Page 26 of Lessons in Touch

“I’m here because I deserve it,” I say, but my words feel hollow. I can feel the disdain they have for me.

But Cassandra refuses to give up.

“Keep dreaming, charity case. You’ll never be one of us.”

I lower my racket as my heart keeps pounding. The court feels too small, and their eyes are mean. I turn and walk away, trying to run from the truth of their words.

On my way back to my own room, I take out my phone and scroll through. I find my mother’s number and call her, but she doesn't answer. I’ve forgotten about the time difference. She’s across the ocean.

And I am here. Alone, with no one to turn to.

Almost no one.

***

Back in my room, I find a note slipped under the door. Gabriel’s elegant handwriting is unmistakable to me:

Come to my office. We need to talk about that skirt.

My heart starts beating madly with a mix of anticipation and nerves. I am aware that this is not a good idea. But after the exchange on the tennis court, I need someone to be on my side. I need to know that someone likes me.

The walk to Gabriel’s office feels endless to me because I can’t wait to see him. Especially after that tennis match. Finally, I knock on his door, and he calls, “Come in.”

And there he is. Handsome and warm as always. He feels mature and protective, and my heart feels at rest when I’m near him.

“Close the door and lock it,” he commands.

I obey, even though my heart is pounding. Gabriel steps closer to me and brushes the hem of my tennis skirt with his fingers.

“That skirt,” he says, “is dangerous.”

“Did you invite me here to talk about fashion, Professor? I didn’t know it was one of your interests,” I tease. But my words are breathless, and they are betraying my desire for him.

He laughs.

“Not quite. But with you, I could talk about anything, Rose. You have that kind of mind.”

Not wasting another moment, he lifts my skirt, and peels down my pantyhose and underwear, leaving me bare. My pussy clenches, already wet, swelling with need.

“Sit on my desk,” he commands.

I perch on the edge, trembling with anticipation. I am completely exposed, and can feel the cold surface of his desk rubbing against my pussy.

He retrieves a heavy book from his shelf and shows it to me, holding it up.

“I have a copy of The History of the Devereaux Family for you, Rose.”

“Thank you, Professor. I’ll read it and write an essay for you to grade,” I reply as I gently rub my pussy against the surface of his desk. I want to leave a mark there for him.

The academic talk while engaging in such naughty, kinky matters does something to me. It makes me feel like I’m doing something terrible and forbidden, but immensely pleasurable at the same time.

“You’re such a good student, Rose. But I don’t want you to read it.”

He places the book between my legs.

“Pleasure yourself,” he says, his eyes locked on mine. “On this.”

I stop for a moment, the command both shocking and thrilling.