Teaching Him Read online

  Teaching Him

  Dillon Hunter

  Copyright © 2019 by Dillon Hunter

  All rights reserved. No part of this story may be used, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission of the copyright holder, except in the case of brief quotations embodied within critical reviews and articles.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  The author has asserted his rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book.

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is suitable only for mature readers.

  Contents

  1. Nick

  2. Colton

  3. Nick

  4. Colton

  5. Nick

  6. Colton

  7. Nick

  8. Colton

  9. Nick

  10. Colton

  11. Nick

  12. Colton

  13. Nick

  14. Colton

  15. Nick

  Epilogue

  Thank You!

  Follow Me!

  Want More?

  Chapter One

  Nick

  He’s looking at me again.

  Even though I’m writing on the chalkboard with my back turned to the rest of the class, I can feel it.

  I have to remind myself that I’m in public—in class, for God’s sake—and that I can’t think about him right now. I have to concentrate on teaching, on being respectable.

  But none of the thoughts going through my head right now are clean or wholesome.

  He doesn’t know it, but I have a thing for dark hair and green eyes.

  Always have.

  It’s my weakness, my kryptonite.

  And the handful of men in my life over the years who fit the bill have always been trouble. I’ve been left with a broken heart—or a life lesson, at the very least—every single time.

  He’s too innocent to be much trouble, though. And even though I know he’s at least twenty, maybe twenty-one, I can tell he’s still too young to know much about manipulating men to get what he wants.

  Thank God, because Colton Hart could have anything he asked of me.

  It doesn’t matter that I’m old enough to know better. It doesn’t matter that I’m his professor, that he’s my student.

  That dark hair and those bright green eyes. That pale skin and those lips that are the perfect, lightest shade of pink…

  Yeah, there’s a lot I could teach him—none of it appropriate for class.

  Fortunately—for my job as well as my sanity—Colton is too shy to ask for the things he could easily have. He’s smart enough that he breezes through every test I give, and easily answers any question I throw his way, even though I know for sure I’ve caught him daydreaming more than once during my economics lectures.

  The only time he seems focused at all is when he’s looking at me.

  Just like he’s doing now.

  I stop writing on the board and turn around. I can’t take the feeling of his eyes on me anymore. I have to say something, to do something, even if it is just to distract my own mind.

  “Colton,” I say, loving the way he instantly bolts upright in his chair as his eyes meet mine. Had he been looking at my ass? From halfway across the room it’s impossible to tell. But the way his cheeks are already turning that delicious shade of pink, I’m going to assume that he was. And fuck if that doesn’t instantly get me hard.

  “Y-yes, Professor?” He looks trapped, like a deer in headlights.

  So nervous.

  So attentive.

  So fucking sexy.

  “What can you tell me about that?” I point to the board, to where I’d just been writing.

  “About…?” His voice trails off as his dark brows knit together. “I’m sorry, but I… I don’t know.”

  I blink as half a dozen heads turn to face him. My intention isn’t to embarrass the boy. I hadn’t even planned on calling him out in the middle of class—saying his name had been almost like a reflex for me, and then I had to follow through with something.

  But what’s worse is that he’s lying. He does know what we’ve been discussing in class. Hell, this kid could recite Keynesian theories in his sleep, and his test results prove it.

  He’s either too distracted or caught off guard to think straight right now, or…

  Well, I don’t know what else it could be, honestly.

  Maybe he doesn’t feel like participating. Maybe he’s having a bad day. Hell, maybe he’s just fucking with me.

  Who knows?

  “I think you had better stay after class for a few minutes,” I say, giving him a hard look that drains that rosy color right out of his cheeks. “Do you understand?”

  He nods. “Yes, s-sir.”

  The words would be barely audible across the large room any other day, but it’s so quiet right now that his voice is literally all I can hear.

  “Good,” I say, slowly exhaling a breath that I don’t even realize I’ve been holding in. “Now, maybe someone else can help you out.” I reluctantly take my eyes off him to scan the other faces in the class. “Anyone?”

  The rest of them are looking at me like they’re not quite sure what they’ve just witnessed. Not that I can blame them. I’m not sure, either.

  Mostly, my brain is shouting at me to sit down behind my desk before anyone has a chance to notice my straining erection.

  I do that, keeping my body turned away from the students in the front rows as I quickly cover the short distance between the chalkboard and my desk.

  Someone in the back is giving me the answer I had been looking for, but I barely even notice. Hell, I barely even remember the question.

  All I can think about now is that in just a short while, I’ll be alone in this room with Colton.

  Fuck, the things I want to do to him.

  And I could do those things, assuming he was willing. I don’t have another class for almost an hour after this one. My office is just next door to this room and offers plenty of privacy for what I have in mind.

  Well, for some of the things I have in mind.

  I can’t help smiling to myself as I assign some reading to the class. Knowing that the only reason I’m keeping him after class is to fuel my own little fantasy feels wrong, but it’s just too tempting. And anyway, it’s too late to stop now.

  Besides, it’s not like I’m actually going to follow through with any of the thoughts in my head. Yes, he’s an adult. Yes, he might even be willing.

  But acting on these impulses with a student would be like playing with fire. It might be tempting. It might be exciting. But sooner or later, I’ll get burned.

  I’d be ruined.

  My career would be over.

  Hell, a scandal like that might even make the national news.

  And nobody would care that it would be perfectly legal. Two consenting adults behind closed doors.

  That wouldn’t matter at all in the court of public opinion.

  I’d be the guilty one, the one who should have known better—who should have done better. And that makes me the one with the most to lose.

  But looking at him again? With those bright green eyes tracking every move I make and that pretty little mouth parted just enough for me to feel each shallow breath he takes?

  Fuck if I’m not considering it anyway.

  Chapter Two

  Colton

  My stomach is a ball of nerves as the clock ticks down to the end of class.


  I don’t even know why Professor Bradshaw is making me stay—or what he was even asking me earlier. But he keeps looking at me like I’ve done something wrong.

  And even though it’s a look that’s intimidating as anything I’ve ever seen, I’m not scared.

  Well… not just scared.

  Or maybe just not as scared as I should be.

  Instead, I’m sort of excited.

  My face flushes with heat at the thought and I shift in my seat, hoping nobody notices my struggle to sit still through the remainder of class.

  But my eyes lock with Professor Bradshaw’s, and I can tell that he notices. It’s like his eyes are always on me. I can even feel it when he’s not around.

  Maybe that’s why I’m more excited than scared—or at least equal parts excited and scared. And nervous, I guess. And oh my God, it’s almost time.

  Class is over in five minutes. Five minutes until I’m alone here with him—with the man I can’t seem to stop thinking about.

  I never even knew it was possible to feel this way about a teacher, but I’d be lying if I said that Professor Nick Bradshaw didn’t feature in every single one of my fantasies lately.

  I’m already hard as a rock just from being in trouble in class, and I know that sounds almost as pathetic as it feels, but I don’t care.

  “Don’t forget about our test tomorrow,” the professor says, bringing me out of my thoughts and making eye contact with me again. Every time it happens, it feels like I’m the only one in the room.

  Except now it really is about to be just the two of us.

  Just him and me.

  In… two and a half minutes.

  My palms start to sweat as the rest of the class stands and gathers their books. I’m so nervous right now that I might seriously be in danger of hyperventilating.

  Or vomiting.

  Or passing right out because oh my God he’s walking toward me.

  Everyone else in the class is filing out the door, and I can feel a few of them staring back at me, but I’m only barely aware of them. I can’t read his expression but his eyes haven’t left mine.

  “Thank you for staying,” he says as if I had a choice.

  And even if he hadn’t told me to stay, there is no way I could move right now with his eyes on me like this. My cock is so hard it’s painful as I shift my weight and swallow hard.

  “N-no problem,” I say, trying to manage a smile. His expression doesn’t change, though. “I’m sorry about…” I begin to lose my train of thought as he leans back against the desk opposite mine. The bulge in the front of his pants is plainly visible even though I’m doing my very best not to look.

  Stay focused on his eyes. His face. On that stubble that would probably feel so good and rough against my skin…

  “About?” he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

  “What?” I blink and then oh God oh God I look down at his crotch. It’s only for a split-second. Not even a full second. But I’m almost certain I saw that bulge move in his pants, just like I’m almost certain he saw me looking. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “I’m… I, um…”

  Oh dear lord. What am I even saying?

  I can’t think straight. I can barely even breathe right now with him this close, staring at me with his crotch just a couple of feet away from my face.

  “Are you okay?” he asks, his hand reaching out to steady me as he takes hold of my shoulder. “I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate the work you do in my class, but I’m afraid you’ve been… distracted… lately.”

  I nearly laugh, because how can I not be distracted? My brain is nearly in full-on nuclear meltdown mode from his touch and his stare and his dick that’s so close to me I can’t stop thinking about it or looking at it and…

  I’m going to pass out.

  And he wants to talk to me about being distracted?

  “I’m sorry,” I say for what feels like the hundredth time. “I-I’ll do better. I promise I will.”

  My mouth is moving and I’m pretty sure words are coming out, but I have no idea what I’m saying. His hand is still on my shoulder, squeezing gently and sort of rubbing in a way that is making my whole body warm.

  “Yes, you will do better,” he says. His tone isn’t mean or condescending, just matter-of-fact. “I know you will, Colton, because I know what you’re capable of. You’re already such a good b—young man. Smart. Capable. I want to see you reach your full potential.”

  I nod, pretty sure I’ve completely stopped breathing now.

  He thinks I’m smart?

  He thinks I have potential?

  There are so many thoughts swimming in my head right now that I don’t know what to say or do. I’m afraid to open my mouth again, for fear of what might come out. I’m one hundred percent sure it would be inappropriate—that I would ask him to tell me what else he thinks, or beg him to keep touching me.

  And then, as if he can read my mind, his eyes break away and he looks over at his hand that’s still on my shoulder as if he’s noticing for the first time that he’s been slowly massaging the base of my neck for the past couple of minutes.

  “I…” he swallows hard as he pulls his hand away and shoves it into his pocket. “I think you should go now. Just remember what we talked about, okay? I want to see your… your potential.”

  He only hesitates long enough for my brain to fill in the blank with all sorts of dirty thoughts, all sorts of things I want to let him see that have nothing to do with my potential.

  But the conversation is over now. He’s already walking away, already moving on to something else and leaving me sitting here with my pounding heart and straining erection, completely bewildered.

  I collect my books as if I’m in a daze, as if my racing mind is completely disconnected from the rest of my body. What I want to do is to jump out of my seat and run after him, to make up another question just so he will talk to me for another minute or two.

  Of all the questions going through my head right now, though, none of them are okay for a student to ask of his teacher.

  I’m not even sure I’d have the guts to ask a boyfriend most of the dirty questions that are flooding my brain—and that would require actually going on a date, so… yeah, probably not happening in my life anytime soon.

  Professor Bradshaw is back at his desk, flipping through a stack of papers and definitely not looking in my direction. For all the eye-contact we had before, there’s just… nothing now.

  Probably because most of it only ever happened in my imagination.

  He looks up at me, pinning me in place again with his stare just as I’ve finally started to walk across the room. God, how does he do it? How does he always seem to read my thoughts—and always when I’m thinking the most inappropriate things?

  And why—oh why—does it always make me want more?

  “Was there something else?” he asks.

  Yes.

  Please.

  Everything. Anything.

  “No, sir,” I say, the words coming out automatically. At least from this distance I can actually answer without being tempted by his crotch. Or his touch. “Thank you, sir.”

  I’m not even sure why I’m thanking him. For making my cock so hard I can barely walk? For giving me heart palpitations every time he looks in my direction?

  Whatever.

  I can’t think too much about that—or anything else—right now. All I can do is hurry out the door before either of us can say anything else.

  Once I’m in the nearly empty hallway with the solid wooden door and at least twenty feet separating us, I pause.

  I remind myself to breathe.

  I reach down and readjust myself as subtly as I can manage.

  What had that been about? Did he really keep me after class just to tell me I had potential?

  If that’s the case, then why do I still feel like I might have done something wrong? Why do I feel like I might never be able to live up to whatever potential he sees in me?
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br />   And God, why do I still want him so badly?

  Chapter Three

  Nick

  Fuck.

  I can’t stop thinking about him.

  Even now that I’m home—hours after he walked out of my classroom—his face is all I can see whenever my mind starts to wander.

  Fuck.

  Keeping him after class was a mistake. I know that now. Hell, I knew it then.

  I don’t know why I did it or what I was thinking.

  Yes, you do.

  You want him.

  You wanted to be alone with him.

  You wanted to touch him.

  Except now it’s even worse. That touch, that squeeze of his shoulder and those little circular motions that I hadn’t even realized my fingers had been making at the base of his neck weren’t nearly enough.

  Instead of getting it out of my system, those little innocent touches only made me want more. It was why I’d had to walk away then, and it’s why I can’t stop thinking about him now.

  Well, one of the reasons.

  For me, it goes beyond touching or even fantasizing.

  He’s mine.

  Or he should be, anyway.

  It’s that simple. It’s also maddeningly complicated.

  I scrub a hand down my face, only belatedly realizing that I’ve been pacing back and forth across my kitchen for the past several minutes. I had come in here to make dinner, hoping the chore of cooking would at least keep me distracted for a little while.

  Nothing I’d done so far had worked, though. Nothing had replaced his angelic face in my mind—and I am pretty sure at this point that I don’t really want to replace him, not even for a minute.