Love Lessons by Cassie Mint

Five

Avery

Iknow it’s wrong to think sinful thoughts about my professor. And I know it’s wrong to—to torment him with how badly I want him. But I’ve been dreaming of him for nearly a year now. Touching myself, imagining his hands. Picking my clothes to match his favorite colors. I just can’t help it.

When he stands at the lectern, so broody and commanding, shivers ripple over my skin. My mouth gets drier the longer I look at him, and there’s this pulsing ache between my legs. His low, clear voice vibrates right through to my bones.

In the third week of the semester, I don’t wear a bra to class. It’s not obvious. I’m wearing a loose, draping sweater. No one else even bats an eye. But when I’m sitting five rows back, legs crossed and thighs squeezing, I feel the exact moment that Professor Kent’s gaze snags on my chest.

The way he looks at me—it’s always a caress. A lingering physical touch from across the room. But this time, his eyes lock on the front of my sweater, and my nipples bead and push against the fabric. The more he stares, the tighter they become, until I’m breathless, squirming in the row with my pen gripped between my knuckles.

“The themes…” He catches himself. Shakes his head. Carries on, his voice hoarse. “The dominant themes in Shakespeare’s plays…”

I don’t listen. Lord, I’m awful, but I just can’t concentrate when Professor Kent is standing right in front of me. Every day after class, I go home and look up the slides. Read them over and try to take the lesson in this time.

Sometimes I touch myself too. Remembering his deep voice washing over me.

“Miss Jennings.”

I’m not surprised this time, when he calls me aside at the end of the lecture. I hop up onto the platform, hiding a smile, and wait for everyone to leave with my ankles crossed. I play with my hair, because I know he likes that. It always makes his eyes darken.

“Your clothing…” As soon as the door bangs shut, the sound bouncing around the hall, he begins to speak. His gray eyes dart to me and away. Professor Kent grips the lectern, unmoving even though everyone’s gone. Like this lump of old wood is the only thing anchoring him in place.

“What about it?” I murmur when he stalls. It’s not like the professor to hold back.

But he drops his head, gusting out a sigh that’s dredged from the bottom of his soul.

“Avery,” he says to the lectern. “Are you trying to kill me?”

I huff a laugh. Is it that obvious?

“Kill you? No, that’s not it.”

He risks a glance at me, staring when he finds my soft smile. I know I’ve done wrong. I know he’s mad. But I’m so freaking happy to be alone with him again. When it’s just the two of us, talking together, standing close enough to share breaths—something untangles on my insides.

“Then what are you doing?”

I wet my lip. “I told you before, in your office. I want you to look at me again.”

“But—”

“I miss you when you don’t.” I shrug one shoulder, abruptly shy. Like so many things when it comes to Professor Kent, I didn’t think this through. “Sorry,” I whisper. “I won’t do it again.”

“That’s probably for the best,” he rasps, gaze dropping to my chest again. And I can’t help it. I arch my back the tiniest bit. I push the tight beads of my nipples harder against the fabric. They’re so sensitive, the brush of my soft sweater makes my breath catch.

“Avery.” Professor Kent rubs a hand over his jaw, still staring. “You’re making a devil out of me.”

“You can touch them.” I don’t know where this is coming from. There was nothing like this in my self help manuals. All I know is that feeling his gaze on me—it’s right. It’s decadent. Like sliding into a warm bath after a long day. And I’d say just about anything to keep him looking. For him to touch me, to taste me…

Oh god. I clench my thighs tighter.

“We can’t.” His chest is heaving. He turns to me, even as he says no. Takes a step away from the lectern. “I’m your professor, Avery. You’re a student. This is wrong.”

“It doesn’t feel wrong.” I wrap my arms around my waist and hug myself. Even though I know he’s being reasonable, that he’s doing the right thing, somehow that hurts. It’s another rejection to add to the pile. “How can it be wrong when I l-love you—”

“Avery.”His voice whip-cracks through the quiet. “Don’t. Don’t say things like that.”

My eyes blur. His face swims in front of me, his pale jaw and his wavy dark hair going all smudgy. I blink hard, a hot tear rolling down my cheek.

“God. No, Avery…” He sounds broken.

Well, that makes two of us. I wrap my arms tighter around my waist, holding myself together by the seams. And I wish I had a great parting line. Something for him to dwell over. But the truth is, my tongue is glued to the roof of my mouth. I couldn’t speak if I tried.

My chin wobbles in the most humiliating way, and all I can do is nod, give a pathetic little squeak, and scurry to the door. My bag thumps against my hip, my sandals skid over the floorboards, and god, I’m such a mess.

One of these days, I’ll learn my lesson. I’ll stop laying my heart bare for this man. Stop throwing myself at his feet like I’m sacrificing myself at an altar.

One of these days, I will learn.

After all: Professor Kent is an excellent teacher.