by Shelly Bell
Seven
Head pounding from the lack of sleep, Isabella rubbed her temples, and her gym shoes smacked the path’s pavement as she rushed to the business school. A class at eight in the morning hadn’t seemed too early when she’d signed up for it several months ago, but she hadn’t expected to have people partying on her floor until three in the morning.
At midnight, Chloe had ushered everyone out of their room so that they could get some sleep, but the noise had carried from down the hall, keeping Isabella awake until three, when she’d finally succumbed to exhaustion. She hoped the noise wouldn’t become the norm for her floor. Between classes, homework, and work-study, she needed her sleep. At least she’d gotten the opportunity to meet some of the other students in her dorm and, even better, staying occupied had kept her from obsessing about Tony’s letter. Hopefully, she’d hear back from Erin sometime this morning. For now, she had to put it out of her mind because in ten minutes, she’d attend her first class at Edison University.
Anticipation buzzed through her as she reached the Lancaster Business School, where she would be spending most of her time this year. The brick building with ivy climbing its walls was one of the oldest on campus, at over one hundred years old.
Edison didn’t hire its business professors based on their academic papers or publications; every professor in the school claimed tremendous success in the business world. Some owned companies, while others worked within an established corporation, but all of them had invaluable knowledge, which they then brought to the students. The program’s uniqueness made the business school one of the best in the country. Alumni included the CEO of one of the Big Three auto companies and several congressmen. Students from all over the country battled for a spot in the prestigious school.
Although the university offered general business courses for students, only a select few were chosen each year into the bachelor of business administration program. Once she finished her freshman year, she’d be eligible to apply, competing against hundreds of applicants for fifty spots. That’s why it was important that she not only get straight As, but that she go above and beyond to prove herself worthy of one of those spots.
The school had a reputation for turning out the brightest and best.
And she planned on being one of them.
She stopped inside the entrance, savoring the moment. Students bustled in and out of the doors, their footsteps clomping on the hard gray-tiled floor. A staircase bisected the space in front of her, and to her left was an elevator for those who required it. The building boasted three floors, including two for classrooms and one for the administrators’ and professors’ offices.
After Intro to Business class, she would finally meet Professor Crawford, the teacher she would be assisting all semester. They’d spoken a few times over the phone, but he hadn’t returned any of her calls for nearly a month. She worried he’d changed his mind, but her financial statements listed her work-study as paying for a huge chunk of her tuition. Now, she just had to worry about earning some money to cover incidentals.
A heavy backpack bumped into her as a student raced past, the force knocking her into a wall of flyers. He threw a mumbled apology over his shoulder before hurrying to the stairs.
One flyer caught her eye. Getting an idea, she yanked it off the wall and stuck it in her purse. A frat party would be a perfect opportunity for her to introduce her bakery side business to the students. She needed to start making money, and her idea to make cake pops would be the easiest method.
Baking from the common kitchen in her dorm would be difficult, but thanks to modern technology, not impossible. What she needed was an angle, and she had just the right one for a bunch of college students. She’d go to the parties, wait until the munchies hit everyone, and then bam, she’d rake in a fortune.
There was nothing she enjoyed more than creating the perfect cake for someone’s special event. That’s why she’d surprised everyone by deciding to go to Edison rather than working full-time in the bakery. In four years, she’d be the first in her family to graduate from college.
Baking was in her blood. Her siblings all worked for the family bakery, 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 storefront before apprenticing as a baker throughout high school.
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.
Ready for her first college class, she headed down the hallway until she found the right room. She stood just inside the door, scanning the stadium-style classroom for a seat. Spotting a few, she took a breath and made her way to the front of the room, where she settled into a seat on the aisle. As she reached inside her backpack for her notebook and pen, a familiar voice came from the back of the room.
“Good morning, everyone.”
Bent over, she froze. Her body broke out in goose bumps and her heart thumped erratically.
It wasn’t possible. Her mind must be playing tricks on her. There was no way that the man who had dominated her last week could be there right now, twelve hours north of the city where they’d met. She racked her brain, trying to remember if he’d mentioned anything about his personal life, but she came up completely empty. There had been plenty of innuendo and dirty talk during that night, but he’d never revealed anything about himself other than his first name.
How could he be a professor at his age? Weren’t they supposed to be…old?
But as the man behind the voice passed her on his way to the front of the room, she caught his scent, a scent she’d fantasized about for days, and sat up tall. Her gaze latched onto the back of him, raking over his lean form, and 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 Intro to Business this semester in Professor Crawford’s place.”
Her fingers curled around the arm of the chair, gripping it 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. Him caging her against the wall as they negotiated underneath the stars. Him biting her breasts and sucking her nipples until she writhed in ecstasy. Him intertwining their hands and looking into her eyes as he slowly brought her to an explosive climax. Him waking her up twice more that night, one time with his mouth between her legs.
Oh my God.
It was him.
Tristan.
She had fucked her professor.
Properly.
Hell, the bruises from that night still marred her skin. Whenever she changed her clothes, she’d made a point of checking to see if they were still there. They were reminders of how easily he’d commanded her body and the ways he’d brought her pleasure through pain.
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 hold himself over her as he thrust inside her.
“What happened to Professor Crawford?” a girl asked from the back.
Right. Professor Crawford. The man she was supposed to assist all year for her work-study. The one who held the future of her college education in his hands.
Tristan—no—Professor Kelley directed his attention to the girl sitting only a few rows behind Isabella, causing her heart to go from a gallop to a full-on sprint. Would he recognize her when he saw her? Or was she already forgotten as just one more interchangeable girl in a long line of submissives he’d fucked? She didn’t know which was
worse.
“Unfortunately, Professor Crawford had a stroke a couple of weeks ago,” he said, only a handful of feet away from her. Why did she have to sit in the front row? “Dean Lancaster has asked me to take over his classes for the year.”
For a second, she lost the ability to breathe. Professor Crawford didn’t hold the future of her college education in his hands…
Professor Kelley did.
She was at his mercy.
Not only would she have to sit in his class three times a week, she would be working for him every afternoon.
Her fight and flight responses warred with one another. Attending Edison and graduating from the Lancaster Business School was her dream. If she quit work-study, she’d lose her financing for school. Even if there was a chance she could find a different position, assisting a professor in the business school would bolster her résumé when she applied to the business administration program. She needed this job.
But could she handle working side by side with a man she knew intimately?
“We’ll roughly follow the same syllabus as the one Professor Crawford posted online, with a few notable exceptions.” As Professor Kelley—God, would she ever get used to thinking of him that way?—provided an overview of the class, he rotated his head slightly, his gaze bouncing over her. Before she could decide whether she felt relief or disappointment, his gaze snapped back. He stopped speaking as his eyes widened.
Guess he recognized me.
Just like when they’d made love, they locked gazes.
Her body froze while her brain ran through hundreds of scenarios, beginning with the one where he passionately ripped off her clothes, hoisted her onto the podium, and made lunch out of her pussy. Inconveniently timed moisture pooled in her panties. He took a couple of steps toward her before he stopped. He ground his jaw and turned away from her, breaking the spell.
Realizing she had been holding her breath, she exhaled and pressed a hand over her wildly beating heart.
How the hell was she supposed to concentrate when her body was primed and ready to be ravaged by him, and her mind was being bombarded by images of the ravishment? She needed to calm down and get her head out of the gutter, or she’d never be able to make it through class.
Casually standing behind the podium, not a sign of tension in his muscles or on his face, Tristan began his lecture. Wasn’t he as rocked by this turn of events as she was? Had the other night meant nothing to him?
She had to get a grip. Wrapping her fingers around the pen, she flipped open her notebook and went to work, diligently taking notes just like she would if she hadn’t had the professor’s naked body thrusting into hers only a few days ago.
Somehow, the next two hours of class flew by in a blur, although she couldn’t recall one thing she’d written down. As the other students left the room, she gathered her things, and her stomach clenched in apprehension. She had to talk to him. Figure out how they’d proceed. Rather than merge into the stream of people headed toward the exit, she swallowed down the thick knot of fear lodged in her throat and forced herself to approach him.
He knew her as Angel, a woman with more self-assurance in her pinkie 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 for her. His Angel was here. Acting like she didn’t know him, she’d sat in the front row and took copious notes as he droned on about the basics of business.
But she did know him. Was he supposed to believe it just a coincidence that the girl he couldn’t get off his mind had turned up in his class a twelve-hour drive from where they had met? Maybe before Morgan had screwed him both literally and figuratively, he might have believed it was fate.
Could Angel be spying on him for Morgan?
The papers crumpled in his hands. No, Morgan didn’t get to tarnish his memories of Angel. That night had been real. More fucking real than anything he’d ever experienced. She couldn’t have faked her body’s response to his touch. Besides, Dreama wouldn’t risk being ostracized from the BDSM community if she’d brought her cousin to a play party under dubious circumstances.
So, she was a student in his class. As long as he avoided looking at her, he’d be fine. Of course, that was easier said than done. No matter how hard he’d tried to keep from glancing her way, he couldn’t help himself. And he couldn’t handle spending another two-hour lecture glued to his spot behind the podium in order to hide his damned erection. He’d simply get her to drop the class.
A gentle 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. She stared at him intently.
His hands clenched into fists, and he battled his urge to grab her and kiss that mouth senseless.
When the last student cleared the room, he moved out from behind the podium. “You left without saying good-bye.”
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 and unreasonable surge of anger rose in him at the thought of her with other men. He’d thought she was so innocent. Had he been played again? “Do that a lot, do you?”
She swallowed hard and fidgeted with the strap of her backpack. “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.”
There was the girl he remembered. Sassy and strong willed with a hint of shyness.
As he’d done that night, he saw straight through her bravado. This was as difficult for her as it was for him.
He stepped around the podium, moving closer to her, and inhaled the scent of vanilla. God, she smells good. He wanted to bury his nose in the crook of her neck and take a bite of her. “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.”
“Don’t worry. The age of consent in Michigan is sixteen.”
“Fuck me.” 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?”
Thank God.
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 and 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. You can drop the class—”
“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.”
Bad enough to see her sitting in his classroom all semester, but working with her one-on-one and not being able to touch her would be like walking through the desert without shoes. Pure torture. Damn it. He may only be an adjunct professor, but he was bou
nd by the same rules of ethics as a full-time professor.
She was off-limits.
Her lower lip quivered as if she was holding back tears. “It has to,” she said. “It’s my work-study. Without it, I won’t be able to afford school.”
He wouldn’t be responsible for her losing her college education, but there had to be another option. “I’ll find another professor for you to work under.”
“It’s not that easy to find a placement, and even if you could, I need one in the business school to help me get into the business administration program.” 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. He inwardly preened to see his mark on her. “Besides, what will you say is the reason? ‘Sorry, I can’t have her as my assistant since I flogged her and then fucked her to three orgasms’?”
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 professor here since you have no idea what you’re doing.”
She was right. Isaac 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. “I’m the quiet one in my family.”
“You certainly weren’t quiet with me last week.”
Her eyebrows rose. “Really? We’re gonna 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 laptop and clicked open his calendar. “Did you and Professor Crawford agree to your hours and duties?”
