Chapter 5 #2
This is getting weird now. What’s he getting at? Why is he even talking to me?
“No?” His creepy grin widens. “Good. Very good. I–I only mention this because I’ve noticed he’s taken a…particular interest in you.”
A chill pierces my chest.
“I had some gaps in my knowledge,” I reply. “He offered to tutor me. For the course.”
“He offered to tutor you,” Belcher repeats slowly, as if he were tasting the words, digging into the meaning behind them. Something about his expression—the way his brow twists—tells me he knows what we were really up to.
But how could he?
No one saw me go into August’s office. We may have made some noise, but we weren’t that loud.
Or were we?
“That’s generous of him,” Belcher goes on. “Professor Holt usually doesn’t take such an interest in freshmen—”
I stop walking. “Professor Belcher.” I’m not sure where the strength in my voice comes from, only it’s there, like steel. Maybe it’s the stubbornness that drove my mother nuts for eighteen years. “Is there something you’d like to ask me?”
He blinks back at me, surprised by my assertiveness. He almost smiles, but something else takes over his face. Something sharp, like a pin sticking out of a cushion.
“Of course not,” he says, reaching out and touching my arm, just above the elbow. His fingers press into the bare skin below my sleeve, sending an unwanted shiver through me. “If Professor Holt’s tutoring sessions are ever…not enough for you…my door is always open.”
A hand closes around my other arm.
Not grabbing or pulling. Not painful. It’s just there. Large, strong, and immovable, owned by a man who is used to being obeyed. Even without the wondrous scent that fills my nose, I would know who it is simply by the touch.
August.
I didn’t even hear him approaching. Where did he come from? The lecture hall? The parking lot? I have no idea, but here he is, standing slightly in front of me like a shield between me and Belcher.
And have I mentioned how large this man is? Because I should. Standing next to Belcher, who is average height and average build—average everything—August looks like another species of man. One genetically built in a lab to make other men feel insufficient.
His shoulders are so broad they block out the sun. His jaw is so sharp it could slice the quad in half.
Belcher pulls his hand from my arm like it’s been burned. “August!”
“Gerald,” he replies, his voice much calmer. Just the low and even tone of it makes the hairs on my arms stand up. It’s the tonal equivalent of a large predator sitting very still—the stillness that comes before something.
Belcher nervously adjusts his glasses. “I–I was just introducing myself to your student here—”
“Yes, I saw.” August’s thumb moves gently on my arm. I don’t think he even realizes he’s doing it. Or maybe he does, and he’s doing it precisely so Belcher can see. “Is there something Miss Monroe can help you with? Academically?”
The emphasis on his final word is surgical.
“Oh, no, just being friendly,” Belcher replies, forcing a laugh. “Students should know they have…multiple options in the department.”
“Miss Monroe has all the options she needs.” August hasn’t raised his voice a bit. He hasn’t even moved or done a single thing that could seem odd or out of place, and yet Belcher has taken a step backward.
He takes another, off the grass and onto the edge of the path.
It’s like he’s retreating from battle, and I watch, fascinated.
I’ve never seen this kind of standoff between two men go this way.
Normally when guys face off, they end up swinging wildly at each other.
But August has Belcher terrified without even trying.
It’s amazing and has me hot all over.
“Goodbye, Professor,” he says. Something flickers behind Belcher’s glasses. For a second, I’m sure he’s going to lash out. Lose control.
Thankfully, he doesn’t. He just nods once, adjusts his fancy sport coat, and walks away.
The moment he’s out of earshot, August’s composure cracks. Nothing anyone else would notice—none of the students walking by—but I see it. I notice the change in his breath, the way he looks down at me like he owns me.
His green eyes have a flat, focused quality that I now understand is the look of a man holding something back with all his strength.
“He touched you…”
“My arm.” I keep my voice low. There’s already enough tension. “Just my arm.”
His jaw flexes. He looks after Belcher, and I watch his nostrils flare like a wild animal ready to attack. I’m pretty sure if we weren’t on campus and Belcher wasn’t part of the faculty, this would be getting resolved in a very different manner.
“He won’t bother you again,” August says, his voice solid like concrete. “I promise.”
“It’s okay—”
“Jessie.” He looks deep into my eyes, setting something on fire inside me. “He will not bother you again.”
Wow.
I should be scared by the absolute certainty of his statement. Talk about possessive. Becca would probably tell me it’s a red flag for a man—a much older man that I just met and who is my professor—to be saying something like that to me. And she would probably be right.
I should find it controlling. A red flag the size of the quad where we’re standing. But instead, my body does something without even asking my brain first: It floods with warmth that spreads through my chest, down my arms, and to my center.
My eyes move to his lips, and instantly, I’m back to yesterday when he had them wrapped around my…well, you know.
He’s also still holding my arm, right here in the middle of the quad in full view of tons of students. His thumb still moves absentmindedly across my skin, slow circles that I now know he doesn’t even realize he’s making.
“You didn’t even look at me during the lecture,” I say without thinking. I don’t know why, except for the fact that the thought’s been sitting in my mind since I got up slowly from my seat, begging for him to look at me. “Not even once.”
He stares at me for a moment as the afternoon sun shines down on us and students pass by. I don’t notice any of them. Just him. It’s like we’re in our own little world where nothing else matters.
“It was nearly impossible not to, Jessie,” he finally growls. “I knew that if I looked at you, I wouldn’t have been able to stop myself.”
My heart pulses, leaping in a way I’m certain can’t be found in any textbook.
“You don’t know how hard it is for me not to tear your clothes off right now, Jessie,” he says, his voice low. “My cock is so hard. I want to feel you, taste you, take you.”
“August—” My voice barely comes out. My legs wobble. If he keeps this up, I might pass out.
“Tomorrow. Same time,” he says abruptly, like he’s changing the subject. “There’s…more material I need to go over with you.”
I’m scorching inside. I have goosebumps all over. Good goosebumps. “More material?”
He nods, his eyes burning for me. “Significantly more.”
This is the part where I say no. Where I tell him that what happened yesterday can’t happen again and that we should keep our relationship just teacher-student.
But I can’t. Not while he’s looking at me with those amazing green eyes. Not while he has his hand on my skin and my body is screaming ‘yes, yes, yes!’ from every intimate region.
“Tomorrow. Same time,” I say.
His hold on me tightens, and for a split second, I’m sure he’s going to lean in and kiss me.
But he doesn’t. He steps back, fixes his collar, and gives me a very professional nod. Almost like it’s a show for anyone who might be watching or listening. “See you in class, Miss Monroe.”
Before I can respond, he turns and walks away. I watch him cross the quad. His broad shoulders, confident stride, the way people move out of his way automatically. A group of girls stare and giggle to each other as he passes, and I feel a pang of jealousy ignite inside me.
No. He wants me.
Heart pounding, I open my notebook.
I told myself what happened yesterday wouldn’t happen again. But I was lying to myself. I’ll see him again tomorrow.
I start to close the notebook, but a thought hits me.
Bring questions.
Yeah, I have so many questions for him.