s i n f u l  n a t u r e
CONRAD'S POV:

When I walk into the lecture hall, I swear my my breathing catches in my throat. Someone tell me why Covey is wearing a fucking sundress? She sits down in her seat and her eyes immediately flicker to mine, lip between her teeth, and then she looks down at the tie I'm wearing—the cherry red one from yesterday—and she visibly gulps.

I think I do too.

Dammit, this is gonna be a lot harder than I thought.

I wait a minute and take a look at the class of students who would rather be anywhere but here right now. Half of them are probably still fighting a hangover and one of them is trying not to spread her legs for me. Shit, I need to stop. 

But the way she moans my name—shut up. It's class right now.

Clearing my throat, I fix my tie and say, "Why are you all here? I mean, why are you alive? Why are you in college? Why are you in this class?" I pause, letting my words sink in deeper. "Were you forced, are you taking the class for credits, or are you actually interested in writing?"

Looking around the room, I catch sight of Covey. Don't lose focus, man. She'll still be here in five minutes.

"So why are you all here?" I repeat, a clip in my voice. "I read everyone's summaries over the weekend and was slightly disappointed at the words I wasted my time reading. This is a writing course, if you perhaps forgot, which means you will be writing. And I do not want to read a bunch of half-assed assignments. But that, that is what I spent my weekend doing."

I grab the stack of papers that were turned into me last Friday and shuffle through them. "'The Great Gatsby is a historical fiction novel that takes place in the 1920s.' What kind of hook is that? If you guys are writing—anything—do you think your readers are gonna continue reading if that's what every single other piece of literature says?"

Margot Lee raises her hand as per usual.

I sigh to myself and nod. "Go ahead, Miss Lee."

"Do you know how many cliché books are bestsellers?" she asks, her face full of attitude. "You're supposed to write and give the people what they want. We wrote and gave you what you wanted; a two-page essay of The Great Gatsby."

"If you gave him what he wanted, he wouldn't be criticizing your paper in front of the whole class," Covey blurts out, defending me. Of course she'd say something to that.

"This is true," I say with a nod, trying not to look at Covey. Maybe if I don't look at her I can keep it in my pants. "Miss Jensen is correct."

"You always take her side," Margot says, raising an eyebrow at me.

I clear my throat. "Excuse me, Miss Lee, but are we in high school anymore?" She shakes her head. "No, I thought so. You act like you would rather be anywhere but here, but Miss Jensen turns in quality work. Great first impressions, ladies."

Covey raises her hand this time—like a good girl—and I nod my head. "Professor Monroe."

"Yes?" I say, clenching my jaw before I look at her.

"Why are you a Creative Writing teacher?" she asks, tilting her head to the side. "You expect us to have fun and express ourselves, but all you ever do is glare and look like a twig about to snap in half." Did she just call me a twig?

My gaze burns into her eyes like fire as I ask, "Why do you write, Miss Jensen?"

"Because nobody else understands me," she replies immediately. "Only the pen and paper." Covey purses her lips together, looking around the room. "So why do you teach?"

"Because I can," I deadpan, giving her a look that says, 'Not now.'

She nods in understanding and slouches down in her chair, arms over her chest.

And stop distracting me, kid. 

******

After class I patiently wait for everyone to leave the lecture hall before I walk across to my office. When I passed back everybody's paper, I put a Post-It note on Covey's to meet me in my office, so I'm expecting she'll come. 

Hell yeah she'll come. 

Not right now, idiot.

A knock sounds at my door and her pretty voice says, "Professor Monroe, you asked to speak with me?" She opens the door and peaks her head in, a smile on her face. With her nose wrinkling as the smile she's wearing increases, Covey steps into my office and I stand up from my chair, signaling her to lock the door.

"Yes," I say, watching her—watching her every move. "I wanted to see you."

She rocks back and forth on her heels and looks down at her feet. "Conrad," her voice goes quieter, "I want to kiss you right now." So kiss me?

I smirk, walking closer to her though it only take two steps. "What if I told you I didn't?"

"Then that would be a lie," she says, staring up at me with those doey, hazel eyes of hers. 

"It would be a lie," I say, tucking a piece of her hair behind her ear, "until it isn't."

She runs her tongue across her bottom lip before looking down at my own lips. "Lying is a sin."

"I sin by nature," I advise, my arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her closer. She lifts her arms around my neck and runs her fingers through my hair. "But the truth I'll tell you will take your breath away."

And then my lips are on hers and it feels like the last hour of standing in front of a class whom could care less about me is finally worth it.

She moans into my mouth as my hands feel every curve of her perfect body, resting on her ass. I grip it tighter and she gasps, letting my tongue find its way into a rhythm with hers. I feel lost and then found and conclude that I'm so fucking needy. I want her. Like right now. And it's so damn hard to control myself.

"Why'd you wear a dress?" I mutter against her mouth, reluctantly pulling away to give her a serious expression. "You're too pretty to go walking around like that when there are college guys wanting their cock inside you."

"Conrad," she says, hitting me in the chest. "Don't say that!"

"Say what?" I reply. "The truth? Because I want to fuck your brains out too, but that's the thing—you're my sin, not theirs."

"Still," she mumbles.

"Well I want you, Covey."

"Like for... sex?" she asks, looking down at her feet. "Or for me?"

"For a lot of things, kid." I hold her against my chest, my chin resting atop of her head. "I don't know why, but I do. I want this, and I want you."

"So why do you teach?" she asks, her eyes shooting up to mine and full of more questions than one. "I want to know."

"I teach because some people like you don't know how to do certain things," I reply, my voice going low. 

She tugs at the tie I'm wearing and then wraps it around one of her wrists. "Like this?"

"Yeah," I say, trying to swallow air. God, why is she so hot?  "Yeah, like that. That kinda stuff."

Covey backs away from me, her lip between her teeth in thought and then she drops it, a smile on her face. "Yeah, that kind of stuff." Her irises sparkle with the golden kind of desire. "And I think you like me enough to teach me, right?"

My mouth goes agape, not sure what she's saying. "Covey—"

"I mean it," she says, reaching out to pull at the red tie again. "I like what happened this weekend." Okay good; because shit, I did too. "But I'm so young and you're much older than me. Am I even what you're looking for?"

"I wasn't looking before," I say, a glare coating over my eyes. "But fuck, Cove, I look for you even when you're not around."

"Well, someone likes to kiss me a lot," she mumbles to herself. "So of course you do."

"And I want to fuck you so bad, so bad." I run a hand through my hair, gripping where the hair is on my scalp. Then I sigh, dropping my head to meet her gaze. "And when I do, it'll be fucking amazing."

She steps forward and hugs me, for some weird ass reason, and just hugs me. That's it, nothing more and nothing less, just her arms around my torso. But hell, the feeling I get when she touches me is so addicting that I find myself wrapping my arms around her too. What is she doing to me?

"When you fuck me," she whispers in an innocent and seductive tone, "I bet I won't be able to walk."

I tighten my grip around her and let out a growl. "Don't say those words." Because goddamn, please don't say those words.

"And I bet you'd keep me up all night," she adds, her fingers digging into my back. "And I bet I'd let you." 

I groan, shutting my eyes at the thought.

Then she whispers, "And I bet you'd love it."

So let me fucking take you.

******
AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Covey's getting confident, eh? Maybe she's realizing she's Conrad's only soft spot. Hehe, let's just wait.

Love you all! Sorry I didn't update yesterday <3
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