Hearts On Campus: An Instalove Possessive Age Gap Romance, Flora Ferrari [best authors to read .txt] 📗

“I’ve dropped off papers at Professor Bernstein’s,” I confess, “plenty of times, and yet we’ve never met,” I tell him, blushing as I remember that we have met once before.

He doesn’t mention it, but maybe he does remember.

Maybe it’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 there’s no denying it. A teensy touch from his fingers makes me a throbbing wet mess.

I’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.

“Mr. Heart? What were you trying to do when things stopped working?” I ask. “With the computer, I mean,” I add nervously.

He makes a face. “Katelyn, can you call me Wesley? I mean… I’m not your teacher, you don’t have to call me ‘Mister’ anything,” he says firmly, almost annoyed.

“Just call me Wes,” he says again, giving me a crooked smile.

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

But it’s the way Wes says it that registers with me.

It makes me feel good though, that he’d even feel so strongly to have me call him that.

“Alright, Wes,” I start again. “Can you remember what happened, what you were trying to do when...?”

“I dunno, I’m sure you’ll figure it out when we get there,” he says suddenly. Almost sounding annoyed again.

Like his computer problem is suddenly something between us he’d rather not have.

“Tell me about yourself though,” he adds. “I don’t know anything about computers but I know less about you. Give me the whole Katelyn Webster story,” he asks enthusiastically, making me blush again.

“There’s really nothing to tell,” I gush, feeling like a celebrity.

Nobody’s noticed my existence for four years and then here’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

She’s shy. I can see that.

But I can also see past that.

She wants me to tell her what’s wrong with my computer. If I knew what was wrong with it I wouldn’t have a computer problem.

But I don’t care about it now, suddenly I don’t care about budget proposals, the college. Anything.

I suddenly don’t even care about my own career anymore.

I only care about her.

About us.

Seeing her, meeting her for real. It’s like I’ve spent the past twenty years waiting for this moment.

I’ve spent two decades doing nothing but waiting for her to come into my life.

I have a million questions and they’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.

I’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 isn’t used to talking about herself like that.

I don’t mind, don’t blame her. I’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.

I’ve never looked twice at a student, but she’s not a student anymore, not to me.

She’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 she’s got her feet firmly planted on the ground too. No time for anything remotely romantic.

“Wes?” she asks, making me realize I’ve totally zoned out thinking about ten steps ahead of myself.

Thinking about her.

“Huh?” I ask, pretending to think about anything but her and those thighs of hers wrapped around my face.

“Did 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,” she observes.

“I haven’t heard anything,” I murmur, but then again I haven’t really tried contacting them either.

“I assumed everyone was away for the weekend,” 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.

I’m starting to notice she’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 I’ve taken off my track jacket to cover myself.

I’ve never been so hard in my life and if I don’t get this seed of mine inside her soon, I don’t know what I’ll do.

She’s been chirping about her research, a computer science grant that’s tied in with her college scholarship.

I can tell she’s noticed me eyeing her the whole way, but by now I really don’t care anymore.

She deserves to see what she’s doing to me.

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