Falling Hard

by Shelly Bell

  Besides, she couldn’t stop thinking about Tristan. He’d left his mark behind in more ways than the bites on her breasts. She swore she could still smell him on her skin and feel him thrusting inside her. Even if she did find a spare minute to date, she definitely wouldn’t be satisfied with a traditional relationship. But she wouldn’t mind making a friend. “I had the campus tour at orientation.”

  “I’ll show you what you can’t learn from the official tour. Where to get the best coffee and bagels. Where you can buy alcohol without getting carded.” His gaze dropped to her lips. “The house where I live.”

  Damn it. Definitely flirting. “Oh, you don’t live on campus?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. I live in the Alpha Beta Omega house.”

  Her breath caught and excitement whirled through her. “Aren’t they having a party Friday night?”

  “Yeah, you should come,” he said huskily, his face suddenly too close to hers.

  Something about him set her on edge. Maybe it was because he reminded her so much of Tony. “I don’t know. The frat houses are kind of too far to walk.”

  “I’ve got a car. I could pick you up, take you to the party, and then bring you back to your dorm.” He squeezed her knee. “It doesn’t even have to be a date, although I wouldn’t mind if it was.”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “I’ll think about it.”

  There was no question she needed to start making money, and her idea to make cake pops would be the easiest method. Baking was in her blood. Over one-hundred years ago, her great-grandparents had come to this country from Italy and started their own bakery in Detroit. The business had been passed down through the generations, and now her parents ran it, having expanded it into a small café. Her five siblings also worked there, and it was expected that Isabella would follow in their footsteps. She’d been working there since she was a little girl, first helping in the store front, before apprenticing as a baker throughout high school.

  There was nothing she enjoyed more than creating the perfect cake for someone’s special event. That’s why she surprised everyone by deciding to go to Hayvenwood rather than working full-time in the bakery. In four years, she’d be the first in her family to graduate from college.

  Although she loved her family and the bakery, that life wasn’t the right one for her. She wanted more for herself. She wanted to explore the world and experience life, something her family, and especially Tony, never understood.

  “Good morning, everyone.”

  Her body broke out in goose bumps and her heart thumped erratically.

  It wasn’t possible. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. Jordan had somehow triggered her memory of Tristan, so now, she was imagining him here.

  Yet as the man passed her on his way down the aisle, she caught his scent, a scent she’d fantasized about for days. Her gaze latched onto the back of him, raking over his lean form. Her chest tightened as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room.

  Just a few days ago, that form had been between her thighs.

  When he reached the podium at the front of the room, he turned to the class. “I’m Professor Kelley and I’ll be teaching business law this semester in Professor Crawford’s place.”

  Her fingers curled around the arm of the chair, gripping as if it could save her from the horror of the situation. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Memories of that night swirled through her mind, lighting her on fire.

  She had fucked her professor.

  Hell, the bruises from that night still marred her skin.

  She thought she’d never see him again, but now he was here, standing in front of her wearing a white button-down shirt with his sleeves rolled up, showing off those muscular forearms of his, and all she could think about was how he’d used those muscles to flog her to climax.

  “What happened to Professor Crawford?” asked a girl from the back of the room.

  He focused his attention to the section behind Isabella. “Unfortunately, Professor Crawford had a stroke a couple of weeks ago. Dean Lancaster has asked me to take over his classes for the semester.”

  He rotated his head slightly, his gaze first bouncing over her before returning with a double take. His eyes widened and their gazes locked, each of them apparently unable to look away.

  Her body froze while her brain ran through hundreds of scenarios, ranging from her losing her work study and being forced to drop out of school, to him passionately ripping her clothes off, hoisting her onto the podium, and making lunch out of her pussy. It felt as though minutes passed before he shook his head, breaking the spell they were both under, and began his lecture.

  The next two hours of class flew by in a blur. She couldn’t recall one thing she’d written down, and now, her stomach was in nervous knots as she tried to decide how best to approach him. He knew her as Angel, a woman with more self-assurance in her pinky than Isabella had in her whole body.

  What would he do when he realized Angel was nothing more than a mirage?

  ***

  Tristan shuffled his papers, refusing to let himself look at her. His Angel was here. She sat in the front row, acting like every other student in the room, taking notes and listening to him drone on about the basics of business.

  But she wasn’t like every other student.

  He’d never been more thankful to dismiss a class in his life. Only she could make his dick hard by absentmindedly nibbling on the end of her pen.

  He spent the entire two hour lecture glued to his spot behind the podium, hiding his damned hard-on, and now all he could think about was clearing the room and ordering her to her knees so he could fuck that mouth of hers.

  A cough came from the other side of the podium. He raised his head and there she was, standing in front of him with one hand on her hip and her backpack slung over her shoulder, staring at him intently.

  His hands clenched into fists, the urge to punish her for sneaking out without a word that morning battling with his common sense. She wasn’t his sub to punish.

  When the last student cleared the room, he moved out from behind the podium. “You left without saying goodbye.”

  Her cheeks flushed, proving she wasn’t as brave as she portrayed. “I didn’t think it was required for a one-night stand.”

  Typically it wasn’t, but what they’d shared wasn’t typical. “Perhaps not, but still. Why’d you do it?”

  She shrugged. “You were sleeping. I wanted to avoid the whole awkward ‘thanks for the fuck’ speech.”

  An unexpected surge of anger rose in him at the thought of her with other men. He stepped closer, inhaling the scent of vanilla. “Do that a lot, do you?”

  She swallowed hard and looked away. “That’s really none of your business, Professor Kelley. After all, you’re my teacher. I think the subject of my sex life has been officially taken off the table when it comes to appropriate topics between professor and student.”

  He may only be an adjunct professor, but he was bound by the same rules of ethics as a full-time professor. Even if they hadn’t already agreed to a one-night stand, nothing more could happen between them.

  He resisted the urge to touch her and ran his fingers through his hair. “This is fucking uncomfortable as hell. At least tell me you’re a senior and taking this class as a filler.”

  She bit her lip. “I’m a freshman.”

  He knew she was young, but a freshman? “Please tell me you’re over eighteen.”

  She waved her hand. “Don’t worry. The age of consent in Michigan is sixteen.”

  “Fuck me.” All the blood leached from his face. He was going to be sick.

  She laughed and wrapped her hand around his bicep. “I’m screwing with you. I’m nineteen. How old are you?”

  The heat of her hand soaked through his shirt. “Twenty-eight,” he said, his voice coming out raspier than he would’ve preferred. He reluctantly removed her hand. “Old enough to know this is a complicated situation.”

  �
�What’s complicated about it?” She glanced over her shoulder then looked him straight in the eye. “We fucked. It was good, but it’s over, and at the time you weren’t my teacher. No one needs to know about it and it won’t happen again.”

  He stalked closer to her, loving how her pupils dilated in response. “Good? It was better than good and you know it.” She might pretend otherwise, but she was just as affected. “But you’re right. It won’t happen again. We’ll just stay away from each other—”

  “It’s not that simple.” She shook her head, her red locks falling onto her face. “I’m your—I mean—I was supposed to be Professor Crawford’s office assistant this semester.”

  She was Isabella, the assistant he’d been told to expect? Somehow, the name suited her just as beautifully as Angel. “Clearly, that won’t work, Isabella.” It was one thing to see her all semester in a room filled with other students, but working one-on-one would be like walking through the desert without shoes. Pure torture.

  She flinched as she realized he knew her real name, her lower lip quivering as if she was holding back tears. The sadist in him fantasized about making her cry for a completely different reason, one that if discovered by the administration, would get him thrown off the campus and likely ruin his professional reputation.

  “It has to,” she said. “It’s my work study. Without it, I won’t be able to afford school.”

  There was no way he’d be responsible for her losing her college education. “I’ll find another professor for you to work under.”

  “It’s not that easy.” The strap of her backpack tugged her shirt down her shoulder, revealing a small bruise in the shape of his fingerprint on her upper arm. “Besides, what will you say is the reason? ‘Sorry, I can’t have her as my assistant since I flogged her to orgasm and fucked her to three more?’”

  His dick twitched as he recalled each and every time her body trembled when she came for him. “Four. Don’t forget when I . . .” He stopped, witnessing the blush staining her cheeks. “But you’re right. I’ll just tell them I don’t need an assistant.”

  “But you do,” she said. “In fact, you probably need one more than any other teacher here since you have no idea what you’re doing.”

  She was right. Lancaster had promised him an assistant, assuring him he wouldn’t have to worry about administrative tasks. That was one of the many enticements he’d dangled in front of him to accept this job. “Do you always say what’s on your mind?”

  “No.” She smiled. “You seem to bring that out in me. I’m the quiet one in my family.”

  “You certainly weren’t quiet with me last week.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “Really? We’re going to go there again?”

  He grew somber. Whatever lingering fantasies he may have harbored about her quickly faded away. “No. From this moment on, we’re nothing but teacher and student-slash-assistant.” He went behind the podium to his lap top and clicked open his calendar. “Did you and Professor Crawford agree to your hours and duties?”

  “Monday through Friday from one until four. In addition to general office responsibilities, I was supposed to help him with his research for a journal article.”

  “I’ll find something for you to work on. Let me get you my contact information in case anything comes up.” He handed her his business card then typed her hours into his schedule and shut his computer. She stayed, her eyes tracking his every move, and he knew right then it was going to be as difficult for her to put that night behind them as it would be for him.

  It was up to him as the authority figure to maintain a professional distance.

  But before he started . . . “That guy who sat next to you today, do you know him?”

  “Just from class.”

  He picked up his briefcase and moved toward her. “Don’t trust him. I don’t like the way he looks at you.”

  She frowned. “How does he look at me?”

  “Like he wants to fuck you.” He held up his hand, stopping her from speaking. “Yeah, I know. My warning goes beyond what’s proper for me to say to a student, but I’d like to think I’d say the same to any of my students.”

  “But you didn’t,” she said softly. “You said it to me.”

  “That’s because in a classroom filled with one-hundred and fifty bodies, yours was the only one I saw.” He took a step closer, then after taking one last look at her, strode up the aisle, leaving her and the tempting scent of vanilla behind.

  ***

  Isabella strode across the campus, Tristan’s—Professor Kelley’s—final words still ringing in her ears. She wasn’t stupid. Jordan clearly wanted to get into her pants, and she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. In fact, she no longer trusted any man.

  Except Professor Kelley.

  Odd that she would trust a sadist. But she did. Even with his laid back attitude, Professor Kelley exuded control. At least he had that night.

  Today, he seemed to lose a bit of his composure and she couldn’t help but wonder if it was because of her. He’d almost seemed jealous of Jordan. It didn’t make sense. They’d had their one night. He’d gotten what he wanted from her. So why would he care if another guy made a move on her?

  As she reached her dorm, a light rain began to fall and the sun disappeared behind dark clouds, dropping the temperature. She was used to the Michigan weather changing like a teenage girl’s mood, but here in the Upper Peninsula, the winter lasted longer than the rest of the state. At least they should get a few days of fall before they needed their winter gear.

  She hustled inside, just barely missing the heavier rain, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Once she got to her room, she unlocked the door and was greeted by the sight of her roommate, Cat, sitting on the couch, watching Supernatural on television.

  “How did classes go?” Cat asked.

  “Fine.” She dropped her bag on the floor and settled on the chair beside the couch. How would Cat respond if she told her she’d slept with her professor? Her roommate seemed sweet, but they weren’t at the point yet where they confided in each other. “Good, you know, for school.”

  “You have Intro to Business, right? What did you think of Professor Kelley? I’ve got him for Business Law.” She held out a bag of chips. “He’s hot as hell and young, too.”

  Isabella took a few chips. “He’s twenty-eight,” she blurted out. Cat whipped her head toward her and stared, waiting for her to explain. “I mean, that’s what he said when we spoke after class.”

  Cat kicked her heels up onto the coffee table. “Getting into trouble with the teacher on the first day of school?”

  “No, I’m doing my work study under him.” And nothing else under him. She ate her chips, the subject of work study reminding her she needed to make some money. “I’m going to a frat party Friday night. Want to come with me?”

  Cat laughed. “Frat boys and me? Uh, no. Not my thing. I wouldn’t have thought it was yours either.”

  “It isn’t. I’m going to sell cake pops for a buck a piece. If I sell ten dozen, it will pay for supplies, and I’ll walk away with an easy hundred dollars.”

  “Huh.” Cat waved her arm. “That wouldn’t be a bad idea except for the fact we don’t have an oven.”

  “Don’t need one. Cake pop makers are electric. Thanks to working at my family’s bakery since I was twelve, I can make them in my sleep.” She’d brought baking supplies with her from home as well as some miniature liquor bottles her brother had bought for her.

  Her gaze fell to a red envelope lying on the table in the pile of mail, knocking the breath from her lungs. Hands shaking, she reached for it, silently praying it wasn’t for her, but knowing deep in her gut that it was. “I’ll be right back,” she said to Cat, hurrying to the bathroom with the letter.

  She closed the door and rested her back against it before trailing her fingers over the block print writing on the envelope and blinking back the tears. His handwriting hadn’t changed in all the years she�
�d known him. She ripped open the envelope and pulled out the note, her stomach cramping as she read it.

  Dearest Izzy,

  Don’t worry. Now that I’m home, we’ll be together soon. You’re mine forever.

  Tony had gotten out of the mental hospital.

  And he knew where she lived.

  Chapter 4

  Reviewing his lesson plans, Tristan realized he truly hadn’t anticipated just how much he would enjoy teaching. Growing up, he hadn’t been a good student, more often than not cutting classes to hook up with some girl. His parents and teachers had begged him to take school seriously, but he was one of those kids who would rather experience life than read about it, even if it got him into trouble.

  Although he’d eventually grown out of that stage in high school, graduating with a solid B average before going to Hayvenwood, at his core, he hadn’t changed. If he had, he wouldn’t have gotten into this mess.

  Isabella Lawson sat at her small desk in the corner of his office, pretending to read her text book. It hadn’t escaped his attention that she hadn’t turned the page in the thirty minutes since she’d gotten there.

  Three days of spending part of the afternoon stuck in the tiny excuse of an office together. Three days of her sweet scent and little sighs tempting him until he had to excuse himself to go to the men’s room to jack off so he didn’t stupidly wreck both their lives by bending her over his desk and fucking her into tomorrow.

  She slammed her book shut. “Are you ever going to give me work to do or should I just plan on doing homework every day?”

  Unfortunately, there wasn’t much for her to do since he’d also been assigned a teaching assistant named Angela, who helped grade papers and ran her own office hours to help students with their assignments. Isabella was primarily responsible for administrative tasks like answering his phone, scheduling appointments, and collating copies of handouts. She’d mentioned she was supposed to help Professor Crawford with his journal article, but as an adjunct professor, Tristan didn’t need to publish. Still, it didn’t make sense not to use her when she was so readily available. “You really want to help?”