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LATELY, ANSEL HAS been textingand I’ on maybe the past four days when our schedules land like this, but somehow I know to expect it around seven, when he takes his evening break

I’m ready, in the bedroom, when et what I want tonight Eat dinner I will keep you up

With shaking hands, I press his nas oncetwice

"llo?" he answers, and then corrects to English "Mia? Is everything all right?"

"Professor Guillauh, hesitant voice "Is it an okay time to call? I know it isn’t your office hour"

Silence greetsbeats, he clears his throat, quietly "Actually, Mia," he says, voice different now--not him, but someone stern and irritated at the interruption, "I was in theWhat is it?"

My hand slides down s "I had so me, but I can call back if there is a better time"

I need to hear his voice, to get lost in it to find the bravery to do this when he’s not expecting it When heacross the table froine the way he leans in, pressing the phone flush to his ear and listening carefully for every sound on the other end of the line "No, I’ers pressing tooverevery expression as it passes overwhen I hear him exhale forcefully I search my memory for soo "When you were talking about judicial politics?"

"Yes?" he whispers, and now I know he oading, deep enough that if he were here I can just iine the way the sunshine would melt fro

"I don’t think I’d ever been more wrapped up in a lecture before" I holdmy other hand up and over my breast My brstsAnsel loves the able to move around them easily But under his touch, I realize just how sensitive they are, how responsive "I’ve never enjoyed a class as" I say, pausing for effect but also because I can hear hi and I want to dive into the slow, deep cadence I feel so what it would be like if you would ht, pounding heartbeats before he answers "You know I can’t do that, Miss Holland"

"Can’t because of the rules? Or because you don’t want to?" My fingers are rown slick with the sound of his voice, the sound of his breath through the line I can i hiasp

"Because of the rules" His voice drops to barely a whisper "Also, I can’t want to You’reto, I moan quietly, because he does want it He wantsat work and miles away

Hoould it feel to really be his student, or to be one of the girls on thehim? What if he really were my teacher, and every day I had to sit, and listen to his quiet, deep voice, unable to move forward, catch his eye, run my hands up his chest and into his thick hair?

"Mia, you’re not doing anythinginappropriate right now, are you?" he asks, stern voice back in place It’s the first ti like this, but already I know hi His voice is never stern with me, even when he’s upset He’s always even, always steady

My back arches off the hs, low in inethis here in your bed?"

"You’re inyourself?"

The thrill of the gah I re, conflicted, wanting to take me before he left for work I remember how his ht, how he pulls ht And then, when I barely whisper, "Oh, oh, God," I hear his ruroan on the other end and co it’s his, knowing how much better it will feel when it really is his, later

And he can is are shaking and I’h the wave of heat, of slick pleasure sliding across s I’, and it’s all he can do--he can’t touch or see or feel--prolongsto my hip and then down to the mattress beside me