Dirty Look - Dark Desires

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 4Enzo

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.

She tosses her hair, and it glides over her bare shoulders, the light floral fragrance of her shampoo wafting through the air. I could drown in that scent and die a happy man.

“Professor?”

Christ, I’m slipping. The Dean of Criminology stands to my right, a tiny wisp of an old man with white hair and round spectacles perched on his nose, smiling at me. I never even heard him coming.

“Good morning and welcome!” he says. “I’m so sorry for the confusion, but we’ll have your updated class rosters in your email this evening. The first few days of class we always have to rearrange things. Here’s your schedule for today.”

I take the paper from his hand and thank him. “Welcome!” he says cheerfully, whistling as he walks down the hall, so wholesome it makes my teeth hurt.

I glance at the list, then back to her.

Student number nineteen.

Mia Russo.

One of my men arranged this, I know it. I growl at the paper. “Get in the damn class.”

She leans in, her eyes alight with fury. “Remember, professor,” she says. “Who you are. Wouldn’t want to give anything away now, would you?”

This girl will land belly-down over my knees before the sun sets tonight if she’s not careful. I lean in and whisper in her ear, “You’re the one who ought to remember who I am, young lady.”

She blushes suitably. Good. She must remember the sting of my belt on her ass.

I yank open the door to the classroom and gesture for her to go in. “After you.”

She walks in with her head held high, pulls a chair out in the very front row, places a cushion on it and sits, never taking her eyes off me.

I didn’t become head soldier to the family by quaking in the face of something fucking hard to do. So, I have to teach class with the most gorgeous, willful, forbidden woman sitting right under me for a full semester. If I do it right, it’s the last semester I have to do this.

“Good morning,” I begin, ignoring the perfection sitting in front of me and addressing everyone else. “I’m Professor Caprio, and we’ll begin the study of Criminology.” I launch off into some dumbass speech about the importance of studies and education, blah blah blah, but lay out my expectations. No tardiness. Work handed in promptly and neatly, no excuses. Missing two classes without a doctor’s note results in class failure.

“Now,” I say. “Who can tell me the classic definition of criminology? If you’d done the required reading, the answer should be clear.”

Mia raises her hand. Goddammit, when she does, her dress stretches across her chest. I stare at her eyes not her tits, and jerk my chin at her. “Miss Russo.”

She answers in a clear, steady voice. “Criminology is the study of crime and its counterparts, the nuances imbued in both the abolishment of crime and efforts to prevent it. Many argue that the study of criminology is the study of humanity and its very essence.”

I swallow hard. She was stunning before. Hearing her speak with such intelligence and grace is a fucking turn-on. Great.