Forbidden (Hamiltown Heat #4)

by Tia Louise

This is the right choice for me, Hutch. I’ve spent too many nights chasing bad guys. It’s time for me to develop human habits, before I wake up at sixty and realize I’m alone.” “Ah, fuck that. You’re nowhere near sixty.” “Maybe not, but the last four years went by faster than I like.” My brother runs a hand over his dark scruff. He’s quiet, which means he’s thinking. Hutch is stubborn, but he’s not inflexible. Finally, he relents. “Just don’t get too comfortable around all those kids running around in wool blazers with their scarves flying over their shoulders.” “It’s not Hogwarts,”

“Professor.” Scar shakes his head with a chuckle. “I don’t know how you’re going to handle all those teenagers.” “It’s a three-hundred-level course, so they’ll be a little older.” “Just don’t do anything stupid. I won’t be there to bail you out.” “Got it. No punching the students.”

Sitting back, my elbow collides with a shirtless, male body stretched out at my side, and like a record scratch, I recoil to see who the fuck is in my bed. When I recognize his face, my teeth grind. “Get out!” Planting my foot on Rick’s side, I push hard, sending him falling to the floor with a loud groan taking all the blankets with him. “What the fuck?” His voice is muffled from inside the roll of sheets, but I don’t care. “What the fuck is right!” I shade my eyes. “There’s not enough alcohol in Manhattan for me to sleep with you. Why are you in my bed?”

After Simon’s brother Victor was killed and Greg was killed and Trip disappeared and finally Simon was killed (I know, Jesus Christ), Natasha took over their criminal enterprise. The problem is we’re the only ones left in the city, and the big guys in Europe won’t even acknowledge her existence. Misogynist pigs.

I was pulled into this shitshow crime-world before I was old enough to say no. I went from being the only daughter of a loving father I adored on the beautiful shores of the Black Sea to an orphan, living with my “uncle” Simon and my “cousin” Natasha. My father’s death always felt like an inside job, but I've never been able to prove it.

now I’m twenty-two, and everyone’s dead. And I want answers. I want to know who killed my dad, and then I want to make him pay.

“You were pretty shit-faced last night. Why you drinking so much? I heard they put your name on a bottle of vodka at Gibson’s.” “So sphincters can ask why.”

“Why are you still hanging around anyway? You’re like one of those vultures picking at the carcass.” “I remember when you were sweeter.” “I was never sweet.”

I unzip my duffel and take out the only possession I have from my father, a pearl-handled, 9mm Ruger. Simon gave it to me on my sixteenth birthday, and when he told me my father would’ve wanted me to have it, I knew he was a liar. My father would’ve never wanted me to need a gun. After they took my older brother, he took us off the grid. We lived on the coast for easy escape, and he didn’t like using electricity or having any kind of “locating services” like the Internet or phones. We had a root cellar and a garden, goats and chickens, and everything we owned, we either made or harvested. We stayed hidden for a long time, but they found us. I’ll never forget the day they came. I was so young, it’s mostly shadow memories… until I fall asleep. Then my body remembers what my mind tries to forget.

“The Winstons and the van Hamiltons all know me, and they know Rick.” My brows furrow. “They know me as well. We partied with Hana and Blake all the time, and Hutch and Scar were with us at the Belmont Gala and in Gibson’s.” “Yes.” She takes a few steps nodding, her arms still crossed. “But you’ve never met Dirk, and he doesn’t know you.” “I’ve been photographed with them, I have social media. I’m sure he knows what I look like.” “Not necessarily. You always changed your hair color, your eyes, and a photograph is very different from meeting someone in person.” I’m not convinced this will work. “But if Blake and Hana are there, they’ll know me.” “Professor Dirk Winston has taken a faculty position at Thornton College in Miranda Bay, about an hour west of Hamiltown. He’s teaching a course there this fall, and he’s living on campus.” She walks directly to where I’m sitting and stops. “You’ll enroll in that class as Reanna Lorak, get to know him, and get me that book.”

“Have you found Jesus?” An earnest young woman with braids and a crocheted poncho holds a pamphlet directly in my path. I’m pushing a canvas bin containing my suitcase, all my toiletries, and everything I expect to need for a semester on campus across the quadrangle in the direction of the girls’ dorm, where Rick placed me. “I didn’t know he was lost,” I quip, and her eyes narrow as she turns away with a scoff. I call after her, “Jesus would’ve laughed at that.”

Have you made contact? Shaking my head, I quickly tap back. First class is tomorrow. I’ll see him then. Gray dots, and her reply annoys me. We don’t have time to waste. I’m tapping my reply before I even finish hers. Then you shouldn’t have given me a roommate.

I’m not even sure what Dirk Winston looks like exactly. Hutch is a sexy giant with dark hair and muscles. I can’t picture a data-nerd, college professor looking like him. He’s probably the exact opposite, glasses, skinny. Short. I expect it’ll be easy to get close to someone like that—he probably never gets any female attention in the shadow of a brother like Hutch. Not to mention Scar, with his tattooed, Viking-biker-thing going on.

Dirk Winston is not skinny. He’s not a computer geek. He’s not even short. I’m five-eight, which is tall for a girl, so he’s got to be six foot. His brown hair is slightly wavy and attractively messy, and he smells like clean citrus and fresh soap. I can tell he’s muscular by the way his slim button-down shirt stretches over his chest and shoulders.

Professor Dirk Winston is lose your panties, fall to your knees, thank (not-lost) Jesus, fucking hot as sin.

Only one hiccup in the beginning, the girl Reanna Lorak charging in late and then staring up at me a little too long and with a little too much interest. It caught me off-guard. Long, dark hair, stunning blue eyes… Something was strangely familiar about her, her eyes, her face. I couldn’t place it. I could swear it was as if we’d met before, and for a second, it nearly threw off the whole rhythm of the class, which was potentially embarrassing. Of course, being the professional I am, I shook off the phantom feeling and got down to business. I couldn’t possibly know that young woman.

“Looks like you picked up an admirer,” I tease. “One for me, twenty-five for you,” she teases right back, but I dismiss her comment with a wave. “That’s a non-starter, but you and that guy are both students. You could pursue it.” “No way.” Her lip curls. “He’s bad news.” “Is that so?” I exhale a laugh. “What is your definition of bad news, Miss Stead?” She shakes her head. “He’s a fuckboy. Women are notches on his bedpost, and his dates always do the walk of shame.” “Hm,” I nod, knowing the type. “But you’re a strong young woman. No judgment here if you want to blow off a little steam.” “No thanks. I don’t expect commitment, but I do expect courtesy.” “Smart girl.” “Woman.”

“Professor Winston?” It’s a low female voice, smoky with the faintest hint of an accent, and even though I’ve only heard it once, I recognize it immediately. “Come in.” My stomach tightens as Reanna Lorak steps into the small space I share with my computer. Alone. Her blue eyes are so intense, and she’s tall with that magnetic quality models have. She’s still in those jeans and that top, tiny spaghetti straps, no bra, nipples pointed. She’s fit like an athlete, and I blink a few times, tearing my eyes away from her midriff. Jesus, fuck that. I’m not ogling her body, what the hell? I’m the professor. She’s the student. The end. “Miss Lorak, is it?” I take a beat, picking up my glasses and clearing my mind as I slide them over my eyes. I have no problems with boundaries. I’m just out of practice. Her full, pink lips part in a smile revealing straight, white teeth. “You remembered my name.” Of course, I did.

“The truth is I’m a little worried about your class. I’m not from this country, and our laws are so different. I need to do well.” “Where are you from?” “Odesa. I lived with my father in a small house near the Black Sea… until he died.” Her voice trails off, and empathy filters through my chest, lowering my guard. “I’m sorry.” “It was a while ago, but it changed my life.” Her nose wrinkles, and she points to my face. “You wear glasses, but not in class?” “Yes, actually.” I take them off, studying them in my hands. “I’m right on the border of not being able to see without them, so I can still get away with forgetting.” “They look nice on you.” She blinks slowly. Tension radiates across my shoulders like a warning. This conversation is becoming problematic. She speaks and carries herself in a way that feels more mature than a typical college student. “How old are you, Miss Lorak?” Her blue eyes sparkle up at me through dark lashes. “I’m twenty-two, but I thought it was rude to ask a woman her age.” “Yes, sorry.” Clearing my throat, I adopt a detached, scholarly tone. “You were worried about the difference in our laws. The good news is we don’t go into law or anything like that. My course is about psychology. The focus will be on understanding how the criminal mind works.” With a gentle nod, she steps closer. “Is it possible to understand such things?” She’s directly in front of me, the heat from her skin vibrating in proximity to mine, and I can’t help thinking, if this were...

“If you apply yourself, complete the assignments and the readings on time, you should have no problem doing well in my class.” My tone is firm, all business. “I’ve offended you.” Her eyes drop to her lap. “I only wanted to let you know my situation. I didn’t mean to seem like I was asking for… anything.” “I’m not offended.” I remain firm. “If you choose to stay in my class, you’ll have to do the work. I’ll give you the name of a tutor if you fall behind—” “I’d rather study with you.” Her eyes meet mine again, and it’s time to end this meeting. Rising from my chair, I hold out my hand for the door. “I’m sorry, but tutoring isn’t something I do.” “But you’re the one grading my assignments. I’d rather know your opinion than a surrogate’s.” “I have regular office hours, and I’ll be glad to look over any assignment before it’s due—like I would for any other student.” It’s a clear line of demarcation. “I see.” She stands, placing her fingers lightly on my wrist. “Thank you for seeing me… Professor Winston.” Her full lips say my name as if asking for a kiss, and the heat circulating in my blood rushes straight to my dick. I do not imagine ordering her to get on her knees and open her mouth. “Have a nice day, Miss Lorak.”

I’m not a player, and I’m not interested in that student. I need a drink.

I’m talking about the thing with Effington and the student. Is that something that happens a lot?” She takes another sip of beer and shrugs. “If it does, nobody talks about it. However, speaking as a Ph.D. candidate in psychoanalysis, it seems inevitable it would happen a lot.” “How so?” “College women tend to be attracted to highly educated men, and professors are often men who’ve never been particularly attractive to women, present company excluded, of course.” “Of course,” I laugh, taking another sip of beer. “Suddenly, at a time when many men struggle with mid-life issues, they’re being inundated with interest from young, nubile women.” She hesitates then grins. “Then, of course, some girls simply have daddy issues, and who better to scratch that itch than a bossy, intelligent professor.”

Does the very handsome Professor Winston have a significant other?” “No.” I polish off my beer. Her lips quirk in a frown. “Why not?” “Lots of reasons. I’ve never seen a long-term relationship that worked.” My dad was the worst fucking role model. “And perhaps I made bad choices when I was younger.” “What’s your definition of ‘bad choices,’ Professor?” She’s imitating my question from earlier, and I huff a laugh. “I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone. Ready?” “Definitely.” She sets her glass down and squares her shoulders. “Hit me.” “I had a serious girlfriend in college, then after graduation, she wanted to settle down and get married. I didn’t.” Sharon does a fake gasp, placing her palm on her chest, and I continue. “I still think I was right. We were too young. I wanted to do things, and being married would’ve held me down. So we broke up. Now she’s married with a couple kids, and I’ve never gotten that close again.” Silence falls between us. She studies me with her dark brows furrowed, and I wait to hear her fresh, psychoanalytical, Ph.D.-candidate opinion. Finally, she suggests a reason. “So that’s it? You’re done?” Fishing cash out of my pocket, I drop a ten on the bar. “I think I missed my chance.” “Bullshit. If Sex and the City taught us anything, it’s there’s no such thing as one soul mate. You gave up.” “I didn’t give up.” Patting her shoulder, I’m ready to go. “I like my job. I don’t like drama. Relationships always turn into drama.” “You’re a grinch.”...

I want to fuck Professor Dirk Winston. The realization hit me hard when I left his office after my initial contact. I’ve never wanted to sleep with a target, but this purported “computer geek” professor is fucking hot. Sleeping with him is not part of my “get close” master plan. I could get what I want from him without spreading my legs… But it does make the job more fun.

“A good profiler can ascertain the level of planning that went into the crime…” He uses the word ascertain perfectly in a sentence. “…the degree of control used by the offender, if there was an escalation of emotion at the scene…” I wonder how controlled he is when he’s fucking. Does he coolly give orders, those intense eyes distant and unreadable? Or do his emotions escalate? If I dropped to my knees in front of him, pulling his hard cock between my lips and giving it a firm suck, would he groan with pleasure or pull my hair and hiss words of approval?

I love that he pushed back when I got too close. I love that he isn’t a sleaze, ready to take advantage of a young girl’s apparent willingness to please him. Every man is flattered by a woman who obviously wants him, but Dirk is different. It makes me wonder if there could be something more between us. He’s “the enemy,” but only because Natasha is giving the orders. Shit, where the fuck did that come from? I’m not looking for something more. I have to stay focused if I’m going to complete this mission and find that book. Once I have the truth about my father, I’m leaving these people far behind. I want a new life, something better than what I’ve had so far. He has his life, and I have my plans. He’s a mark, and when I’m finished, I’ll walk away.

Have you ever lost someone, Professor Winston?” His lips part, and he doesn’t answer immediately. He seems to be choosing his words. “My mother died when I was very young.” “Oh, I’m so sorry.” Without thinking I place my hand on top of his. He pauses, and I quickly take my hand away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.” “It’s okay. I’m not offended.” But he stands, gesturing as if it’s time for me to go. I close the laptop and slide it into my bag, speaking slowly. “I forget sometimes. In my country we’re more open to touch. I miss it… the feeling of connection.” “Touch therapy is an emerging area of clinical research.” He’s waiting as I gather my things, still remaining aloof. Standing slowly, I attempt to slide the strap of my bag onto my shoulder. It slips, and he catches it quickly, lifting it onto my shoulder for me. His touch is warm, and I lift my chin, wanting him to show me any confirmation he feels this energy simmering between us. “I miss my father’s hugs.” My voice is quiet as I speak from my heart. “I scroll on my phone, chat with friends, get advice, but what I miss most is that one simple thing I’ll never have again.” As I say the words, I ache at how true they are. His eyes hold mine. Clean citrus touches my nose, and he’s not pushing me away or throwing up walls now. He’s looking into my soul. “Honestly, I miss my mother’s hugs.” His voice is gentle, as if something shifted. “You must be lonely… like me.” The words hang in the air, and we’re so close. ...

Fire is in my veins, and I move fast, switching the lock on the door. Going to the small bathroom behind the bookcase in my office, I slam the door, quickly lowering my jeans to relieve the pressure. I scoop up the tube of hand cream beside the soap dish on the small sink. A little lube, and I grasp my hard cock, bracing my other hand on the wall and closing my eyes.

I’ve pretended to be immune to her, and every day that passes, every day she sits in my class watching me, undressing me with her eyes, I’m in a perpetual state of frustrated desire. This isn’t happening. Only it is.

She’s a fucking child. She’s twenty-two, my rebellious brain argues. “She’s a fucking student,” I say out loud to shut it down. Great. Now I’m talking to myself.

A low voice in the background draws my attention. “Is that Scar?” “The man himself. Want to say hi?” A scuffing sound is in my ear, and I’m pretty sure she passed the phone. The next sound is the low voice of my partner. “How’s it going, bro? Punched any kids yet?” “Not even close,” I laugh, and he exhales a chuckle. “Glad to see you’re controlling that temper. You know, self-control is a sign of maturity.” “Then I’m the most mature person you know.” He has no idea. “Although there is this one professor who’s annoying as fuck.” “Bro, you’re supposed to make friends with the professors. They’re your coworkers.” “So far my only friends are the dean and my graduate assistant. Oh, and this one student who I’m pretty sure wants to get in my pants.” That gets me a loud laugh. “Only one? Or is she the only one who interests you?” Shaking my head, I can’t believe he called me on it. “Maybe I’m not cut out for this line of work.” “Listen.” Scar’s voice turns serious. “You can’t help who you’re attracted to. What you can do is figure out if it’s simple lust or something more. I’m speaking from experience. Don’t shit where you eat… unless you’re sure it’s the real deal.”

“Sharon is returning your graded assignments.” The annoying grad student is making her way up and down the aisles handing out papers. “Overall, it was a good effort for a first writing assignment.” Dirk’s eyes meet mine, and heat blooms in my stomach. I lift my stylus to my lips, parting them slowly, and his brow furrows. He turns to the other side of the room. “I made notes I hope will be helpful going forward. As always, you’re welcome to stop by my office during office hours if you have questions.” I hear a few groans behind me, but when my print-out is placed on my desk, a bright red A is on the first page. Unexpected pride surges in my chest, and I bite my lip against the huge smile trying to split my cheeks. Glancing up, our eyes meet again as if drawn by an invisible force, and he gives me the slightest hint of a smile. Another wave of happiness floods through me. It’s completely unwarranted and honestly ridiculous for me to feel so happy about a grade. It doesn’t matter how I do in this class. It’s all fake. It would actually be better if I did poorly so I would need more assistance from Professor Winston. As it is, I’m giddy over an A. I’ve got to get my head straight.

“My nightmares have returned,” I blurt, wasting no time. “They started the first night I was back on campus, and they’re getting stronger. I’m afraid I won’t be able to keep up with my assignments if they don’t stop.” The more I say, the tighter his brow grows, the more concern brims in his eyes. “I’m sorry to hear you’re having nightmares. Are they about your father?” Dropping my eyes to my lap, I nod. “My father, my cousin, the violence I endured after he was killed when I was sent to live with my uncle.” He flinches as if from a memory. “Childhood trauma can be difficult to overcome. Mental health services are included in your tuition. I could help you get an appointment with a counselor, maybe you could try sleeping pills.” “Pills don’t work for me.” “I’m afraid that’s the best I can offer.” Blinking up at him, I hesitate. “I always have trouble when I'm alone at night. I don’t think humans are meant to sleep alone. We’re social creatures, aren’t we?” “We are.” “Do you sleep alone, Professor Winston?” My question is quiet, a shared secret. “Again, this isn’t appropriate—” “It’s not right for a man so strong and virile to be celibate.” He rises from the chair, walking around to where I sit and holding out his hand. “I’ll help you get an appointment with a counselor. I’ll email you the information. That’s all.” “Are you sleeping with her?” “Who?” “Your graduate assistant.” A bite is in my tone. “She’s totally into you. I could see it last time I visited.” “No.” He’s angr...

He doesn’t just like me, he wants me, and I wonder how I’ll survive until I see him again.

At that moment, a body pushes up to the bar on my opposite side, and I turn, ready to snap when the words die in my throat. Reanna is standing beside me with an empty pitcher and an angry expression. “Dog’s Den,” she calls to the bartender, and he takes it from her, propping it under the tap and flipping the handle down. “Reanna.” Her name is lost in the noise of the bar. She leans closer, her full breasts practically pressed against my forearm, the heat of her body tightening my muscles. “I see you’re here with her.” Her accent is more pronounced, and her ice-blue eyes flash with cold fire. I shouldn’t like it that she’s jealous. This afternoon, when things got tense in my office, I almost broke. I’m a physical guy, and the idea she could hold her own is as much a turn-on as her fuck-me body. “Just having a friendly drink.” I should let her think I’m with Sharon, but I can't stop playing with fire, this blazing inferno I’m ready to dive into headfirst. “Oh, hello!” Sharon leans around my shoulder holding my arm. “You did really well on that paper, by the way. Totally deserved the A.” The bartender slides the pitcher to Reanna, but her eyes are fixed on Sharon’s arm clutching my bicep. They slowly rise to hers. “You’re too kind.” It’s not entirely sarcastic, but it has an edge. Reanna turns, carrying the pitcher back to the pool area, and I can’t take my eyes off the sway of her hips in those tight jeans. I can’t make my brain stop thinking how easy it would be to get bene...

Automatically, my rebellious eyes go to the pool area, where Reanna stands behind her friend, with her arms crossed, watching me. The other boy, the one who looks like a football player, says something, and the blonde laughs. Then that asshole Evan walks up to Reanna again, sliding his arm around her waist and speaking in her ear. His lips curl in a slimy smile, and I’m about to come off the bar when she elbows him away impatiently. If that motherfucker thinks he’s going to touch her… Her eyes haven’t left mine, and I lift my chin. I want her to come back to me. I tell myself it’s because I want to warn her about his reputation, make sure she’s aware he’s a player, but a dangerous hum low in my stomach says it’s a lie. It’s way more than that.

“You flick your chin, and I come.” Her voice is smoldering. “Even when you hurt me, I’ll come to you.” “How did I hurt you?” My face is lowered, and my voice cracks. “Lying to me, telling me she means nothing to you.” “She’s my assistant, nothing more. I bumped into her on my way here.”

“What do you want from me?” “I don’t like you being here with Evan.” “I don’t like you being here with Sharon.” My jaw clenches, and I put my hand on her elbow, pulling her closer. “Sharon isn’t a danger to me. I want to break his hands every time he touches you.” She flinches, but her eyes are locked with mine. “Maybe I should go back and let him touch me some more if this is how you respond.” “He’s a player.” It’s practically a growl. “He’ll mistreat you.” “I have no interest in him.” She slides her eyes down to my lips. “You, on the other hand…” My grip tightens, and I lower my chin to her ear. “I would never hurt you.” “You’re hurting me now.” I release her arm at once. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.” “It’s too loud in here.” She takes my hand briefly, tugging me away from the bar. “Follow me.”

I’ve had too much bourbon. My control is frayed thin, and I close the space between us without hesitation. “Oh, God,” she gasps as I catch her face in my hand, holding her cheeks with my fingers. Leaning closer, our noses brush. “What do you want from me?” I’m breathing fast, and it’s my last chance to turn back. Turning her face in my hand, her pink tongue slips out, and she sucks my thumb into her mouth. I hiss, allowing her to do it, to pulse her tongue against the base as she holds my gaze. Jerking my hand away, I seal my lips to hers. A moan slips from her throat, and I push her mouth open, plunging my tongue inside to taste her. She meets me halfway, curling her tongue with mine, straight vodka. Her fingers thread in my hair, tugging me closer, and our faces turn, lips pulling as we consume, chasing each other’s mouths in ravenous kisses. My hands start at her waist before sliding higher, cupping and lifting her bare breasts under her sweater. My thumbs circle her hardened nipples, and I want to rip the fabric away and consume her soft flesh. Breaking apart, my face is in her hair, and I’m breathing fast, inhaling her scent of jasmine and rich woods. She’s decadent and delicious. “I want you to touch me,” she purrs, and the inferno inside me destroys the last of my resistance.

Her fingers curl and pull my hair as her hips rock faster. Little whimpers escape her throat, and every noise makes me want to be inside her. I’m not stopping until she comes. I have to hear her come. “Fuck, it’s so good,” she gasps. “Come for me,” I growl, and she makes another soft noise, nodding her head fast. My thumb moves faster. The two fingers inside her curl and massage the place that will push her over the edge. Lust and desire are fueled by anger. I’m furious she has this power over me. I’m risking everything to do this, but there’s no way I’m stopping.

She’s quivering, grasping at my shoulder, and my dick is so hard in my jeans. I want to fuck her right now. I can’t fuck her right now. I’ve already done too much. Anyone could catch us in this alley. Still, I’m hypnotized by the sight of her, her hand sliding lower, palming my hardened cock through my jeans. Leaning forward, my lips are at her ear, my nose in the side of her hair. “You feel what you do to me?” My voice is hot, hoarse, and angry. “Yes,” she whispers, quickly unfastening my pants, allowing the pink tip of my erection to stretch free. “Fuck,” I hiss as she pushes the fabric lower, wrapping slim fingers around my shaft and pumping up and down. Without a word, she drops to her knees, teasing me with her tongue just before taking my cock fully into her mouth. “Shit,” I groan, knowing I should stop this, knowing this is wrong. She’s on her knees with her back to the wall, and I’m facing her, my pants lowered just enough for it to happen. She’s hidden by my legs, and at a glance, it probably looks like I’m hiding in the alley to take a leak. In reality, I’m losing my mind.

She’s sucking me like she did my thumb. Her head bobs faster, and she pulls me deeper, all the way to her throat, watery eyes blinking up at me. Stop this, stop this, stop this, my conscience is screaming, but my body won’t let me. I want this. I want her. I want all of her. There’s no way I’m stopping now. My hand is in her hair, and I growl, “You like sucking my cock?” She manages to nod, and it’s my fucking fantasy.

“I’m coming.” I’m going to pull out, but she holds my hips with both hands, holding me steady as her lips touch the skin of my belly, as my cock pulses, shooting jets of orgasm down her throat. “Fuck,” I groan, holding the back of her head as she blinks up at me, swallowing greedily, round eyes watering. My knees almost buckle as my fingers curl against the damp bricks. My face is against my arm, and my hand slides through her soft hair, cupping her cheek. She takes every drop, not releasing me until my shudders subside, my pulsing stops. Then she rocks back on her heels, holding my waist as she slowly rises. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first day of class.” She slides her hands up my chest, and my arms are around her waist. Her body is flush against mine, and I confess, I don’t want to let her go, even if she is a student, even if she is ten years younger than me. I want to hold her, take away her pain, the loneliness I know too well.

“Reanna…” I don’t know what to say. I’m not sorry. “That was amazing.” She places her palm against my cheek. “It was wrong.” I start to release her, but her grip on me tightens. “It was not wrong.” “I crossed the line.” That fucking invisible line between professor and student. “Not only that, but we’ve both been drinking…” “I’m not impaired, and consent is not an issue.” An edge is in her voice. “I want you to fuck me.” Need flashes in my chest, and my barely sated lust for her flames back to life. “I can’t do that.” I’ve got to grab the reins and be the adult here. “I’ve already done too much.” “We’re both adults. Where I come from, that’s all that matters.” “That’s never all that matters. I’m your professor. I’m in a position of trust.” She hesitates, blinking into my eyes, then she steps to the side, out of the dominating cage of my arms. I drop them to my sides, and her lips curl into a knowing smile. We restore our clothes, and she nods briefly, turning away from me towards the entrance to the alley. “In that case, I’ll see you in class, professor.” “Will you be able to sleep?” “I don’t know.”

I thought I was off-course when I came here, but now I can’t even find the fucking map. And standing here in this dim alley, watching the sway of her hips as she leaves me, remembering the sounds she makes when she comes for me, all I can think is when can I do it again?

I’m buzzing with the anticipation of seeing him again. It’s especially thrilling after weeks of building tension to have it all pay off so spectacularly in a dirty alley outside a college bar. Oh, that alley. It was the perfect place to act out our forbidden desires. Heat floods my veins when I remember his hands desperately grasping between my legs, his filthy words as I took his dick in my mouth. We were hungry and raw, and I want to do it again. I want to do everything with him just as ferociously. For years, I’ve been so focused on research and finding clues and getting revenge for my father’s murder. It’s nice to have some fun for a change, and Professor Dirk Winston is very fun. Bonus? I slept like a baby when I got home. Too bad the afterglow fades, because now I’m ready to go to his house and knock on his door. Preferably with as little clothing on as possible.

wondering why I don’t have his number. I could text him… I could sext him. Heat lights between my thighs, and I curse my lack of forethought. Pulling out my tablet, I search for The Goblet of Fire movie on a streaming app. He was so adorable worrying about my nightmares immediately after dominating me, fucking my face, then pushing me away. I’m definitely sick, because I kind of loved him for it. Could it be possible we might have something once I’ve found my revenge? Could we build on the foundation we’ve laid here? Maybe he could see past the lies I’ve had to tell, the double-life I’ve had to live. Maybe he would like me for me.

I pull on black sweatpants and a black hoodie. I’m a professional. I can sneak over to his house in the dark and tell him I couldn’t sleep. Maybe we’ll watch Goblet of Fire together. Maybe we’ll make our own fire. The fact I have no idea how it will play out squeezes my stomach, making me smile.

I push the memory of Reanna and the alley from my mind. It’s been a struggle since that lapse of judgment happened, waking up with a tent in my sheets, the echo of her moans in my memory. I’ve been in relationships before, but this feels like obsession. I’m not sure how I’m going to finish the semester. You and I are adults. That’s all that matters… Her words torment me. It’s not all that matters. My reputation matters, the school matters, my position.

“Blake thought it would be fun for us to do a little girls’ weekend before I’m too big to enjoy myself.” I toss a bridle over my shoulder, lifting a saddle and blanket off a wooden sawhorse and carrying them back to where she’s standing. “That so?” She lifts the latch, opening the door for me, and I put the blanket and saddle on top. “I think it’s the same weekend you have fall break. Maybe you could come home and check on the horses while we’re gone?”