Voyeur

His hands dropped to my ass and squeezed the soft flesh, groaning at the feel of me in his palms. Fuck. Had a man ever sounded so satisfied at just grabbing my butt? Confident in his desire for me, I threw everything I had into the kiss. Nipped at his lips, sucked on them the way I wanted to suck on his cock.

One hand continued to grip me and hold me close, moving to the center of my bottom where his long fingers reached around the curve of my ass, barely touching the edges of my core. I wanted to rock my hips back to give him better access, encourage him to go further. But I was distracted by his other hand moving around my front, skimming my sides before cupping my breasts. My nipple hardened even more, almost reaching for his thumb as it circled and flicked across the tip. Each swipe sent shocks to my pussy and I was almost desperate to rub against him.

When was the last time I’d been touched from pure desire and not because someone paid me? I’d forgotten how good it felt, how exciting. Adrenaline coursed through my body, making every sensation stronger.

I needed more.

“Dr. Pierce,” I moaned when he’d begun making his way down my neck again.

And he froze. His lips halted their descent and the hands that had been pushing me to the edge of exploding, pulled back and curled tight into fists.

“Shit,” he whispered, the word brushing against my cheek. “Shit. Shit. Shit.” He stepped back and looked at his hands clenching and unclenching by his side before finally meeting my eyes. “I’m sorry. That was—”

“It’s okay.” I rushed to interrupt.

The guilt and regret in his eyes was too much, and I needed this gone. The past few minutes of my fantasies coming to life faded as fast as they’d come. Despite the feeling of my heart closing in on itself, begging me to hold on a little longer, I knew it needed to end. I shouldn’t have kissed him. I’d fucked up, and the struggling indecision in his eyes weighed me down.

I needed to not drag him down in my mistake. I couldn’t listen to his apologies about how much of a mistake it was to have kissed me back, to touch me like he’d die if he didn’t. I didn’t want to hear his regret over something that had filled me with euphoria. “It’s okay. It was nothing. A moment. And all my fault. I’m so sorry. It was dumb.”

My apology was light, brushing what had just happened under the rug like it was no big deal. Like I couldn’t still feel my lips tingling and my stomach dropping. A part of me wanted to demand he continue, to make him not give in to my escape. But the rational part of me knew I had three more months with him. I didn’t want this moment to color everything. I didn’t want it to change everything we’d been.

“Oaklyn, this is not your fault.”

“It is. I kissed you like a silly girl. Like all the other girls that hit on you.”

“You’re anything but a silly girl.” He ran a large palm across his face. “You are smart, sexy, and alluring and so beautiful. And god . . . ” He paused, looking me over before sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. I wanted to get lost in those words, but I saw the but coming before he’d even said it. “You’re nineteen—my student—and I should’ve known better.”

I dug my nails into my palm to help center myself. To focus on that instead of the pain his rejection caused.

I wanted it to be over, and I never wanted it to be brought up again.

“It’s okay. Let’s forget it.” I reached down and collected the folder I’d dropped and handed it to him. “Here you go. I should get going.”

He took it from me but tossed it on the desk. “I can scan them in tomorrow. Let me grab my things so we can walk out together. It’s late.”

“Sure,” I said with a forced smile and nod. I watched him close his laptop and lifted my backpack to my shoulder, hating the awkwardness. Desperate, I tried breaking it with a joke. “You should probably straighten that folder on your desk before it gives you nightmares tonight.”

He moved the folder and smiled, not acknowledging that I was right.

While he did that, I went ahead and grabbed his jacket from the rack in the corner. As I held it out to him, something fell from under it.

“Whoops,” I said, leaning down to pick it up.

“No. That’s okay,” he almost shouted, lunging for the hat.

But I got to it first and picked it up, brows furrowed as I studied it. I’d seen that hat before, the word Cincinnati stitched across the top. But where?