Page 39 of Even Werewolves Learn

“Louis,” I hear her moan from the other side of the door, and I can’t stop what happens in my body as I hear my name drowned in her pleasure.

My knot inflates completely, and I come all over my hand.

Fucking smooth, I say in my own mind.

I don’t care.

I care even less when my name keeps ringing on her lips, and the scent of her arousal gets stronger and stronger.

It ends in a crescendo of sounds that could be my name, but I’m not sure anymore because Constance loses all coherence as she comes.

I look down at the mess I just made of myself—my dark jeans are stained with what can’t be mistaken for anything other than my own come. It has yet to dry, but it’s still obvious what happened right here.

I’m still not moving, though. I stay with my forehead propped against the door and a hand holding me for balance, while I tuck myself back in my pants the best I can with the other. I don’t bother zipping myself up, though.

I can’t.

My knot is still swollen, and I can feel it pulse against the fabric of my jeans.

It’s as covered in come as my pants, and I should definitely clean myself.

In a minute.

I need to take a minute to get my thoughts back in order.

She moaned my name.

It feels more like a “yes” than a “maybe.”

I could barge in now and demand she comes again for me—on my face this time would be preferable.

It would probably make me look like a creep, though.

I don’t know how she would react to knowing I’ve been listening to her touching herself all along.

I know I’m a bastard, though. If I had been a gentleman, I would have acknowledged the fact that this was a private and vulnerable moment and that I shouldn’t have been listening.

I’m obviously not a gentleman.

But I’m not a creep either, and I respect the answer she gave me what feels like an eternity ago.

And that’s the only reason why I don’t knock the door open and sit her on my face.

I offered her the option, and now I have to be patient and wait for her to decide.

That won’t stop me from sending more flowers again.

I hear her move inside the room and it dawns on me that maybe I should get going. The school sounds empty, and I’ve decided against going back inside her classroom, but that doesn’t mean she won’t come out.

I look down at my lap again. My knot hasn’t deflated yet, which means I can’t zip my pants up, but I still need to make sure I can leave.

I also can’t let her see me like this.

I listen to her take a step, dig into what I think is her bag. There are a few seconds of silence, and then the cushion of her seat sags under her weight.

She’s not coming my way.

I still need to go.