All Chapters of My Teacher Is Mine: Chapter 71 - Chapter 80

His mouth was on my throat before the words fully left me, teeth scraping the tendon that jumped under his tongue. The room was still dark, but sleep was a distant memory. Derek’s cock pressed hot and half-hard against my hip, already thickening again, and the ache between my legs pulsed in answer, slick and swollen and starving.“Round two,” he echoed, voice gravel and smoke. “But slower this time. I want to taste every second.”He rolled me onto my back, the sheets cool against my overheated skin. His hands were everywhere, mapping me like he’d forgotten the terrain: palms sliding over my ribs, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts, fingers pinching my nipples until they throbbed. I arched, a whimper slipping free, and he swallowed it with a kiss that was all tongue and teeth and filthy promise.He broke away only to trail his mouth lower, open-mouthed kisses down the center of my chest, pausing to swirl his tongue around one nipple, then the other, until I was writhing. When

I lay in Derek's arms, my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat slowly return to normal. His fingers traced lazy patterns on my bare shoulder, and for the first time in weeks, I felt like I could actually breathe."I can feel your ribs," Derek said quietly, his hand moving to my side. "Lydia, you're so thin.""I know.""This can't keep happening. You're destroying yourself.""I'm trying—""Try harder." His voice was firm but gentle. "I need you to eat. Real food, not just granola bars. I need you to sleep. I need you to take care of yourself because I can't—" His voice cracked slightly. "I can't lose you. Not like this."I lifted my head to look at him. "I'll try. I promise.""Your mom's doctor appointment. When is it?""Tuesday.""Good. Let them check you out. If you need medication for anxiety or sleep, take it. Whatever you need to function." He cupped my face. "Please.""Okay."We lay there in silence for a while, neither of us wanting to address the inevitable.Finally, D

Emily's POVI stood in front of my closet, rejecting outfit after outfit.Too slutty. Too innocent. Too try-hard. Too casual.Finally, I settled on something in between: a soft sweater that hung slightly off one shoulder, jeans that fit well but weren't provocative, minimal makeup that made me look vulnerable instead of polished.Not Emily Spencer, queen bee.Emily Spencer, broken girl who needed saving.The girl he'd saved two years ago.I pulled my hair into a messy bun—intentionally messy, the kind that took twenty minutes to look like I hadn't tried—and studied my reflection.Perfect.I grabbed my keys and left before my parents woke up.---School didn't start until 8:30, but I was in the parking lot by 7:45.Derek's car pulled in at 8:00, exactly when it always did. Creature of habit.I watched him get out, briefcase in one hand, coffee cup in the other. He looked tired. Good. Tired meant vulnerable.I waited until he was halfway to the building before I got out of my car."Mr.

I stood outside Derek's classroom door, checking my reflection in my phone screen one last time.Hair: loose, slightly messy, like I'd been running my hands through it.Makeup: minimal, with just enough redness around my eyes to suggest I'd been crying.Clothes: the same sweater from Tuesday, the one that slipped off my shoulder. He'd remember it.I looked fragile. Breakable. Nothing like the Emily Spencer who ruled the school.Everything like the girl behind the bleachers two years ago.I took a breath and knocked."Come in."Derek sat at his desk, grading papers. The classroom was empty, afternoon sunlight streaming through the windows."Emily." He set down his pen. "Close the door and have a seat."I closed the door but didn't sit. Instead, I stood there, wrapping my arms around myself."Thanks for making time for me," I said quietly. "I know you're busy.""It's fine. That's what office hours are for." He gestured to the chair across from his desk. "Please, sit. You look like you'r

Derek's POVI sat at my desk grading essays, though my mind was barely on the work. Every time I tried to focus on metaphor analysis or thesis statements, my thoughts drifted back to Monday.Lydia in my bed. Lydia's skin under my hands. Lydia saying "I love you" like it was the only truth that mattered.And then the guilt. Always the guilt.She had to keep dating Mason. I'd told her that. Told her it was necessary for the cover, for safety, even though the thought of him touching her made me want to put my fist through a wall.A knock on the door pulled me from my thoughts."Come in."Emily Spencer entered, and something in my gut immediately tensed.She looked different. Smaller somehow. Vulnerable. The sweater she wore slipped off one shoulder, and her eyes were red-rimmed like she'd been crying.Nothing like the confident girl who usually commanded every room she walked into."Emily." I set down my pen. "Close the door and have a seat."She closed the door but stood there, arms wra