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remember seeing the campus so deserted.

ā€œIā€™ve dropped off papers at Professor Bernsteinā€™s,ā€ I confess, ā€œplenty of times, and yet weā€™ve never met,ā€ I tell him, blushing as I remember that we have met once before.

He doesnā€™t mention it, but maybe he does remember.

Maybe itā€™s filed away for future reference, I hope.

I feel like reaching out to him again like it would be the most natural thing in the world if he hooked his arm in mine or if we even held hands.

Walking down some brick stairs, our hands accidentally brush and I feel a jolt, making me gasp.

We keep walking, but thereā€™s no denying it. A teensy touch from his fingers makes me a throbbing wet mess.

Iā€™d die happy if I could know what it felt like to have those huge thick fingers working the same magic someplace else.

To calm my nerves, I try and pick his brain about what could be the problem with his computer.

ā€œMr. Heart? What were you trying to do when things stopped working?ā€ I ask. ā€œWith the computer, I mean,ā€ I add nervously.

He makes a face. ā€œKatelyn, can you call me Wesley? I meanā€¦ Iā€™m not your teacher, you donā€™t have to call me ā€˜Misterā€™ anything,ā€ he says firmly, almost annoyed.

ā€œJust call me Wes,ā€ he says again, giving me a crooked smile.

Iā€™ve had a few tutors and teachers who prefer to be called by their first name, so no big deal.

But itā€™s the way Wes says it that registers with me.

It makes me feel good though, that heā€™d even feel so strongly to have me call him that.

ā€œAlright, Wes,ā€ I start again. ā€œCan you remember what happened, what you were trying to do when...?ā€

ā€œI dunno, Iā€™m sure youā€™ll figure it out when we get there,ā€ he says suddenly. Almost sounding annoyed again.

Like his computer problem is suddenly something between us heā€™d rather not have.

ā€œTell me about yourself though,ā€ he adds. ā€œI donā€™t know anything about computers but I know less about you. Give me the whole Katelyn Webster story,ā€ he asks enthusiastically, making me blush again.

ā€œThereā€™s really nothing to tell,ā€ I gush, feeling like a celebrity.

Nobodyā€™s noticed my existence for four years and then hereā€™s the hottest man alive, let alone on campus wanting to know all about me.

Little old me.

Boring, plain Jane, Katelyn Webster.

CHAPTER FOUR

Wesley

Sheā€™s shy. I can see that.

But I can also see past that.

She wants me to tell her whatā€™s wrong with my computer. If I knew what was wrong with it I wouldnā€™t have a computer problem.

But I donā€™t care about it now, suddenly I donā€™t care about budget proposals, the college. Anything.

I suddenly donā€™t even care about my own career anymore.

I only care about her.

About us.

Seeing her, meeting her for real. Itā€™s like Iā€™ve spent the past twenty years waiting for this moment.

Iā€™ve spent two decades doing nothing but waiting for her to come into my life.

I have a million questions and theyā€™re all about her. I want her to tell me everything, but here we are, stuck talking about some stupid computer in an even stupider college.

Iā€™ve deliberately slowed my gait, wanting this experience to last as long as it can.

I could walk, talk and listen to her for hours, days even.

She seems to be just as interested but isnā€™t used to talking about herself like that.

I donā€™t mind, donā€™t blame her. Iā€™m not one to talk about myself either.

Reminding myself not to be too over the top, too eager, I give her all the space she needs to feel comfortable with our conversation.

I make sure not to get too close physically either, which is difficult for me.

Every instinct in me wants to hold her, touch her, protect her.

Iā€™ve never looked twice at a student, but sheā€™s not a student anymore, not to me.

Sheā€™s way more than that.

How can I tell her that though? How could I possibly suggest how attracted I am to her after only meeting her just now. Those sorts of things only happen in love stories, never in real life.

And any other employee at the school would tell me that it never, ever happens with students either.

Being a computer science major, I bet sheā€™s got her feet firmly planted on the ground too. No time for anything remotely romantic.

ā€œWes?ā€ she asks, making me realize Iā€™ve totally zoned out thinking about ten steps ahead of myself.

Thinking about her.

ā€œHuh?ā€ I ask, pretending to think about anything but her and those thighs of hers wrapped around my face.

ā€œDid you check with the campus admin? They might be updating something with the extended weekend. That might be causing an issue with the teacher portal,ā€ she observes.

ā€œI havenā€™t heard anything,ā€ I murmur, but then again I havenā€™t really tried contacting them either.

ā€œI assumed everyone was away for the weekend,ā€ I add, trying to sound cheerful but wondering just how much small talk I can make before it becomes obvious the effect she has on me.

I can already feel my aching dick springing back to life once I hang back a step, watching her go up a flight of stairs ahead of me.

That perfect, apple bottom ass and natural childbearing hips have my hands opening and closing as I stifle a low moan from behind her.

Iā€™m starting to notice sheā€™s the one doing all the talking. Speaking faster and more frequently as we get closer to my place.

She knows the way, and I can only grunt answers by the time we reach my door. My dick is drenched in precome and Iā€™ve taken off my track jacket to cover myself.

Iā€™ve never been so hard in my life and if I donā€™t get this seed of mine inside her soon, I donā€™t know what Iā€™ll do.

Sheā€™s been chirping about her research, a computer science grant thatā€™s tied in with her college scholarship.

I can tell sheā€™s noticed me eyeing her the whole way, but by now I really donā€™t care anymore.

She deserves to see what sheā€™s doing to me.

I let us in and she politely declines water or coffee, heading straight for

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