See Me After Class(41)

Eyes closed, she massages her shoulders, little wisps of her hair floating over her face.

Her top teeth roll over her bottom lip, sucking and pulling it in, and fuck . . .

Once again, her nipples are hard.

And I want to suck on them and fuck them.

Focus, Turner.

“Do you have a point to this nonsense?”

“I do.” Her eyes open and her hands tumble to my chest, where she very softly runs them up and down my sides.

“Then get to the point, I have better things to do than see your pitiful attempt at trying to turn me on. Keep in mind, we have to work next to each other, so I wouldn’t embarrass yourself if you can avoid it.”

Not saying a word, her hands travel up my stomach, over my pecs and to my shoulders, which she gives a little rub.

There’s something about another human’s touch, the kind of touch I haven’t felt in a while. It paralyzes my thoughts, blinds me to what’s happening.

Little flashes of getting lost in her touch blank out my mind sporadically as she continues to move her hands over my torso, always with a barrier of clothing between us, but nonetheless, it’s doing the job.

She’s doing the job.

Fuck.

I bite down on my lower lip and concentrate. Focus on anything that—oh fuck.

She rolls her hips.

Shit. Now I’m biting on my lip, trying to keep it together. But it’s not working. A tingling sensation travels up my legs and hits me straight in the groin. I grab her wrists and twist her so fast off my lap and onto the padded lounger that she has no clue what’s happened until I’m hovering over her, pinning her hands just above her head.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“Putting an end to this. It’s massively inappropriate.”

“Inappropriate?” she asks, her neck flushed, her cheeks pink, a light sheen of sweat dotting her hairline.

She’s turned on.

Just that little movement, it got to her, too.

Fuck, it got to both of us.

“You’ve been inappropriate since the moment I met you, and now you’re throwing down that card? Can’t have it both ways, Arlo.”

“You think I want this? You?”

Her jaw clenches and she tries to free her hands, but I have them pinned tight, not wanting her to touch any part of my body, because I know that’s what she wants to do. I can see it in her eyes. But I won’t let her. I’m fucking thirty-two years old, and I don’t have time for this sort of immature shit. Especially after her claim that I marked Blair’s paper incorrectly. It was plagiarism.

I pull away and roll off to the side, placing my head in my hands, feeling that tension creep back up to my shoulders. This is so fucked.

“God, Turner,” she growls. “You drive me insane. What was the point of me staying here if you’re going to be a closed-off jerk the entire time?”

“We were supposed to work out our differences, and you were trying to work over my dick.”

“You would be so lucky. I was trying to prove a point, which clearly I made because you’re trying to hide the proof.”

“I’m not hiding anything.”

“Fine. Stay away from me. Just stay away.” I watch as she gets up, angry, shaking her head as if I'm a lost cause. “I don't give a fuck that you hate me, by the way. I don't understand it, as I'm a damn good teacher, but whatever." She takes a few steps away, then pauses. "I just wish you were more real with me, rather than putting up constant walls.”

“I don’t trust many people.”

“Why not?”

“No one gave me reason to growing up,” I answer honestly.

Her head tilts to the side ever so slightly. “You’re just going to toss that out there as if this is a casual conversation?”

“Isn’t it?” I ask.

“I don’t know.”

“Me neither,” I say, just as confused. I look over my shoulder and see . . . compassion. Fuck that.

"Arlo, I—"

“Just leave.”

“Arlo . . .”

“Leave,” I shout. “Okay? Fuck . . . just leave.”

I’m so messed up in the head and I have no idea why.

She’s making me think about shit. She’s making me question my professionalism. She’s accusing me of punishing students to get back at her.

And . . . hell, she’s making me wonder just how wet she was only moments ago.





Chapter Nine





GREER





I take a few deep breaths and convince myself that everything’s going to be okay.

That I’m not about to embark on another journey through the black hole that is Arlo Turner.

Since the weekend, I’ve felt confused, even more irritated than before, and . . . well, and horny.

Honestly, I have no idea what’s happening when it comes to Arlo. Out of the blue this man dislikes me, then he turns me on, then pulls away, then turns me on even more while arguing, and fighting, and . . . Jesus, anyone else confused here?

Show of hands?

Either way, I have to talk to him about Blair, and it needs to be a civil conversation, despite the war of turmoil wrestling inside my head.