The Professor

Chapter Four | Don't Kiss Me

The door closes behind Nicole and I swear the atmosphere changes in our kitchen. What I know to be a spacious room suddenly feels too cramped. Too intimate.

"What's that?" asks James, gesturing towards the stack of papers tucked underneath my arm.

"My essay," I proudly state, thankful the conversation is steering towards academic matters.

Perhaps chat about dead authors will still my frantic heart?

"Can I see it?"

"No!" I insist, clutching it tighter to my chest. "What makes you think you're entitled to special treatment?"

"Aren't I?" he questions, quirking a brow.

His midnight eyes sparkle and that brilliant mouth of his smirks, making it impossible to think of anything else. I clench my thighs in an attempt to dull the ache present between my legs, but it does little in the way of easing anything.

"James—"

"Professor James," he corrects, stepping closer.

I instinctively take a step back and knock into the counter.

I'm fucking trapped!

"I can't do this with you," I blurt out.

"Do what?" he asks, using his thumb and forefinger to tilt my chin.

He brings his forehead to rest against mine and I lose all composure. His smell is all I know and as I breathe him in, not one rational thought creeps in.

"We're not doing anything, Sloan," he insists, placing a hand at either side of my hips.

I inhale sharply, well and truly effected by his touch.

"It's just flirting."

"For now," I protest, avoiding his gaze.

He seeks it out and locks his gorgeous eyes onto mine.

"Practice restraint, Sloan," he demands, pressing his erection into me.

It's unexpected and delightful, masking me gasp.

"As long as we don't kiss, we're not doing anything wrong," he instructs, pushing further against my core.

I throw my head back and moan, loving the feel of his excitement. He repeatedly drags himself along the zipper on my jeans and I find myself meeting his every push. Dry humping my English professor in my kitchen is not what I had in mind for this afternoon, but I'd be lying if I said I wasn't absolutely loving it. James has this way of looking at me and the only way to describe it is pure, animalistic need. It's the sexiest thing I've ever seen and I simply can't help myself. I meet his forehead with my own and attempt to capture his lips.

"Don't kiss me," he whispers, dodging my lips last minute.

I ignore him and try again.

"Sloan!" he warns, tugging on my ponytail.

My head is forced back and I'm shock at just how much I enjoy the roughness of it all. I've never been handled in such a way, and up until this point, didn't think I'd like it.

His breath is by my neck and I moan as it tickles my sensitive skin. I figure if I can't kiss him, there are other ways to force a reaction out of him, so I disregard my essay and reach behind him, grabbing his arse.

"SLOAN!"

His plea isn't a demand to stop, rather a growl of approval. His hips rock hard into mine and I squeeze, fucking obsessed with the noises this man makes.