Teacher’s Pet By Dylan Palmer Copyright 2012 Smashwords Edition No one beats me at pool. Just saying. Everyone’s got a skill, and my very best one involves strategically sinking little colored balls in a couple of tight, strategically placed holes. Looking back, I guess you’re kind of asking for trouble when that’s the skill you spend most of your time bragging about. So it wasn’t exactly rare for me to make a wager on a game, and Tuesday night was no exception. I headed to my favorite bar the second my last class ended, not even bothering to change out of my denim skirt and tank top. Usually I’d wear jeans to avoid any prying eyes as I set up my shots, but I figured on a mid-week night, the bar would be mostly empty. It was a little past seven when I walked in the door to the college dive bar a few blocks from my apartment, and my roommate, Angie, was already waiting for me. She saw the look on my face and winced. “Bad day?” I didn’t say anything, but my face must have told the story pretty clearly. I watched her look at me with sympathy, and, sighing, I opened my bag and handed her a manila folder. She probably could have guessed what was inside—we’d been talking for months about my thesis proposal, and I’d just submitted it last week to the professor who’d been assigned as my advisor. A turnaround this quick meant an extreme response… positive or negative. Angie flipped to the last page and skimmed the words, and then closed the folder and held it, her hands unconsciously squeezing the edges of the paper. “I’m so sorry, Summer.” I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders and trying to keep the look of desperation off my face. “It’s ok,” I sighed, walking over to the bar and gesturing for two beers. “I can get into law school even if I don’t graduate with honors… I’m sure it’s happened before, like, once? Maybe?” Angie cracked a smile that didn’t make it to her eyes. “If anyone can do it,” she said, trying to be encouraging. I drank half my beer in one gulp. I wasn’t a big drinker, but this day had warranted it. I scanned the crowd, looking for any of the regular guys I’d sometimes play a game against on an off night. Nobody was here. “You want to play?” I asked Angie, gesturing to the empty pool table. “Usually I couldn’t take the humiliation,” Angie smiled. “But tonight I’ll give you a break.” She handed the folder back to me, and I tried to resist the urge to rip it in half. Not that that would change anything—but it might be psychologically satisfying, at least. I racked the balls, careful not to bend over to far in reaching for them across the table. I was wearing my favorite denim skirt, destroyed after years of wear and tear—with the frayed edges, it had gone from pretty-darn-short to scandalously-short. And that was before I bent over. The bar was still pretty empty, but I noticed a couple of appreciative glances as I carefully leaned over the table. “You can break,” I said, giving Angie the advantage. I did what I could so she’d keep playing with me, even though I always ended up winning anyway. She sunk two balls with her first shot, and called stripes. I watched as she missed the next shot. “So what are you going to do?” she asked, leaning against the table as I bent over and lined up the cue with the ball. “I don’t know,” I said, trying to put the thought out of my mind. “Switch majors? Spend six months trying to think up a new topic, and then have no time for research? There’s really no good option at this point.” Angie and I had been roommates since freshman year, when we’d both crossed the country for college in California—I was from a small town in central Massachusetts, and she was from Delaware. “That’s a joke,” I’d told her, the day we’d met. “Nobody really lives in Delaware. It’s like Montana—sure, the map says it exists, but has anyone really investigated?” Thankfully, she found it funny. We’d been best friends ever since. And now we were seniors, a semester and a half away from graduating… and up until today, both of us had been on track for the school’s highest honors. I bit my lip. Up till today. I moved the cue stick with a tight, controlled shot, so that the white ball hit the solid I’d been aiming for and stopped dead, sending the other ball straight into the corner pocket. Eyeing the table, I looked for my next shot. “Can I play the winner?” A male voice startled me, so close that I was surprised I hadn’t heard him walk up behind me. Usually my instincts were sharper than that. I made a mental note of the shot I’d lined up, and turned to face the source of the voice. Oh. Standing behind me, just inches from me, was without a doubt, unquestionably, the most handsome guy I’d ever seen. He was probably four or five inches taller than me, despite my heels, with sandy brown hair that looked just a little unkempt, like he’d been running his fingers through it all afternoon. Like I wanted to do right now. And he was looking down at me with the most penetrating eyes I’d ever seen. I felt my lips part involuntarily, as I tried to remember what he’d just asked me. Get it together, Summer, I said to myself, trying not to stare at the guy’s wide shoulders and strong, muscular chest. “I, um—” I threw a helpless glance at Angie, who was trying to conceal a smile. I didn’t usually get tongue tied around guys, but then again, but this guy was anything but usual. I made the mistake of meeting his clear brown eyes, taking in the slight hint of stubble on his jaw. He was looking at me with a glint in his eye, the kind of glint that made it clear that he was well-aware of just how handsome he was. I took a deep breath. I recognized that kind of a glint: Trouble. I worked up the only shred of resolve I could muster. “I’m just playing my friend, actually. You can have the table when we’re done, though.” He was still smiling, like I hadn’t just told him no. “Pity,” he said, looking me up and down. I hoped he couldn’t see me shiver—they purposely kept the bar at about eighty five degrees so girls would wear as little clothing as possible. “I don’t have a partner.” I gave him a half smile. “I’m sure you won’t have any trouble finding one,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “Probably not,” he said, tearing his gaze from mine and looking at the table. “It’s just that I’m very… particular,” he emphasized the word, touching one hand to the soft felt on the table. “About my opponents.” I looked down at his hand, resting on the table, and tried to force my mind to stop thinking about all the things I wanted him to do with it. “Sorry,” I murmured, giving him an apologetic shrug and leaning back over the table. I could feel him behind me as I bent over, wondering if he was as affected by me as I was by him. I arched my back as I lined up the shot—a light, quick tap to the cue ball would sink the green six and leave me lined up for a shot on the four. I squinted at the ball, about to release the cue, when I heard his voice behind me again. “A little to the right,” his voice was gravelly, like it was almost right in my ear. I felt my body tense. “Excuse me?” “You’re overshooting,” he said, completely straightforwardly. “If you hit at that angle, you’ll scratch.” I didn’t turn around. “If I hit at this exact angle, I’ll line myself up perfectly for the next shot, you mean.” Sorry, guy. You may be hot, but this is my game. I sank into the table a little more deeply, purposefully sliding my ass in his direction. For a second I imagined that he was watching it, and tried to feel his eyes on me. Clenching my whole body, I blinked and shoved the image out of my head. Pulling my elbow back, I concentrated and made the shot. It worked exactly the way I’d planned. The six ball sailed into the netted pocket and I walked two steps, leaned down, and effortlessly sunk the four. When I straightened up again, I could barely wipe the grin off my face. “What’s that you were saying?” I asked him, innocently batting my eyes. To my surprise, he was smiling too. “You’re good,” he said, the glint in his eyes returning in full force. “Really good.” I cocked my head sweetly. “That’s right,” I smiled. “I really am.” He looked at the table appraisingly, taking in the four balls I had left to win the game. “Well, then,” he met my eyes again, taking a step closer. This guy clearly had no concept of personal space—not that I really minded. “Would you care to make a wager?” I furrowed my eyebrows. “You want to bet on our game?” He placed his hand over mine on the pool cue. “Not exactly,” he said, running his fingers over mine and lifting the cue out of my grasp. “You’re, what? Three balls ahead?” “Yeah?” “Let me take over for your roommate. See if I can come back and win the game.” I bit back a smile. “There’s no way,” I said, completely confident. “Sure?” He was so close that I could smell him, like ocean water and sandalwood. I felt my voice waver. “You’re not going to win,” I said, trying to keep my tone even. With an almost superhuman effort, I tore my eyes away from his and looked over at Angie, who looked just as confused as I was. “Hang on,” I said, taking a step away from him. The whole front of my body felt freezing cold in the empty air as I moved away, and I immediately wanted to go back. I took a few steps over to Angie, feeling myself shiver again. “What do you think?” I whispered to her. She bit her lip. “I think the two of you are making it about ten degrees hotter for everyone else in the bar, and if I get out of your hair, you’re probably going to wind up ripping each other’s clothes off.” She kept her voice a whisper, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that he was listening to us. “Come on, Summer. It’s probably a good distraction.” Her words had the opposite effect on me—they just reminded me that even with a handsome stranger a few feet away, today was still a pretty shitty day. I felt my shoulders slump, and watched her notice. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I just meant… I was just trying to help. Listen, if you want me to stay, I’ll stay.” I took a deep breath. Angie staying or leaving wasn’t the problem here. “Nah,” I said, not letting myself glance over to where the guy was waiting for our decision. “Go ahead. Maybe I’ll find some way to… take out my aggression.” “That’s my girl,” she grinned, giving me a quick hug. “I meant the game—” “Sure you did,” she winked. “Listen, I’m going over to Jake’s, okay? Text me when you get home so I know you’re okay.” Angie and I lived a few blocks away, in one of the few off-campus apartment buildings that was walkable to school but not crammed with other students. Her boyfriend, Jake, lived in a dorm that was about a fifteen minute walk in the opposite direction. “Okay,” I said, trying not to think about the prospect of our empty apartment. I hadn’t brought a guy home this whole school year—not that I wasn’t looking, but nobody had quite measured up so far. By the time senior year rolled around, all the undergrad guys just felt so… uninteresting. Angie gave me a once over, and then reached up and pulled off my ponytail holder, releasing my shoulder-length blonde hair. I swiped it out of her hand, but left my hair down—she was always telling me that guys liked it better that way. Giving me a quick smile, she picked up her bag and walked towards the door of the bar. I turned around to face the guy, squaring my shoulders. “Okay,” I said. “You’re on. But only because I’m basically having the worst day of my life, and I need a cheap ego boost. Got it?” His grin had nothing to do with the pool game. “Got it.” He held the cue out to me. “Still your shot, I believe.” I looked down at the table. Shit. Nothing was lined up. The balls that Angie had left on the table were blocking every possible move I could make. One glance at him, and I could see that he’d come to the same conclusion, the hint of a smirk evident on his face. I looked back at the table. If this was a throw-away shot for me, I could at least make it count. I leaned over, keeping my legs perfectly straight as I moved my hips closer to his, nearly feeling the heat of his body against my thigh. I let a small smile creep onto my face. Teasing him was actually kind of fun. Lining up the balls, I lightly tapped the cue ball so it was flush between one of my balls and the side of the table. His next shot was going to be as useless as mine. He quickly glanced away from me as I stood up. I shot him a sideways look. Checking me out? Most guys would have looked away or blushed. Not this one. With a long, sweeping glance, he let his eyes linger on me, from head to toe. I felt a flush creep to my chest as his eyes lingered there, and then slowly drew up to my face. “So,” he said, taking the cue from my hand, his fingers pausing over mine. “What’s wrong with today?” I looked down at my bag, where the folder was hidden inside. “Everything,” I said miserably. “Basically my whole life is ruined.” He smiled indulgently, like I was a kid exaggerating a story. “It can’t be that bad.” My gaze flicked back at him, annoyed. “It can, actually. Up till today, I was on my way to graduating with honors in six months. But I just found out my thesis proposal was rejected by my dickhead faculty advisor. Poof—there goes everything I plan to do after graduation. So yeah, it is actually that bad.” I glared at him. It wasn’t his fault, but tonight I just wanted to take it out on whoever was closest. He looked surprised, and then something passed across his face that I couldn’t read. With obvious tension in his hand, he took the chalk from the side of the table and rubbed it over the head of the cue stick. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, like he was choosing his words carefully. “You’re a student?” I realized I hadn’t even told the guy my name yet. Taking a deep breath, I held out my hand. “Yeah. English Major. For the next few months, at least. Summer Harris.” He took my hand firmly, squeezing it with just enough pressure to distract me from everything else I’d been thinking about. With one quick motion, my mind jumped back to all the things I’d been imagining him doing with those hands. I took a shallow breath, not moving away. “I’m Luke,” he said, looking straight into my eyes. “Luke,” I breathed, suddenly feeling dizzy. I liked the sound of his name, the way it filled my mouth. It fit him perfectly. “So, Summer,” he said, still not letting go of my hand. “We haven’t set our terms.” Oh, I thought to myself. Right. The bet. “Winner buys the loser’s drinks?” I said, giving him a half smile. “Don’t worry, I’m kind of a lightweight.” “I’ll bet,” he said, finally releasing my hand, but not moving away. “But, no. I was thinking of something more… personal.” I tilted my head to the side. He was handsome, really, really handsome, but it was fundamentally un-sexy for a guy to just assume you were going to sleep with him before you’d made up your mind that you actually wanted to. “Like… what?” His expression didn’t register a hint of doubt, as he looked down at me with almost a predatory expression. “If I win,” he said, touching my arm gently. “Or should I say, when I win… I want you to come home with me.” I felt like he’d dumped a bucket of ice all over me. I took a step back, an annoyed expression flickering across my face. “Listen,” I said, my voice heated with anger and a little disappointment. “I don’t know you. If you think I’m getting in a car with you—if you think I’m just going to sleep with you because you made it into a bet, well,” I was practically shaking now. Maybe I’d been flirting—hell, maybe I’d been thinking about taking him home—but that didn’t give him the right to just assume. “Sorry, I’m not your girl.” I thought he’d be annoyed, or disappointed, or angry, but his expression didn’t change in the slightest. “Calm down, Summer,” he said it firmly, like a command, and I bit down on my lip, still furious. “I won’t make you do anything you don’t want to, alright?” My eyes flickered with confusion. “But you said—” “I said I wanted you to go home with me. We’ll see what you want to do once we get there. I promise, I won’t do anything unless you ask me to.” He murmured something under his breath, and I looked up at him, confused. “Unless I ask?” He looked at me intently, taking another small step forward. “You have my word,” he said. “But I’m betting that you will ask me, of course,” he paused, looking me over again. “In fact, I’m betting that you’ll beg.” I sucked in a breath, feeling my breasts stretch taut against my tank top. It wasn’t lost on him, and I saw a tiny smile flicker across his lips. My voice was shaking as I responded. “And if I win?” I asked. “What do I get?” He looked me in the eye with no trace of sarcasm or insincerity. “If you win,” he said evenly, his eyes dark and dangerous. “I’ll fix your problem with your thesis.” I blinked. Well, that came out of left field. “Like, hack the computer system or something?” “Or something,” he said. “We don’t have to worry about it now,” a smirk climbed back onto his face. “It’s extraordinarily rare that I lose.” I smiled, distracted for a moment. His cockiness was kind of a turn-on—especially since I was completely sure that I was about to kick his ass. “Fine,” I whispered, tearing my gaze away from his and looking down at the table. “Your shot?” He looked down at the table, as if he’d forgotten it even existed. Taking in Angie’s six remaining balls and the precarious position of the cue ball against the wall, he seemed to form a strategy almost instantly, taking striding steps around to the opposite end of the table. He leaned over, aiming the cue at the corner pocket, and sunk one of Angie’s balls in a single, clean shot. Oh. So he was good. Well, so was I. He assessed the table again, and took another shot—an easy one, that anyone could have made—and sunk another ball. Now I was only up by one, and it didn’t look like Luke was in any danger of scratching. He was already setting up for his next shot when I decided it was time for more drastic measures. He’d set up his pool cue across the table from me, and I could tell he was aiming to sink the ball into the corner pocket I was standing behind. “Tricky shot,” I lilted, and caught a grin from him as he positioned himself at just the right angle. He was going to make that shot, and then he’d be onto the eight ball. If I wanted to win this game, something had to change­—now. I leaned over the pocket, careful not to block his shot physically, but providing for maximum distraction. My tank top, which barely covered my breasts to begin with­, stretched tight as I leaned over, displaying an abundant amount of cleavage. I watched as his eyes flicker to my chest, and then he took a deep swallow. “Focus,” I said, goading him a little. It wasn’t a game if I couldn’t have a little fun playing it. His eyes were glued to me—not just to my chest, but to my entire body, spread out over the table. Finally, he drew his cue back and hit the white ball… sailing it straight past the ball he was aiming for and into the wall. “Scratch,” I lilted, picking up the ball with on hand and placing it on the other side of the table. With one quick shot, before Luke could even figure out where I was aiming, I sunk my remaining solid ball. All that was left was the eight. I stood up, and Luke was suddenly face to face with me. Two beers that I hadn’t ordered had made their way into his hands, and he gave one to me. “What should we toast to?” I grinned. “To my computer hacker bud, who’s going to give me a bright, shiny new chance at an honors thesis, after I kick his ass at pool?” He chuckled, but it seemed light spirited. “Let’s toast to all the lovely things you’re going to beg me for, the moment I get you out of this bar.” I felt myself clench in anticipation. That didn’t sound so bad. Not at all. “Not your place,” I said, needing to clarify. “You could still be a very attractive serial killer. If you win, which you’re not going to, you come to my apartment. Deal?” “You think I’m very attractive?” I blushed. “For a potential serial killer, yeah. But no creepy middle-of-nowhere addresses, got it?” He gave me an indulgent smile. “Your place,” he mused. “I can live with that.” We both looked down at the table, and Luke looked at me with anticipation. “Take your shot, Summer.” The eight ball was wide open, a clear shot from the cue ball to the corner. I had to lean almost all the way across the table to get a controlled shot, but climbing on pool tables was never a dealbreaker with me. Hoisting my hips onto the edge of the table, I supported myself with my elbow as I moved the cue into place. I lined up the angle, took aim. Moved my arm back, the cue loosely in my hands… and then, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of Luke’s hand on the side of the table. He wasn’t doing anything, just lightly stroking the edge of the table, just firm enough that I could see the muscles flex in his hands, the way his fingers slid over it, possessively, while he watched me taking my shot. I tried not to think about what else his fingers could be doing—if I missed. I tried not to think about his eyes, taking in the arch of my back as I leaned forward to aim at the ball. I tried not to think about the way he’d licked his lips when we’d made the bet, the way he’d promised I’d beg him… I tried not to think about the fact that I didn’t want to win this game. Not one bit. I took a deep breath. It was a dumb bet anyways—Luke couldn’t really do anything about my thesis. What did I really have to gain from winning? Losing, on the other hand. Losing was starting to sound pretty good. Focusing again, I lined up the cue ball, just a hair off from the angle I’d chosen a moment before. Holding the stick lightly in my hand, I sent the ball sailing across the table… and straight into one of the corner pockets. I’d scratched on the eight ball. I’d lost the game. I straightened up, tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, and faced him. Luke was only inches away from me, his hand still grazing the table. I raised my eyes to his, as wide and innocent as I could make them. “Oops.” A wicked grin spread across his face. His were clear, dark, and full of desire. He lifted his hand to the edge of my miniskirt, where it met the outside of my thigh, and lightly fingered the fraying fabric. “Well, then,” he said, taking the pool cue out of my hand and setting it down on the table. “Shall we go?” My fingers were shaking as I slipped my key into the lock, twisting the latch to get it open. Our lock was finicky on a good day, and my nerves weren’t helping. I stole a sideways glance at Luke, who was watching me with an amused expression. How could he be so calm, when I was such a mess? Get it together, Summer, I thought to myself, trying not to think about the last time I’d brought a guy back to our apartment. It had been… spring, last year? Jeez, had it really been that long? I’d gone out with a med student for a month or two before realizing that smart plus nice plus handsome didn’t always add up to sexy. Except when they did. I pushed open the door, flipping on the lights with one hand and tossing my keys on the entryway table. Luke was right behind me, so close that I could feel his breath on the back of my neck, making my hair stand on end with anticipation. “Do you—” I said, suddenly nervous. “Do you want a drink or something?” I turned around to face him, hoping my eyes wouldn’t betray see the mix of panic and excitement that was raging through my body. “I’d love a drink, Summer,” he said, using my name in a tone that sounded suddenly intimate. “Get it for me.” His tone was almost a command, and I felt heat rising through my body. I didn’t want to move away from him, but I forced myself to walk into our tiny kitchen, standing on my tiptoes to reach two wine glasses on a high shelf. “Is red okay?” I asked, pretty sure we didn’t have anything else. “Perfect,” he said, his voice honeyed and smooth. “Is your roommate here?” “She’s at her boyfriend’s.” I poured wine into two glasses and took a big sip to steady my nerves. Walking back into the living room, I found Luke seated in the center of our couch, the top buttons of his shirt undone, with just a peek of his chest visible underneath. I gulped. He looked up at me as I walked toward him, smiling with piercing eyes. I felt like my skin was on fire, the heat between us from the bar even more excruciating now that we were in private. “You’re very beautiful, Summer.” I blushed, rolling my eyes a little bit. I’ve never been any good at taking compliments, especially not from guys. Especially not from guys sitting in my living room, raking over my body with their eyes, the air around us electric with anticipation. I held out the glass to him, taking another sip from mine. “Not yet,” he said, and I raised an eyebrow, confused. “Summer, I’d like you to bring it to me again. Slowly. Can you do that?” My eyes widened, and I drew in a shallow breath. Without saying anything, I nodded, my lips parting a tiny bit on their own. I felt his eyes on me the entire way as I walked back into the kitchen. Pausing for a second to steady myself, I turned and faced him. Without breaking eye contact, I crossed the room, focusing on letting my hips sway back and forth as I walked towards him, putting one foot in front of the other in tiny, controlled steps. He followed my path with his eyes, lingering on my breasts and then raking his gaze to my hips, then down my legs to my high heels. “Much better,” he said, his voice hoarse with desire. I felt my nipples harden, thinking about the effect I was having on him. But I wanted more—more than just his eyes on me. I finally reached him and held out the glass, my lips parting with a breath that I could barely draw in, like the walk across the room had taken a physical toll on me. He took the glass from my hand, and the touch of our fingers was like a jolt of electricity. I thought about his hand on the pool table, the way I’d been imagining it exploring my body. “Now, Summer,” he said, taking a sip of wine and setting his lips into a thin line. “I want you to take off your top. Will you do that?” I nodded again, not trusting my voice. I was still standing, in front of the couch where he was sitting, my feet directly between his spread knees. If he wanted to, he could have reached out and taken my shirt off for me. I slid the straps off my shoulders, slowly, like he’d told me to before. His eyes traveled down to my breasts, taking in each centimeter as I slowly pulled my tank top down, revealing the lace bra underneath. The light was dim enough that I hoped he wouldn’t notice the way I was shaking, my fingers trembling as I pulled the top over my head and dropped it on the floor. “Lovely,” he said slowly, taking another sip of wine, still not reaching out to touch me. Do it, I wanted to say—there was nothing I wanted more than his hands on me, ripping off my bra and doing what I’d wanted him to do since the second I’d seen him. Please. It was like he could read my mind, or maybe my desire was just written all over my face. But he didn’t reach out, just leaned backwards against the couch and smiled at my half-naked body. “Now the skirt,” he said, his voice firm and controlling. My fingers fumbled with the buttons as I glanced down to see what I was doing, half blinded with desire. “Slide it off slowly.” I took a jagged breath, trying to slow down. It was suddenly crucial that I did this right, that I pleased him. I knew there was no way he was going to touch me unless I did this exactly the way he wanted me to. His eyes followed my fingers as I pulled down the zipper of my denim skirt, slowly sliding the fabric over my hips. I was still shaking as I bent at the waist to pull it down, searching his face for any sign that me standing there, nearly naked in front of him, was having any impact at all. But he looked perfectly calm. His voice didn’t betray anything as he looked me up and down. “You have a beautiful body, Summer,” he said, like he was praising the scenery or a piece of art. “But you know that, don’t you?” I looked at him, confused. What did he want me to say? “You liked bending over that pool table for me, didn’t you?” His voice was strong, firm. “You liked teasing me with your tight little ass.” I felt heat spread through my core, felt myself starting to get wet underneath my panties. I nodded, eyes wide with desire. “Say it,” he growled, still not reaching out but holding my body with his eyes. I couldn’t have moved a muscle if I wanted to. My voice came out half a moan when I finally managed to form a word. “Yes—” I murmured, hunger evident all over my face. I felt my breasts strain against the fabric of my bra as I tried to control my breathing. “Yes, what?” “Yes,” I wanted him so badly. Wanting to give him anything he wanted. “I liked… I liked teasing you.” He smiled, his eyes tracing my hip and settling on my crotch, his fingers stroking the wine glass firmly. “Are you a cock tease, Summer?” I caught my breath, surprise breaking through my haze of lust. I bit my lip, not wanting to answer, but my body was already betraying me. I could already feel the warmth and wetness in my core. “Y—yes,” I breathed, praying that this would stop, that he would put an end to this frustrating cat and mouse dance and take me, now. “Yes, what?” I knew instinctively what he wanted me to say. “Yes—” I breathed, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, sir.” “Get on your knees.” I didn’t hesitate, sinking slowly onto the floor so that my breasts were level with the couch. His hands were just inches from my body, and I felt tension in me rise until it was almost unbearable. “What do you want, Summer?” My body was on fire. “Please—” I whimpered, leaning forwards between his knees. “I want you—touch me, please.” A satisfied expression flickered across his face, and he slowly set his wine glass down. Reaching up with a slow, steady hand, I felt him slide his finger under the strap of my bra. He grazed the underside of my breast, a slow smile forming as I trembled at his touch. “Please—” I groaned, arching my back so that my breast filled his palm. “I need you.” I leaned forward and touched my lips to his neck, pressing my body into his with as much force as I could muster. I felt him draw in a quick breath, and something in him seemed to snap. His hand on my breast turned hard and groping, rolling my nipple between his fingers and sending shivers down my entire body. He raked his other hand over my stomach, sliding it underneath my panties to grip my ass and pull me closer. I surrendered completely, my body filled with sweet relief as he drew me towards him. He pulled my panties down with one fluid motion, bunching them around my knees. Roughly, his other hand pinched my nipple, as I moaned encouragement. It felt like live wires on my skin everywhere he touched me, and I couldn’t get enough of it. He raked a hand through my hair, peeling my mouth off of his neck, and with both hands, he lifted me from me kneeling position and pressed me backwards into the couch, pulling my panties off entirely and spreading my legs before him. I arched backwards, wanting his hands on me, wanting his mouth all over me. “What do you want, Summer?” he repeated, dragging his mouth down my neck. I felt his teeth scrape against my collarbone as he moved his mouth to my breast, his tongue melting my flesh with each movement. He bit down gently on my nipple and I cried out, wanting more. “I want you—” I cried, barely able form words. “I want you inside me. Please, please—” He let one of his hands slide downwards, pressing his palm between my legs, spreading my thighs even further apart. “Is this what you want?” he asked, sliding a fingertip along my wet opening. I clenched my eyes closed, feeling warmth and tension spread up my core. “Yes—” I moaned, trying to slide my body so that his finger would go deeper inside me. “Is this what you wanted when you were teasing me with your tits at the bar?” “Yesss,” I moaned, knowing that he was right. This was exactly what I’d wanted. “Please, Luke—” “This is what you wanted when you were bending over the pool table, tempting me with your tight little pussy?” His finger inched its way inside me, sending waves of shock and pleasure through me. “Yes—” I groaned. “Tell me you wanted me to fuck you,” he growled, at the same time as he shoved two fingers inside me, cupping my clit with his palm. “I want to hear you beg for it,” I felt him slide his fingers in and out, my pussy slick and wet against him. “YES—” I screamed, not caring about anything but his fingers inside me, pumping in and out, bringing me closer and closer to release. “Please,” I whimpered, squirming my body against his hand. “Please don’t stop—” “Open your eyes,” he commanded, taking my wrists and pinning them to the couch behind my head. I snapped them open, looking into his eyes as his fingers slid deep inside me, feeling my muscles clench around them. He worked my clit with his palm, thrusting deeper and deeper until I was gasping out for air, feeling pressure building inside me. I wanted to touch him, wanted to pull him closer to me, but he kept my hands pinned. I arched my body up into his, feeling my breasts heave with each breath. I fought to keep my eyes open as waves of pleasure started to roll over me. The moment he felt me start to clench, Luke slid a third finger inside me, pressing as deep as his hand could go and holding me there, spasming and trembling against him. I moaned in ecstasy and looked up at him, feeling my eyelids flutter as I shuddered under his hand. I came back to earth slowly, barely conscious as he released my wrists and slid his hand down my side. “That was—” I could hardly catch my breath, my body limp and spent. “Wow.” “Wow,” he echoed, twirling a piece of my hair between his fingers. I looked up at him, feeling exhaustion creep over my body. I could hardly keep my eyes open. I barely registered it as he pulled a throw blanket from the side of the couch and draped it over me. Leaning down, he pressed his lips gently to mine, parting my mouth with his tongue and drawing me in for a long, slow kiss. “It was nice meeting you, Summer Harris,” he whispered, nipping at my ear with his teeth before pulling his body out of reach and sitting up. “Will the door lock behind me?” “Mm-hmm,” I said, feeling my eyes start to close. I turned my cheek into the pillow, pulling the blanket around me. I could hear the sleep in my voice as he opened the door, but I had to stop him. “Wait,” I said, forcing my eyes open with herculean effort. “Don’t you want my number?” A grin slid across his face. “Don’t worry,” he said, his eyes dancing with the same glint I’d seen earlier at the bar. “I have a feeling we’ll be seeing a lot of each other from now on.” I was too tired to ask what he meant. My eyes were already closed as I heard the door slide shut, and before I could manage another thought, I felt my body surrender gently into sleep. Now Available: Teacher’s Pet, Part Two: When Summer Harris wakes up on the couch in her living room, she isn’t sure if the night before was real or just a fantasy. Luke, the handsome stranger she’d played a game of pool against, was the perfect distraction from bad news about her senior thesis. But when Summer is called into the English department of her school the next morning, she’s shocked to find out that she has a new chance at graduating with honors and a new thesis adviser—who’s the last person she's expecting to see. This is the second part of the Teacher’s Pet series by bestselling erotica author Dylan Palmer. Teacher’s Pet: Parts One and Two are available now in the Amazon Kindle Store. EXCERPT: “Tell me,” he commanded, keeping up his slow exploration between my legs. His fingertips found the edge of my panties and slipped underneath the elastic, sliding without resistance along my wet opening. “T—tell you what?” I was having trouble keeping still against his probing fingertips. It felt like my body was burning up, radiating heat from where his fingers were sliding over me. “Tell me,” he said slowly, sliding one finger inside me up to the knuckle. I gasped. “How motivated you are.” Copyright TEACHER’S PET. Copyright © 2012 by Dylan Palmer. All rights reserved. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced to any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the author. Cover photo reprinted with permission. EPub Edition © DECEMBER 2012 FIRST EDITION