Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13606 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 68(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Grace.
Beautiful, sexy, smart, and sassy—all the things I never thought I wanted.
When she steps into the classroom on the first day of class, I feel the floor give way from underneath me.
This can’t be real. She can’t be real.
But she is, and when I realize that the sudden, intense feeling I have isn’t one way, I throw caution to the wind, putting everything on the line—my job, her scholarship, our reputations.
The thing is, it’s hard to give a fuck about myself anymore. As long as she’s mine and she has everything she wants and needs, I’m good.
What can I say? I’d give my own life to make her happy.
Without her, nothing means anything to me.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
GABRIEL
The classroom is buzzing before I walk inside. The first day of classes is always exciting, and I’m eager to begin my lesson plan. Surveying the room as I make my way to the desk at the front of the class, I see several familiar faces and wave hello to all of them. I’m well aware that a lot of the female students on campus have crushes on me, and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered, but I try to ignore it whenever I can.
My classes focus mostly on short fiction writing and crafting engaging fantasy worlds, which has helped with the enrolment in the school entirely. Before I decided to teach, I’d published several of my own novels, and they gained some notoriety over the years. Every year, one or two of my students will ask me about them because they look up to me in some ways. There are also the fans who take the class just to be near me.
“I hope you all had good summer breaks,” I say as I reach the front of the class and put my briefcase down on the desk. “I also hope you’ve finished the summer reading list I assigned.”
I stare out at the class to see more blank stares and students desperately averting my gaze than I would like, and I know right away they assumed the list was a suggestion.
“Raise your hand if you’ve read Nightfall by Isaac Asimov,” I say, leaning against the back of the desk as three of thirty students raise their hands. “Today’s lesson is gonna be pretty short then. But first, we need to go over the syllabus.”
I grab a stack of papers from my bag and hand them to one of the students in the front row, asking them to pass it down. When I see it moving, I grab the attendance sheet and begin calling out names to see who decided to show up. Only one name is left unannounced. Grace Simmons. I mark her as absent and begin reading through the syllabus with the students who showed up, making my expectations for the class very clear.
About ten minutes later, as I’m covering the different types of fiction we’ll be studying, the door to the classroom bursts open, and someone walks in carrying a large stack of textbooks in her hands, struggling with them. The entire class turns around to see what’s happening, and her pale skin turns red as she awkwardly smiles at them.
The last seat available is one right across from me, so I watch her walk from the back of the classroom, her chest heaving from carrying the heavy books. My heart skips a beat as I watch her. She’s perhaps the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen. She has rosy skin dotted with freckles, hazelnut eyes that shimmer in the light from the windows, and her sandy blonde hair falls in waves down her back.
Every other student in the classroom fades away while she carefully sets her books down on the ground, slowly bending over to show off her curves. The back of her shirt rises, showing off her soft skin, and I find myself wishing it were completely gone. She takes her seat, smiles at me, and bites her lip softly as she looks around the room.
“Grace Simmons, I presume?” I ask her, walking around to take a seat behind the desk, afraid the students might see exactly how aroused I am by her.
“I’m so sorry for being late,” she says, her voice soft and gentle like a birdsong carried in the wind. “The line at the bookstore was longer than I thought, and I lost track of time.”
“That’s fine, Miss Simmons,” I reply, forcing myself to look away from her. After finishing the syllabus, the students pulled out their phones and computers to read Nightfall as I requested they do before classes began.
Instead of looking at her phone, Grace pulls out an old, well-loved collection of Aasimov’s short stories and reads them. While the students are distracted, I find myself losing focus and staring at Grace entirely. Her long legs are visible to me under the desk, and I’d love nothing more than to go to them and wrap them around me. She twirls a long strand of hair in her fingers while she reads, softly biting into her plump, pink lips.
All I can think about is how badly I want to bend her over the desk and shove myself deep inside of her, filling her with my seed and claiming her as my own. I open my computer and search the student database for more information about her. Grace is a junior; she’ll be twenty-one in a month, and she’s been published a few times in the school’s literary magazine. I make a mental note to find an old copy and read her work when I can.