Crazy in Love - Lane Hart Page 0,25

half an hour,” Josie calls out to me. “An hour!” Lawson amends. When I hear the bedroom door close, I know I’ve been dismissed.

Well, that banana lesson was informative.

I go ahead and make my way to the sex shop, venturing inside to see what all I’ve been missing. Apparently, a lot.

Chapter Six

Gage

I don’t think I’ve ever been this tired in my life. Last night I couldn’t sleep. I felt so guilty about Reagan. And then every time I turned on my phone to delete the video of her, my hand made its way down to my cock, and then I was jerking off to it instead. Over and over, at least three times before I finally turned the phone off and tried fretfully to sleep.

This morning, I’ve already had two cups of coffee, but the caffeine doesn’t seem to be helping me get any more awake. I’m like a zombie carrying my shoulder briefcase to the classroom. Not even the thought of seeing Reagan gets me motivated this morning because I fucked up so much I’m worried she’s still angry at me, as she very well should be. I just don’t know if I can handle her beautiful brown eyes looking at me with contempt or disgust. But I have a job to do, so I head inside the classroom and put my things down on the table next to the lecture podium, my eyes flicking around the room quickly to see if she’s here yet.

No, and fuck. What if she doesn’t show? What if I ran her off for good yesterday? God, I feel like a fucking fool and wish I could take it back. Those wonderful seconds of release by my hand were not worth losing her or knowing I upset her so much she went and cried in her usually peaceful place in the courtyard. And then at three o’clock, right on the dot, she didn’t show. For the first time I can ever remember, she didn’t take a few hours out of her day to soak up the sun and nature or whatever the hell it is she does out there. I hate myself for knowing I’m probably the reason she didn’t show up.

After pulling out my notes on how to sabotage your personal brand on social media and draining more of my coffee from my travel mug, I take my place in front of the podium and look out into the class, ready to get started.

And nearly swallow my tongue.

Jesus Christ. Is that really Reagan? The girl I’ve only ever seen in long, flowing dresses is wearing a skirt? Not just any skirt but a sexy short one that’s…that’s red and black plaid with fucking pleats. Fuck it all, it’s like the schoolgirl outfit of my fantasy. Even her top is a white, see-through button down just like I’ve also pictured.

“Holy shit,” I mutter, and the stand in front of me nearly topples forward with my weight at the realization that, in usual Reagan style, she’s not wearing a fucking bra. Some of the girls in the class snicker at my obscenity outburst, but I’m too thrown off balance to care.

How the hell am I supposed to get through this lecture with her sitting there, like that? Yeah, there are thirty women and only three men in this class, like most of the female dominated university, and I’ve seen all manner of scant apparel, but none have ever been as fuckable as Reagan. My dick is so hard and swollen in my boxer briefs that there’s no way I’ll be able to step away from this podium to walk around the front of the classroom like usual. Nope, here with my groin hidden is where I will stay probably until the end of class.

Reaching up, I loosen my tie to get more air in my lungs. And, great, I’m also sweating like a damn pig, staining the pits of my blue dress shirt. Maybe I should just cancel class altogether, tell them I’m sick, and then take Reagan back to my office to fuck her.

No, no, no.

I can’t fuck her, but if I’m lucky she might give me another hand job or, oh God, get on her knees in that tiny skirt and give me a blowjob.

Yeah right, only in my dreams after what happened yesterday. It will be a damn miracle if she ever lets me lay a hand on her again. That’s probably what this outfit is about, throwing all that temptation in