Author's Note: I'm sorry it's been forever since I've posted anything. Life has been challenging me a lot lately... but all I want to do is write, so I'm back! I hope you enjoy this piece! And I want to improve my writing, so any and all suggestions are welcome.
-Lamb
Chapter 1
Does anyone really like speaking up in class? Well, there always seemed to be that one girl who knew the answer to everything the professor asked, but that girl wasn't me. Each time a question was posed to the more-or-less awake students, I furrowed my brow and stared thoughtfully at my book. It would be mean to call on me mid thought, right? This didn't always work, but at least it saved me this time.
"Randy, what do you think the apocalypse would look like to our author?" Professor asked.
I don't think Randy did the reading. He looked down at his book, looked up at Professor, and smiled sheepishly. A few giggles broke out, and someone else raised their hand to answer the question and rescue Randy.
Honestly, I felt bad. Professor Starling was passionate about his studies pertaining to imaginings of the apocalypse from ancient texts to modern novels. While I was supposed to be an English major, I couldn't contribute meaningfully to any conversation. At least, not in my current state, not after everything that happened recently... I brought my mind back from wandering to find class coming to an end.
"Don't forget about dinner tonight. My address is on the board. And don't worry, it'll be over early enough so you all can go and take part in your very fun—very legal—Friday night activities," our professor said as he leaned against the podium at the front of the classroom. A laugh brushed over the room, and everyone began reaching for their bags.
My fingers had barely touched the strap of my backpack when I heard my name.
"Eva, do you have a minute?"
I looked up and made eye contact with my professor who was watching me closely. Only after my classmates had wandered off into the hallway did he step forward, and I shifted in my seat, trying to decide if I should stand or remain sitting. In the end, my butt didn't leave the chair. He lean forward, gripping the sides of my desk with both hands.
"Are you doing all right?" he asked. "You seem quieter than usual. I don't want to overstep, but I am worried."
My heart fluttered as I stared up at him, and my fingers scratched at a groove in my desk. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. That's why I didn't go to office hours. I couldn't be around him without wondering what he'd look like without a shirt... or pants. It's not my fault he was perfect. My classmates and I figured he was about forty years old, but he still looked great. A bit of gray had infiltrated his dark hair, and he had faint smile lines near his eyes. Apparently, he kept in shape according to some guys who mentioned seeing him at the gym pretty often.
I eventually managed to force out a response. "Oh, no, I'm fine. Just a bit stressed, but it's nothing I can't handle."
I cursed the gentle smile that played on his face. His hand came to rest on mine, stopping my fidgeting.
"Well, I'm here if you need someone to talk to. You know where my office is," he said with a wink.
"Thank you, professor." My voice was hardly above a whisper. "I'll see you at dinner."
I might have hesitated in the doorway on my way out...
The rest of the day passed by at a torturous crawl. With no more classes to distract me, I lounged in my dorm room and thought endlessly about our interaction. His hand on mine, his soft gray eyes... Hotter images flitted through my mind. What would have happened if I went to his office in my vulnerable state? Would I have told him everything? Probably. Would I have let him lock the door? Yeah. Would I have let him take me on top of his desk? Definitely.
The heat in my face travelled down through my chest and abdomen before settling between my legs. Every part of me knew it was wrong to think of my professor like this, but that didn't stop my hand from dropping lower and lower. If I closed my eyes I could pretend it was his hand. It was his hand that slid up my thigh and glided over my swollen clit. They were his fingers that slipped inside me. Instead of my moans I could hear his voice encouraging me, bringing me closer to the edge. My release came quickly, but it wasn't enough. My desire stuck with me. I needed him.
Dinner started at six, so I hopped in the shower just before five. It wasn't the biggest shower, but it definitely beat using the communal ones back at the dorms. I moved into my own apartment as soon as I was able to after my sophomore year. Living with a bunch of other budding adults who hadn't quite learned the basics of hygiene or personal space only added to the stress of adjusting to college. Having my own place was much more my speed. It was nice to just exist in a calm, quiet space.
Living alone also gave me the ability to walk around in little more than mismatched lingerie while I airdried my curls. Standing in front of my full-length mirror, I inspected my body. I found myself wondering if professor would like my small waist that flared into wide hips, dragging my hands over each part as I went. What if he preferred a straighter frame? Or what if he liked tall women? I cursed myself for even caring. It didn't matter. Nothing would ever happen between us.
Eventually, I pulled on the same white sweater I had worn all day but swapped my jeans for my favorite pink skirt. I had overheard a lot of my classmates planning to give each other rides to the dinner, but I wasn't really part of the friend group. I had friends in other classes, just not this one. Thus, Uber would have to get me where I was going. With thirty minutes until dinner started, I called for my ride. I threw my hair up into a lazy—but cute—ponytail and stuck a pink bow on it. Maybe I wanted a bit of attention...
Professor's house was bigger than I thought it'd be. My ride pulled up to the cozy Tudor as I checked the address twice. There were a few other cars out front that I assumed belonged to my classmates. A timid voice in the back of my mind wanted to go back home, but this dinner was considered a class meeting and I probably couldn't afford to lose out on the participation points. Sucking in a breath, I hopped out of the car.
"Thanks for the ride," I said to the driver who waved as he pulled away.
Walking up the path to the door, I couldn't help but notice the flowers lining the way. It was cute, really, and it wasn't all that surprising that professor was into gardening. He always struck me as the sensitive type. A plump tuxedo cat lounged in a flowerpot beside the door, crushing whatever was planted in there.
"Hello, not-so-little kitty," I said, reaching down to pat its head, "do you live with Professor Starling?"
The door swung open before I could knock, and I found myself face-to-face with the man himself.
"I see you've met Poutine," was the first thing he said, and I completely forgot about the cat. I almost forgot where I was.
"Uh, hi, Professor," I managed to squeak out.
The corner of his mouth turned up, and his eyes wandered over me. "Hi, Eva, I'm glad you're here. Come in." He stepped to the side, and my shoulder brushed against his as I passed into the entryway. Even the simplest contact made my heart skip. I could smell his cologne, and I almost pounced on him right then. But the sound of voices coming from a room further into the house brought me back to my senses.
We joined the others in the dining room, and I realized I was the last one to arrive. This meant the only open chair left was next to Professor's, as the others had filled in next to and across from their friends. Thankfully, I wasn't actually late, so the food was still hot on the table. I took my seat next to Professor and looked down the table to where a heated debate about our recent readings was taking place, and I pretended to be interested in the discussion. All I could think about, though, was the man directly beside me.
Eventually, after the dispute was more or less settled, dinner began, and Red Jen dominated the conversation like she did in the classroom. We called her Red Jen because there were three girls named Jennifer in our class, but she was the only redhead. She was energetic and made everyone laugh—even Professor. And she was pretty.
As I watched Professor chuckle at one of her jokes, I wondered what he thought of her. I found an angry heat bubbling in my chest. I caught myself and took a deep breath. There was no point in getting jealous. I was creating scenarios to get mad over, and it's not like he belonged to me anyway.
Just like with class, by the time dinner was coming to an end, I had only offered maybe one or two points to the discussion. Despite how idiotic I thought my ideas were, Professor just smiled and nodded along with what I said as if he agreed. He built upon my thoughts and asked the others for their opinions. It was encouraging. He cared about what I said. Not even my ex-boyfriend did that.
We offered to wash our own dishes and, despite our professor's protesting, made sure everything we touched was spotless. Once everything was picked up, my classmates quickly filtered out into the night, excited for a night of loud music and cheap drinks. I lied that my Uber was on the way when Red Jen asked if I needed a ride back to my apartment. In reality, I hadn't quite confirmed my request. You could say I was stalling... or that I didn't have any plans to go home at all.
As the last car pulled away, I became painfully aware of Professor standing in the doorway only a few feet behind me. I rocked back on my heels and glanced over my shoulder.
"Have a seat inside while you wait for your ride. No point waiting out in the cold," he said, tilting his head toward the living room. A cool breeze lifted my skirt as if on cue, and I shuffled back into the warmth of the house.
"Thanks," I mumbled. "I'm sure they'll be here soon."
"Well, maybe you don't have to go so soon." He flashed me a knowing smile, and my heart skipped so many beats I thought it had stopped altogether.
We found our way to the living room, and I sat on the leather couch, leaning into the armrest as far as I could. Professor excused himself to the kitchen and returned a moment later with two glasses of wine. I almost refused the one offered to me, but my nerves begged me to take it. I needed something to calm me.
Professor sat on the opposite side of the couch and took a sip from his glass. I took one from mine. A few sips later, I found my body turning towards him a bit more. My knee had stopped bouncing by the time he spoke up.
"How's your semester going?" he asked.
A simple question. I could answer a simple question.
"Oh, you know. It's school," I said with a small shrug. "It's a little scary being a senior, though."
