I’m not two hours into my first class as teacher and I’m already not taking it seriously. If I had been, I’d have let Addison go about her business. After all, it’s her first day.

Instead, I’m toying with her. I can’t resist it. I can’t resist watching her squirm in those tight jeans. I pretend to work on my laptop as I wait for her to approach my desk, but really, my focus is on her exquisite posterior. She packs up her belongings slowly, taking deep breaths. She’s nervous. And she has a perfect, heart-shaped ass.

Stop it, Cain. Control yourself.

She steps up to my desk like someone going off to battle, like she’s bracing for some sort of onslaught from me. Then, all at once, she launches into a long, breathless apology: “I’m really sorry, but I . . .”

I let her go on, because it’s turning me on. I could get used to being the authority figure, but not in any way Dean Armstrong would approve of.

She trails off after about a minute.

I give her a benevolent smile, trying my best to be the supportive teacher. “Ms. McBride, whoa there,” I say, holding both palms out. “I asked the class to recite a poem that helps me to get to know them better, and your choice suited you perfectly. You said you’re pre-med, yes?”

She nods. “But it wasn’t a poem. I’m sorry, I don’t know very much—“

“Don’t apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“I’m sor—“ She bites her tongue, and the blush on her cheeks makes highlights those big blue eyes of hers. Damn, can this girl be any more gorgeous? “Okay. I mean, thank you. Um. How did you know my name in the student center? Do you make it a point to know your students before class?”

I grin at her. “Only the ones worth knowing.”

Her eyes widen, and she lets out a nervous laugh. I have a hard time believing that no man has ever flirted with her.

Then I remember once again the thing that keeps slipping my mind. I’m her teacher. Reel it in, Hill. Don’t get carried away. No flirting.

I clear my throat. “And that was my question for you. The other students are all English majors. You’re the only one who isn’t one. So I wanted to know what you expect to achieve this semester.” I raise an eyebrow. “Not an easy A, I hope?”

“Oh, no,” she says quickly. “I plan to put in 110 percent, but I don’t know anything about poetry or writing at all, so I doubt an A will come easily to me.”

“Good.” I nod as it dawns on me. She’s all the makings of the teacher’s pet, the brown-noser, the one who would pull out all the stops to get on her teacher’s good side. “I don’t plan on giving out many—or perhaps any—of those.”

“Okay.” Her eyes turn down; I can tell I’ve worried her. I wonder if she’s ever gotten less than an A in her life. “I just want to learn. I’m willing to do anything it takes to succeed.”

I blink. “Anything?”

I can’t help it. A thousand thoughts assault my dirty mind, all the things I could have her do to get that A. My cock twitches in my pants. I shuffle in my seat.

A blush climbs over her cheeks. “Well, within reason.”

I want to ask if it would be within reason for me to run my tongue down that long, swanlike neck of hers, tasting milky skin that looks about as sweet as candy, but then I curse myself. Dammit, Hill. You’ve probably got t-shirts that are older than she is. Give it a rest before she thinks you’re some kind of dirty old man. “Have you done much creative writing for fun?”

“None, honestly,” she admits, rather weakly, but adds, “My father was a writer before he died, though.”

Her father, along with me, along with a million other pathetic souls who never amounted to anything. She’s reaching, to please me. But if she really wanted to please me, all she’d have to do is . . .

I clench my fists. Stop. “None at all?”

She shakes her head slowly. I half-expect her to apologize again.

“Well, then, I expect you to work hard for me,” I say as I lean back and yawn, giving her a self-satisfied smile, trying to suppress the thought of all the ways she could work hard on me, taking my cock into those thick, bow lips of hers. “I’m not an easy man to impress, McBride.”

“Thank you. I promise to.” She stands to leave.

I know I’ll be deflated once she does. I can’t let her go yet.

“Oh, and McBride?”

She whirls, and when she spins I catch a sweet scent, like strawberries. So perfect. So sweet, and succulent, and . . . so Addison. My cock twitches again. Down, boy. Only the ones worth knowing. Had I really said that to her? She must think I’m some kind of fucking stalker.

I reach into the pocket of my jacket and produce the small ID card. “Found this on the floor of the student center,” I say, sliding it over to her. “And your cards were all over the counter. That’s how I knew your name.”

“Oh!” She carefully plucks it up off the desk. “Thank you.”

“And no, I didn’t know you were in my class when I met you in the student center,” I continue. “But I’m glad you are. I look forward to teaching you this year.”

“Me too.” She smiles, and I can see the relief washing over her face, like she’s glad I’m not trying to get in her pants. She’s glad. I need to remember that. As much as I never wanted to teach, I need to remember that this is my career now, my last chance to make an honest living, and keep this as professional as possible.

When she leaves, I let out a sigh, rub my eyes, and let out a tortured laugh. Why me? Compared to this, writing the next fifty chapters of a blockbuster novel feels easy.