Trapped With My Teacher

I set my jaw. Is this his idea of a peace offering? Screw that. “You don’t know me, so quit acting like you do. My work ethic is just fine. If I’m distracted at all, I’m distracted by you constantly picking on me, calling me out in front of the whole class, when I’m doing the same work as everyone else.”

That infuriating smirk of his widens. “So you’re saying I’m the reason you’re so distracted in class?” His eyebrows lift, and he takes a step closer. I hold my ground. Lift my chin to glare up at him. We’re barely a foot apart now. The air between us warms, and I can tell my cheeks are flushed again. I don’t care.

I narrow my eyes. “Sure, Tony. You’re distracting in that you’re unfairly critical.”

“I just expect the best performance from my students.” His gaze drops, lower than my face. I can feel him studying my body, my curves. I tilt my head to the side to allow him a better view. Let him be distracted for once. But his gaze snaps back to my face, every bit as focused as it was a moment ago. “And you, Corina, are smarter than the work you put forth. You’re smarter than most of the other students in that classroom. So yes, I am going to push you harder than any of them. Because you can take it.”

I swallow hard. There’s barely any space between us anymore. When did he get so close? I’m staring into those gold-flecked green eyes again, tilting forward, unable to resist. My heartbeat pounds, and my limbs feel tingly, my stomach tight with desire. The flash of fantasy I had earlier about him bending me over outside returns, even harder now. I imagine him pushing me back against the kitchen counter, lifting me onto it and tearing my shirt open. Tonguing my nipple as he peels off my jeans and slides his thick cock between my thighs…

“Then again, maybe I’m wrong.” He breaks away, steps back.

All the air rushes back into my lungs at once, making my knees feel weak. I reach back and grip the kitchen counter, this time just to keep myself steady on my feet. Dammit, Corina. I can’t let him get to me like that.

“Maybe you can’t take it. Maybe you’re just as big a failure as most of the other students I’m stuck teaching.” He shrugs and turns, brushing past me into the living room.

I glare after him, still too breathless to form a reply. By the time I think of one, I can hear the distant creak of the fireplace door, then the sound of him stacking another piece of wood onto the fire. I shake my head, square my shoulders and turn back to the kitchen supplies instead. Screw him. Tony Lakewood doesn’t know a damned thing about me. He can take his assumptions and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.

As for me, I’m going to prepare for this storm as best I can.

I organize the supplies in the kitchen, then take inventory. We’ve got enough food to last us a week—though I really, really hope we won’t be stuck here that long. It would really take a record-breaking storm to do that. As for the meat and fish, that we should probably eat first. There’s only enough for a few days, whereas there are plenty of dried goods.

I find a little notebook beside the stove with what appears to be guestbook notes. I guess this place is an Airbnb or something in regular season. It’s cute. I could see renting this place out for a private solo getaway. Holing up to do some schoolwork undisturbed and go skiing in the afternoons. It would be cozy—positively homey—if I didn’t have to share it with someone who makes my blood boil.

For more reasons than just because he’s irritating, my brain unhelpfully points out.

I ignore that. I tear a spare page out of the guestbook and list our supplies. One way or another, I’m making it through this storm. And if I have to rescue the most frustrating professor in the world alongside myself to make it, well then, so be it.

4

A Cold Night

I find Tony sprawled across the couch when I finally finish my preparations in the kitchen. “What were you saying about productivity earlier?” I ask with an eye-roll as I stride past him and reach for my bags.

“I’m being productive,” he replies. Then he holds up his cell phone. “Trying to reach civilization is a productive pastime.”

“Yeah?” I withdraw my own phone and eye the corner. No Service. As I expected. It still hasn’t found any signal. And there’s no Wi-Fi in this cabin—I guess that would be a little too much to ask from this ski bungalow in the middle of nowhere. “How’s that going?”