Free Educating Emma by Kat Austen Page B

club and taken my tongue into your mouth. You should have told me you were in my class before you held my dick and gave him a taste of your touch.”
    Chills of a different kind assault my body. His voice is different. His expression is too. It’s not resolution stringing his words together anymore—it’s something else. I don’t know what, but my instincts fire to life. The instinct that tells a person to run when something dangerous is stalking closer.
    I stay where I am.
    “I thought you’d know.” My voice is shaky, mirroring the tremors of my body. “That you’d remember my face.”
    “I teach four classes, each one filled with over sixty students. I wouldn’t recognize your face if you sat in the front row every day and wore a monkey suit.”
    He’s moved behind me so I can’t see him, but his footsteps echo through the room as he moves.
    A streak of boldness hits me, and I don’t let it go to waste. “Liar,” I say, nice and slow so it sinks in deep. “You’ve known my name since the first day I walked into your class. You knew who I was when you put your hands on me last weekend, and you know why I’m here now.”
    A low chuckle winds around the room. He sounds farther away. “Why are you here now?”
    When I glance over my shoulder, I see him climbing the stairs of the auditorium. I’m not sure if he’s trying to leave for the day, escape an obsessed student, or inform campus security I’m harassing him, but I’m not going to stop now. I’ve kept this secret, this desire, to myself for too long. It’s time for him to know. To be burdened with the knowledge of it. What he chooses to do with it is up to him, but I can’t keep it to myself any longer.
    Turning around, I straighten. My blouse stretches across my chest, the hem of my skirt lifting as I stand tall. “I’m here to have you finish what you started.”
    “Some kissing and groping is not my definition of getting started, and if you think it is, you have no idea the kind of man you’re toying with.” He’s stopped on the stairs, looking down at me with a foreign expression. He looks like he’s in pain. When his eyes settle on my chest, that pained expression amplifies. “And I’m not finishing a damn thing. So if that’s what you’re after, go on the internet and look for discreet delivery. Don’t forget to pick up batteries.”
    His words hit me like a slap, but I keep going. Whatever I’m saying, whatever I’m doing . . . it’s getting through to him. He felt something last Saturday. He can deny it all he wants, but he feels something for me now too.
    My gaze dips down his body like his is assaulting mine. I instantly notice the bulge pressing beneath his zipper. It would be impossible to miss. The walls of my pussy clench involuntarily, almost like it’s fantasizing about him filling me.
    “Your words are saying one thing”—my gaze circles his crotch again before lifting to his eyes—“but your cock’s saying something else.”
    His body shudders when the vile word spills from my mouth, but his glare doesn’t dim. “Emma . . .” he warns.
    My eyebrow lifts, and I step toward him. “Now who doesn’t know my name?”
    I take another step closer. Even though we’re separated by at least twenty feet, the room closes in around us. His expression is dark, his eyes alive, and if he wants to keep fighting this, that’s his right, but I’m going to give him a taste of what he’s missing before I leave.
    My fingers work the top button of my blouse free. They lower to the next one and pop that one free. Folding the fabric aside, I make sure he has a good view of exactly what he’s saying no to. His gaze dips to the area I’ve exposed for him. His eyes devour me, making me shift. He apparently has no qualms about fucking me with his eyes.
    There he is. There’s the man who backed me against a wall last weekend and ground his body against mine. There’s the man who almost made me come with one light brush