I suck in a deep breath, not so much from nervousness as excitement. “No,” I admit, daring to lower my eyes to the bulge in his pants. “But I want to.”

He steps back and raises his hands out of the way. “Feel free to.”

My eyes widen as I study his midsection with great interest. He fills out ordinary slacks like I thought no man could, hanging on him just well enough to give subtle hints to the muscular thighs and shapely backside underneath. My eyes catch on the square buckle of his belt. I suppose I should start there. Reaching forward tentatively, I take hold of the mottled leather and pull it from the buckle. It separates easily, but I’m heartbreakingly aware of the thud of my pulse in my ears, his eyes on me, and the slow clumsiness of my fingers.

He grabs my hand with such fierceness that all the air whooshes out of my lungs. I raise my eyes to his, and his are pure fire. “Don’t,” he breathes. ”Don’t be afraid.”

I nod. “I’m not,” I say, but it’s a lie, because part of me is, if only a little. When he drops my hand, I reach for the button. After a little more fumbling, it pops free. I ease the zipper down, suddenly keenly aware that here I am, in my English classroom, undressing my teacher.

Get a hold of yourself, Addison, I scream in my head. If you’re going to be a doctor, you’d damn well get to know the male anatomy a little better. Consider this research.

Calming my breath, which is racing through my lungs, I move in like a scientist, engaging in a study. When the zipper is completely undone, I peer down at the waistband of dark underwear, at the growing bulge.

What do I do next? Do I reach in and take it? He seems to interpret my hesitation, then reaches down and pushes his pants down over his hips, baring boxer briefs and the enormous cock which is straining against the front of them. Then he lifts the elastic band with one hand, takes my hand gently, and guides it very slowly inside.

It’s warm there, so warm. I am so close to him now that I can feel his pulse, melding with mine. My fingers tangle in some soft, curly tufts of hair, as he pulls me lower, until I feel it. I travel along the length of it, feeling the veined smoothness of it. As I do, I look up at him, and he’s staring at me with rapt curiosity. “Touch it,” he says. “Any way you like.”

“Any way?” I bite my lip. “I’ve just . . . I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t,” he says, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I promise.”

My fingers travel over the mushroom head, and toward the spongy tip, where there’s a bit of wetness. I let them graze over the top, and feeling braver, wrap my hand around the thick shaft. He closes his eyes and shifts his stance. “Is that . . . good?”

He nods. “Yes. Continue.”

So I do. Closing my hand lightly around it, I begin to stroke my hand up and down. When he lets out a slight groan, it spurs me on. My movements more sure, I begin to stroke harder. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” His voice is muffled, tortured. “Keep going.”

I do. I start to get into a rhythm, going faster and faster, until I’m pumping him, until I start to feel sweat soaking out of my skin. He slides his pants and boxer briefs down to his mid-thigh, giving me better access, and for the first time, I’m able to see it.

I don’t know what I’d expected. In science textbooks, it always looks like some alien appendage that doesn’t quite belong where it’s been placed. But his? It’s magnificent. One-hundred percent Cain Hill: thick, and gorgeous like the rest of him. I see the sac beneath him, firm and round and covered with the lightest layer of cinnamon hair. I reach out my other hand, cupping them as I pump, and he lets out a low, almost animal groan.

“Jesus, fuck, Addison,” he says, almost jarring me into thinking he’s mad at me. Before I can stop, he adds, “Have you done this before?”

He likes it. He wants more.

And it spurs me on. “I want to taste it,” I tell him. “Can I taste it?”

There’s momentarily silence. When I look at him, he’s studying me, a look that I can only describe as . . . surprised. For the first time, I think I’ve stunned Dr. Hill speechless. Finally, he asks, his voice dripping incredulity, “You’ve never given a man a blow job?”

“No, I told you—“

“I know what you said. I just . . .” He tilts his head back and lets out an exasperated laugh. “Yes, Addison. Put your mouth on my cock.”

I sink to my knees, kneeling in front of him. Now, his cock is right at eye-level, thicker than before, and standing so erect from his body that I can easily touch my tongue to it. I lift it, and hesitate. “Will you tell me how to do it right?”

“From what I’ve seen, I don’t think you need any help,” he answers.

He smells musky and sweet and intoxicating. I don’t just want to do this, anymore—I need to.

I lightly, like a whisper, touch my tongue to the tip. His skin is salty and delicious. I run my tongue in a circle around the head, and he wavers a little on his feet.

“Goddamn,” he mutters under his breath.

I take that as a good sign. Cupping his balls and drawing him closer to me, I lick my way down the underside of him, until my nose is touching the soft, curly public hair, and up to the head, making a slick trail. Then I do it again. And again, using more and more of the surface of his tongue. As I do, I feel tremors in his skin. God, I’m making my professor, that big, strong man, tremble.

I think I can get used to this.

Emboldened, I open my mouth and take the entire head into my mouth, all the while gentle massaging the hardened sacs underneath, eliciting another groan from Dr. Hill. I slide my mouth down, down, and further still, until I can feel him at the back of my throat. There’s still much more of him left, so I circle my thumb and finger and slide it down over the wetness, toward the base of his cock. Then I pull back, lingering on the tip for a second too long, knowing I’m teasing him. As much as I want to please him, I also want to tease him, to make him show me those fragile little chinks in his otherwise impenetrable armor.

When I open my mouth wide and suck his cock in again, he wastes no time. “Oh, fuck . . .” he growls, his hands tangling in my hair. He puts a strong hand at the base of my skull, holding me there, reminding me just who is the one wielding the power.

Then, my head still with both hands, he starts to move in and out of me.

And I let him. I feel something wet between my legs and know that I’m unbearably turned on, letting my teacher, my gorgeously dreamy professor, fuck my face in the very classroom he teaches in. I kneel in front of him, letting him own me, letting him completely use me, and I feel so dirty, so bad, but also, I realize . . . free.

I feel free. Like finally I’m making a choice that’s mine and mine alone.

“I’m coming,” he suddenly growls, and before I can be sad, because I want this to continue, he stiffens, then makes one last thrust into my mouth. And I feel it, shooting into the back of my throat. I swallow it the only way I can . . . greedily, wanting more and more of him. He leans over me as I take the rest of it in, not letting go until I feel his pulse start to return to normal.

I sit back on my haunches and look up at him. “Was that—“

“Yes, McBride. I’d say you passed this lesson,” he says, all the weakness I’d seen before gone. He’s already built up that wall and is tucking away his cock and zipping up his pants. I’d say I was disappointed, but this hard-edged, asshole Dr. Cain turns me on, and judging from the way he looks at me like I’m a piece of shit, he knows it. He strides back to the desk. “But there will be more. And I expect you to be ready.”

“Thank you for the lesson, Dr. Hill. I learned a lot.” I rise to my feet unsteadily, then adjust my clothes, grab my bag and head for the door.

“And McBride?” he barks, making me jump a little as I whirl to face him.

“Yes?”

He dangles the ruined panties from one finger. “No more of these, you understand? No bra, either. They’ll only get in our way.”

I smile and say, “Yes, sir.”

The fact is, I’m more than ready. I’m practically giddy at the thought of our next meeting.