The decision of wearing the toy to class was both difficult, and all too easy.

It was a no-brainer, on one hand, because how sexy and dirty is that? Having a vibrator inside me at all was naughty enough—add in the fact that my professor, of all people, would be controlling it from the front of the room, and I couldn’t get that thing inside me fast enough.

My hesitation was weighing in pretty heavily, though. For one thing, I wasn’t convinced the toy was quiet enough to go undetected. And for another, I definitely wasn’t convinced I could orgasm undetected, in a lecture hall full of people.

But Teague wouldn’t keep it going if it became too much—right?

Now, grinning like an idiot as Teague deciphers my note, I feel my muscles tensing, squeezing the toy in anticipation. He rummages through his bag and gets out his phone. I hold my breath.

The toy springs to life.

I keep my crotch off the seat, sliding down like I’m bored so the vibrations won’t rattle anything. It’s silent, muffled by my body and layers of clothes I’ve got on: thermal leggings, regular ones, and sweatpants.

Teague glances at me, then back at his phone. To anyone else, it looks like he’s texting or checking email.

In reality, he’s turning up the power. I run my hands through my hair and breathe. Inhale, exhale, I coach myself. In, out.

Other students are finishing up their tests now. Every time one approaches his desk, Teague just nods at the growing stack of papers, never letting go of that phone.

When each student turns around to head back to his or her seat, I panic. They’ll see me. They’ll know. But none of them do.

He watches me carefully, in between his sweeps of the room and casual throat-clearings. I can tell he’s pleased. I imagine his voice telling me, You’re such a good girl. It sends a thrill through me that could make me sigh, if I wasn’t swallowing down every sound my throat dares to create.

Teague turns it up again—two clicks, I think—and scratches his chin to hide his smile when I have to bite my lip.

The class gets louder as more people finish their tests. Chip bags crinkle; whispers hop around. The students two rows down from me are talking about some party coming up, how wasted they’re going to get. Rather than quiet everyone down, Teague takes this chance to click the toy up again.

My breath quickens. I feel my face flush, the pressure growing.

Teague clicks it up again. If I’m counting correctly, I’m just two clicks away from enduring the toy’s maximum capacity...and, most likely, screaming his name in the middle of class. When he catches my eye, I shake my head and mouth, “No more.”

In the bedroom, he’d laugh at this—and I wouldn’t really mean it, anyway. In public, he knows better. I definitely mean it.

He sets his phone down.

My walls tighten around the toy. I’m so close. I lock my eyes with his.

Oh, God, I think, the words stuck in my throat. I stare at him the entire time. My vision shrinks to a tunnel, focused on his face, blocking out everything and everyone else as my sex convulses around the toy and the pleasure rolls through me. It’s almost unbearable; I squeeze my thighs together and hold my breath until it’s over, praying for the end, yet hoping it never will.

But, eventually, it does. Teague picks up his phone.

The toy stops.

My heart pounds against my ribs as I sit back up, open my textbook like a good student, and wink at him.

Watching Breton squirm at the back of the room is a fantasy I never knew I had until it happened, right there in front of my eyes.

Her face is glowing now, her smile subtle and satisfied. As she cracks open her textbook, she gives me this sexy little wink. I actually flinch, I want her so badly.

I’m so worked up, in fact, that I have to assign homework from behind the shelter of the desk. I let everyone leave ten minutes early, hoping to get things calmed down before I have to leave and the next professor comes in.

Breton approaches my desk as the others file out. “I had a question,” she says, glancing at the only students still packing up: Carly and her sidekick. “It’s, um, about the weekend reading.”

“Of course.” I look at Carly. “Did you need help with the assignment too, Carly?”

She smiles at me. “Oh, no, Professor West. I understood your instructions perfectly.” Her petty little jab at Breton is punctuated with another ponytail flip as she and her friend say goodbye, then follow the herd out into the hall.

As soon as we’re alone, Breton and I burst out laughing.

“That,” she whispers, “was so intense. Best choice I’ve ever made, wearing that to class.”

“I’m kicking myself for not thinking of it first.”

Breton laughs behind her hand and leaves. It’s a couple minutes before I feel discreet enough to follow, but I’m still surprised when I see she isn’t in the hall, waiting for me. After a very uncomfortable power-walk to my office, I find her standing by my door. “Locked,” she pouts.

I open it and let her step in after me. The hall is clear; I shut the door with a firm push.

“I wanted to be on your desk,” she explains, the tips of her ears glowing, “you know, waiting for you.”

“We shouldn’t do this here.” I dodge her kiss. “It’s too risky.”

Breton stares up at me and bites her lip. “But Professor West,” she whispers back coyly, “isn’t that part of the fun?”