“Au contraire.” He grins, baring sharp teeth. “Because of you, I couldn’t stop thinking about who else got to marvel at your nipples protruding from that transparent blouse.”
My heart skips, and I squeeze my thighs together.
“Because of you, every time I think of a banana, I’m picturing the tip of your tongue running back and forth on my slit.”
“Oh.” I clap a hand over my mouth.
“Come here,” he growls.
I step back toward the door.
His eyes narrow. “Don’t make me come after you.”
The butterflies in my stomach riot. I can’t work out if they’re telling me to run toward him or run away, but my fight or flight thinks I’m in the midst of a predator and turns me toward the exit.
Seconds later, a strong arm wraps around my waist, and a hand claps over my mouth to muffle a scream.
“So you like to be chased?” he growls in my ear.
My body screams yes, but I shake my head.
“If I pushed aside your knickers, I wager I’d find you soaking wet.”
Heat sears across my cheeks, and a whimper resounds in the back of my throat. “That’s not fair,” I try to say through the hand clamped over my mouth. “I’m always aroused around you.”
He carries me over to the other side of his desk and pulls me onto his lap. The hand on my mouth slides down my jaw and rests over my throat.
The professor’s grip is firm, but not tight, and he lingers there for several heartbeats. His hot breaths fan across one side of my face, making me squirm.
“Uncomfortable?” he asks in a voice filled with warmth.
“This is an odd way of apologizing,” I say with a huff.
“Strange,” he drawls. “I was about to say the same to you. No matter.” He pushes me off his lap, so I’m standing at his side, facing away from him.
The absence of his touch feels like being plunged in cold water. I swallow back my disappointment and turn to meet his eyes.
“What’s wrong?”
“Bend over my lap,” he says.
When I step back, there’s already an arm around my hamstrings, holding me in place.
“Why?” I ask.
“You left on Saturday before I could give you a second treatment of arnica gel,” he replies. “I want to see your bruises.”
Now, it’s my turn to narrow my eyes. “Make me—”
Before I even get to complete that sentence, the arm around my thighs slides up to the small of my back, and he positions me over his knees.
“Lift up your skirt.”
My hand twitches toward my hem. “Are you sure this isn’t a spanking?”
“Have I ever lied to you, Miss Stahl?” he asks in a tone that implies that I have.
“Concealed the truth, maybe,” I say and reach down to yank my skirt around my waist.