethan gives me, the air around us seems to literally heat up. His breath is caught in his chest, Ethan’s face goes still, his eyes narrow slightly, his head cocked a little to the side. How can so much intensity meet me, and then dissipate while he answers inane questions?
I keep waiting, wondering how the hell I’m going to make it out of here with the way he’s looking at me. My nipples are showing through a bra, a shirt, and a hoodie, for fuck’s sake. I had covered them up with my notebook, but when he looked at me the first time, I slid the notebook down. I wanted him to see my nipples and I'm betting that even at this distance he can. The line gets shorter and his looks get longer.
Maybe he really can’t wait to talk to me, as much as I want to talk to him? The thought is fire to my body, sin against my skin.
When it's finally just the two of us in the room, I take a second to try and breathe. The space between us closes to just within arm’s reach, and that realization almost makes me forget what I was coming to talk to him about.
“Thank you so much, Professor Wesley—”
“Ethan,” he corrects me.
“Ethan,” I say, savoring the taste of his name on my lips. I think of him as Ethan already, but I think I actually wanted him to correct me, and I don't know why.
Oh, God.
Because I know that what might be happening between us is wrong. I want to hear him press for it. And even though he told everyone to call him Ethan, or Dr. Ethan, we both know this is different.
“Ethan,” I repeat, knitting my eyebrows. Pursing my lips for a second. “I appreciate you saving me. I haven’t heard from campus police yet about…”
I don’t want to say it.
I don’t even want to talk about this.
Ethan puts his hand on my shoulder, letting it grip around the curve of my upper arm.
I inhale sharply at his touch, licking my lips instantly at just the contact of his hand on my skin.
“They’re gone,” Ethan says.
That’s all he says!
“How can that be possible with no one getting my side of the story? I’m sure that they didn’t confess…”
That’s supposed to be Ethan’s opening to respond. Instead, he’s gathering his bag to leave. “I handled it,” he says with a calm finality.
But I won’t be so easily dismissed. I don’t doubt that he’s taken care of the situation, but I feel like I need to know how. I follow him out of the building.
“Be more observant,” Ethan instructs.
What? I don’t know what that's supposed to mean, but I follow him out the steps of the building, listening to his words in my mind. They’re echoing off the inner chambers of my thoughts.
Ethan starts to walk off and I don’t understand what he means until I see him look back at the building.
Then I look up and see ‘WESLEY’ written on the building.
There’s prestige, and there’s name-written-on-the-building prestige.
“Wow,” I say before I stop myself from sounding like a stupid little girl.