Page 7 of Dock

“Nickname.”

“From your um…” her finger gestures to the strip bearing my name, “people?”

“Club.”

“Is that uh…” concern creeps back into her complexion, tightening something inside my chest, “what you prefer…um…me…to call you?” She needlessly pushes up her glasses. “Need me to call you?”

“You can call me Hogan or H, teach,” effortlessly escapes.

“You can call me Emaline.”

“I will.”

Among other things.

“What um…” another bashful bite is delivered to the same spot, tempting my teeth to close the gap and show hers how it’s really done. “What can I help you with?”

“The mister in the making question first.”

Girlish giggles are accompanied by an amused headshake. “And next?”

“Giving me a little one on one.”

Once more, I watch air abruptly vacate her lungs, leaving her to breathlessly ask, “You…uh…” A harsh swallow is executed in an obvious attempt to collect her lost composure. “You really think you need that?”

“I want it.” My tongue delivers a single swipe to my lips as my eyes drink in her delicate frame. “And what I want…is always more important than anything else…”

Chapter 2

Emaline

Okay.

Being eye banged by a super-hot younger man – who probably like just graduated high school – is not on my bucket list.

Or really any list.

Well, maybe…the list.

As in the list of things I secretly want but should never ever have.

Like an all-expenses resort vacation to Maui where I can do body shots off hula dancers.

Male hula dancers.

They’re called kāne and are very crucial to preservation of that tradition – or so I’ve read, both in my fictious romance novels and non-fiction heritage works that aid in me providing a more diverse experience for my classroom.

And you know what else I want but should never have?

One of those coconut bra bikini tops.

They’d either fall right off – I lack a bit in the boobs department – or scrape me up causing me to bleed, and bleeding or anything that makes me bleed or potentially could make me bleed, is a big, fat, please, fuck off.

And that’s probably what these thoughts of being banged by this leaning tower of tattooed muscle should do.

Or fuck on.

No.