Page 8 of Bewitched By the Mountain Man
Ironic, given mine.
I drop my briefcase on the desk, boot up the projector, and start scanning faces. Most blur together—eager, bored, half-asleep. Until…
Fuck.
Third row center. Notebook open. Pen poised.
Her.
Just her face—heart-shaped and devastating. Hair loose around her shoulders. Eyes wide. Lips I kissed raw now parted as she rifles through her backpack.
She’s dressed simply in a sweater and jeans, but it’s her. Unmistakably her.
She’s my student.
I grip the lectern, knuckles going white. My voice stays steady by force alone.
“Good morning. I’m Professor Cain, filling in for Professor Harlan.”
A pause. Her eyes meet mine.
I never took the mask off that night. Not once. But the way her expression shifts, sharpening from confusion to shock… I know she knows.
My cock stirs traitorously beneath the podium.
This job just became a slow, exquisite form of torture.
Because now I have to stand here, week after week, staring into the face I swore I’d never see again.
The face I worshipped in the dark.
The face I can never, ever have again.
3
TESSA
My pen slips from my fingers and clatters onto the desk. Madison glances over, but I can't even acknowledge her. My entire body has gone rigid.
It's him. It's definitely him.
He never took off his mask. I never saw his face. But I'd know that voice anywhere—the deep rumble that ordered me to spread my legs wider, that called me beautiful while he made me come apart. I'd know those hands, currently gripping a marker as he writes on the board, the same hands that gripped my thighs, my waist, myeverything.
My stomach drops. This can't be happening. What are the actual odds? Halloween was last night. And last night, I did the most reckless thing I've ever done in my life. And now he's here, teaching my graduate seminar.
The universe has a sick sense of humor.
Heat crawls up my neck. Part of me wants to grab my bag and run off. But my legs don’t move. I'm paralyzed, watching as he turns to face the class.
"As I was saying," he continues, his voice perfectly steady. "I'm filling in for Professor Harlan indefinitely. The remainderof this course examines how individuals justify deviant behavior to themselves and others. We'll explore the masks we wear, both literal and metaphorical, and how anonymity impacts moral decision-making."
The sound of his voice sinks into me. I know exactly how that voice sounds when it's growling commands against my ear.
I want to die. Actually die. Right here in this uncomfortable desk chair.
Did he seriously just say that? Masks? Anonymity? Is this some kind of twisted joke?
Madison shifts beside me, whispering, "This professor is hot. Like, inappropriately hot. Did you see…"
