I almost type ‘yes’ just to get him to leave me the fuck alone, but can’t bring myself to do it.
Jack:No.
His next text is an upside down smiley face emoji, and I am not sure what he means by that other than that he wants me to throttle him.
I don’t respond, just stand and chuck my phone onto Sienna’s changing table as I sway her back and forth until she’s fully out.
My heart is full to bursting by the time I place her in her crib, just as it always is when I watch her fall asleep, but when I close her bedroom door behind me a familiar weight settles in my chest, replacing the feeling.
The energy that comes with the beginning of every semester always makes me restless. I think most people who work in education probably feel the same; being inundated by new students both eager and anxious to get started, way too fucking many meetings that could have—should have—been emails, and the usual political bullshit a person has to wade through when you work at any university, but especially Cypress.
I’ve been on my usual edge since the end of August—the feelings only intensified as summer break ended, and news of all the terrible shit happening on campus began to spread like wildfire—but I think that of all that, Quinn is what finally pushed me over.
To say that I am unsettled is an understatement. I suspect the only thing that might settle me would be to fuck her out of my system, consume myself with her, and use her body to release some of the pent up stress I feel like I am always dealing with.
I am well aware of how messed up the idea is. The very notion of a college professor harboring feelings for a student crosses somany ethical boundaries that it’s almost laughable. Yet, despite my understanding of the power dynamics and the inherent complications, I can’t shake the way my heart races whenever she’s near.
It’s not just the way she looks, though that’s certainly part of it. It’s how she interacts with Sienna. The warmth she exudes, the way her eyes light up when she’s with my daughter—it’s overwhelming.
Every glance, every smile she directs my way feels like a dangerous dance on the edge of propriety, and that’s with me only having been around her for two very brief meetups.
I am aware that I should keep my distance, that these feelings are probably nothing more than a fleeting infatuation, but the line between professional respect and personal desire becomes increasingly blurred the more I think about her.
Giving in to this desire with the intention tojust get it over with so I can move onwould likely only add fuel to the raging inferno thrashing around in my chest. There is no part of me that would be able to stop myself from carving my name into her flesh so deeply that no one would ever be able to look at her again without knowing that at least once, she’d belonged to me.
Even after I’ve put Sienna down for the night, showered, and climbed into bed with a book in an attempt to bank the flames, the airflow feeding them doesn’t seem to have been restricted by my brief focus elsewhere—they lick at my insides.
Torturously.
I toss my book onto the pillow next to mine, smacking my head against the headboard repetitively when my mind wanders to the image of Quinn sleeping on it instead—her deep chestnut hair cascading over the soft fabric, her relaxed expression as she breathes deep. I groan in frustration, more annoyed at myself than anything else.
Why am I so fucking obsessed with someone I barely know?
Someone probably twelve or more years younger than me,andone of my students no less. Not that she seems to be aware of that at this point, which is a whole other issue.
Because she’s gorgeous.
And easy to talk to.
And really fucking funny even though she’s been through hell recently.
Not to mention she’s smitten with your kid.
I am fucked.
If nothing else,my fist isbecause thinking about her now that I’m alone, I’ve pitched a tent in my flannel pajamas.
My hand curls tightly around my throbbing cock that’s straining against my pants. I can feel the heat radiating from my body as arousal floods my senses, making me dizzy and desperate. I give in to the overwhelming urge and yank at the elastic band, freeing myself from the torturous friction of the fabric rubbing against my sensitive skin. I wrap my fingers tightly around my shaft as I try to focus on the physical sensation. For just a few moments, I am lost in the pleasure, begging my own hand for relief from the all-consuming enigma that is Quinn Ivor.
I come hard—violently, hot cum spurting onto my abdomen as I think about all the ways she might let me defile her if I asked nicely enough. I don’t even bother cleaning myself up after, because some fucked part of me relishes in the thought that it's the product of the first time I came with her name on my lips.
Eventually, exhaustion takes over and I can find some semblance of rest, but even in sleep, my mind is consumed by her.
6
YOU’VE GOT TO BE FUCKING KIDDING ME
QUINN
