I don’t see Addison until Wednesday.

I’m practically giddy for class to start, which is why I get there early. By then, I’m satisfied that I’ve given her enough time to mull over the scene she’d witnessed. If I’m right about her, then it’s been marinating in her head ever since, and she’s been thinking about me as obsessively as I’ve been thinking about her.

The meeting with Anna had started as shittily as I’d thought. Emil was ready to pull the plug, and I asked if there was anything I could do. Anna played the hardass for a while, saying that no, we’d done everything possible and it was time to call it a day. But then I reached over, ran my hand up her thigh, and asked if she could ask for another extension.

She agreed, of course. She was so agreeable that she couldn’t even wait to get to my apartment.

Fine by me. I fucked her on the hood of her BMW, punishing her, pushing all my rage into her, feeling just about as shitty a person as I was an author.

And then I saw Addison.

Like an angel from above. Except this time, she was crouching in the shadows, watching us. Watching me.

She had her hand in those short shorts, too, getting off on it. Turns out, Sweet Addison is a dirty, dirty girl.

And just like that, I knew we would happen.

I can’t deny it, now. I’m in too deep, now. I’m a fucking sorry excuse for a professor, because I have to have her, consequences be damned.

I arrive to the classroom fifteen minutes early, and as I expect, Addison is there. She’s not wearing the farmgirl outfit anymore, but damned if she doesn’t look just as amazing in jeans and a tight camisole that defines the outlines of her nipples. When I come in, she looks at me and frowns.

That wasn’t the look I was expecting. In fact, part of me was hoping to get her in the corner of the classroom and wrap those long limbs around my body. Instead, I coolly walk to the desk and drop my briefcase on it. “Afternoon, McBride,” I say dismissively. “How was your weekend?”

Forehead wrinkled in deep concentration, she gnaws on her lip again. God, have mercy.

Before she stands, I know what the trouble is. When she stands and steps close to my desk, I anticipate her next words. “Dr, Hill, I—“

I hold up my hands. “If you want to forget that night, I will be happy to. I think neither of us can say we were at our best.”

She exhales. Her face is as red as the sunset. “Oh. Yes. Yes, thank you. I’m sorry.”

“What did I say about being sorry?”

“Right.” She lets out a giggle and reaches into her notebook. She starts to hand it to me, but then thinks better of it and holds it to her chest. “Er. I’m working on a new poem. I’m hoping it’s better.”

“Would you like me to read it?”

She shakes her head. “Not until I’m done with it. It’s not ready.”

“All right. I think today’s lesson will benefit you immensely. It’s about stream of consciousness writing. Have you ever tried that?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, it’s about letting loose. Freeing your inhibitions,” I say to her, noticing the blush comes back full force. Though the deal was to forget that night, I’m never going to. And I’m damned sure going to make it as hard as possible for her to. “Have you ever?”

Her brows knit. “Dr. Hill, I . . .” She trails off.

“It’s okay, McBride,” I coax her. “You don’t have to be afraid of it.”

She nods, understanding. Her voice is barely a whisper. “I want to try.”

She leans into me, and I can see down her shirt, to those full tits again. If I could see inside her mind, maybe I would understand why her words sometimes say yes, while her body says no, and vice versa.

She’s unsure, timid. It’s such a fucking turn-on, but I’m not into working to change a woman’s mind, especially when I can lose my job over it. I need her to come to me, all in, one-hundred percent. “Do you?” I ask, studying her.

I place a finger on her bare forearm, unable to miss the goosebumps that spread out from that point, covering every inch of her milky flesh.

But she doesn’t pull away.

That’s all the signal I need.

She simply looks down at my finger on her arm, and nods slowly. “Please,” she whispers, her eyes shifting to mine. Begging me, again. “Show me.”

I gather up the courage to put my finger under her chin and lift her mouth so I can finally taste those sweet lips of hers. When I do, I notice it in the bright fluorescent light. It’s covered by a thin layer of make-up, but it’s there. The yellowing remains of a bruise. I gently touch it. “What happened here?” I murmur.

She winces and I can feel her body tremble. “I . . .“

I hear footsteps in the corridor outside. I step away from her as a couple of students walk inside the room. I go back to the desk and pull out my lesson plan, noting their obliviousness with a good deal of relief.

Close call.

When my eyes shift to Addison, her nose is buried in her notebook. Shit. My cock is hard, and I still haven’t tasted her yet. This is going to be the longest period in god’s creation.

I manage to struggle through it, though. I give the students some examples of stream-of consciousness and let them experiment with it for the rest of the time. My cock is stiff the entire time, so I bury myself under my desk. But every time I sneak a look at Addison, she’s looking away from me. Cold, aloof. How she manages to turn off her emotions so quickly, I’ll never know, but her attitude turns me on even more.

It doesn’t take a genius to understand that Addison is second-guessing her decision to be with me, probably like she second-guesses everything in her life. She doesn’t understand that freeing one’s inhibitions isn’t a shameful thing, that her, being in that parking lot, watching me . . . well, it was fucking beautiful.

But I can’t tell that to her, now.

I think about the bruise. There’s something she’s hiding. I find myself itching to reach inside her, to peel back the petals of this beautiful flower. Maybe she’s not as innocent as she appears. Perhaps she knows darkness, as well. Perhaps there is a writer within her, after all.

It doesn’t surprise me when the period ends and she’s first to leave the class. But there’s actual physical pain in the fact that she doesn’t even give me a second glance as she does.