Teaching Willow: Session One by Paige James Read Free Book Online

my bed (well, my sister’s bed, but still…), in my body.
    Even now, the pendulum swings back to the glorious feeling of Ebon touching me and kissing me and doing naughty things to me, all after having me read my own words to him.
    Despite my panic, I can still say it was worth it.  Because there’s a chance that he won’t find out, that he won’t try to call Sage. I mean, it was goodbye, after all.  And if he doesn’t, if no one is ever the wiser, then it was worth it all.  Worth all this worry.
     

EIGHT- EBON
     
    I’m forced to remind myself of that whole “this is the end” thing come Monday morning when I walk into class and my eye is drawn immediately to Willow.  Her hair hangs in a straight, silky wave and her touch-me-not rectangular glasses are firmly in place.  She looks sexy in a studious, understated way in her snug jeans with a faded ass and a T-shirt that says Kiss this across the chest.
    I’ll kiss it.  And lick it.  And jam my cock into it until come squeezes out around it, I think and then move immediately into berating myself for letting that thought out of its cage.
    But I would.  Mmmm, the depraved things I’d do to her after I slipped those glasses off…holy shit!
    I bite the inside of my cheek to snap my body back from the direction its going. It wouldn’t do for me to teach this class with a hard-on.
    My gaze swings toward Willow again and I look quickly away.  But not quickly enough. Not before I see the color stain her cheeks.  For a few seconds, I’m distracted, wondering what put the blush there, but then the door bangs shut behind me and pulls me back to the present, to my job.
    I open the class quickly, before I get lost in my imagination again.
    “It is said that D. H. Lawrence wrote Lady Chatterly’s Lover as a result of some amount of unhappiness within his own home life.  We can never know what, specifically, that might’ve been.  We can only speculate,” I begin.  I feel my brows drop into a frown as I pace away from the front row of attentive faces.
    Lady Chatterly’s Lover?  Really?  Nice way to keep things professional, Daniels.  Now the class is officially open to eroticism.  Shit!
    I clear my throat and continue.  I can’t take back words that are already off my tongue.  “We can suggest that maybe he wished to have the sexual relationship with his wife that Lady Chatterly had with Oliver.  We can speculate that through some infirmity, or possibly through burgeoning homosexuality, that Lawrence had come to neglect his wife just as Lord Chatterly neglected Constance.  We could even suggest that maybe Lawrence was unable to sire any children and felt some concern that, like Constance, his wife might seek affections elsewhere.  We will never know because we can’t ask.  But you ,” I pause, turning to look at my class.  And up at Willow.  “I can ask.”
    She’s watching me. Of course. I’m her professor. But today, she holds my gaze. Or is it me that’s holding her gaze?
    I look away from those at once innocent yet sensual eyes.
    “Last Wednesday, I asked you to look back at your work, at the piece of fiction that I asked you to write for this class, and find the honesty in it, discern what the piece says about you, as a person.  Would anyone like to share what they found?”
    Hands shoot up all over class.  None are Willow’s, of course.  Not that I’m surprised. She usually stays quiet.  And while that was all fine and good before , now that I’ve read her work—her words about me and all those sexually explicit scenarios—things have changed.  I find that I can’t leave her alone as easily.  Even if it’s just to make eye contact occasionally or to call upon her in class.
    I listen to and comment upon everyone’s insights, but there’s only one answer that I’m really interested in discovering.  So when no more hands are raised, even though I’ve already spent far too much time on this portion of class, I look to