I spent an extra half hour getting ready for my Tuesday class. Usually, I rolled out of bed around 10, made breakfast, hung around the apartment doing nothing and barely made it to class by 12:30. That's senioritis for you. I thought it was bad in high school but now, at 22 years old, with a job lined up, an apartment picked out, and graduation less than a week away, my motivation to attend my final classes was at an all-time low. I usually wore sweats and threw my hair up into a lazy bun, just trying to get through the few hours before I could head back home.
But not today.
Today, I brushed out my collarbone-length dirty blonde hair and curled it into loose waves so that it framed my face. My cheekbones popped and my jaw was strong. I swiped on a layer of liquid lipstick that dried down matte. Shade: Bombshell. Hot, strong red. It made my lips fuller and my smile brighter. I finished it off with sharp winged liner, a touch of highlighter, and mile-high lashes that spidered out from my hazel eyes.
Last night, I pulled out my black widow outfit from the closet and hung it up in the bathroom. It was a power move, I'll admit. Black leather skirt with a silver zipper all the way down the middle, paired with a ribbed white crop top that barely contained my breasts. I'm sure the other students in my class would barely be able to keep their eyes off me. No way Dr. Romano would be able to either, not after spending the three-month semester ogling me every time I bent over.
When I looked in the mirror, a girl who was a far cry from my usual sheepish wardrobe and makeup looked back. Defined curves replaced shapeless lumps. Sharp features took the place of soft ones. I was a real femme fatale for the first time in a long time. Graduation looming had spiked my confidence, and I was going to march into Gen Ed Chemistry with the energy of a young Lauren Bacall.
I took a deep breath and looked at her. At me. My voice came out strong, not shaking. "Audrey Simon, you've got this."
With that, I slipped on my high-top sneakers (no, I didn't have the willpower to suffer through heels, even in an attempt to seduce my professor) and drove to campus. Parked outside the science lab, I touched up my lipstick one last time and gave myself a big, sexy smile (at least, I hoped it was a sexy smile).
I was late by ten minutes, which was one of the seven deadly sins in Dr. Romano's lab, along with open-toed shoes, forgetting to put on safety goggles, and a few others.
He was already halfway through this his requisite end of the semester, pre-final-exam speech when I yanked the door open and stepped inside. A full classroom of heads whipped in my direction. Dr. Romano established weeks ago that anyone who missed the final would fail the class, so everyone showed up today.
Dr. Romano stopped mid-sentence.
He looked at me. I matched his gaze, unembarrassed. I'd been envisioning this for days, coming up with exactly the plan to get his attention. His dark eyes roved over my body - my long legs, my sloping hips, my exposed cleavage. He swallowed while everyone stared. It took him a second to regain his composure. "Ms. Simon, you know my late policy."
I tamped down the smile that flickered at the corner of my lips. "Yes, sir. Sorry."
"Late students are not eligible to take the final exam during class. I made that perfectly clear on the syllabus. You'll have to schedule a time to take it later in the week." He picked the stack of exams off his desk, walked across the front of the room, and handed all of them to a student in the first row. "Pass these out. Everyone, you have one hour on the clock. No cheating or talking; remember the security cameras are still rolling."
He stormed down the center aisle toward me. There was fire in his eyes. "My office. We'll discuss your makeup exam date."
Dr. Romano's office was only a few doors down. He walked ahead of me the whole way, not saying a thing. His shoulders were broad and I couldn't help imagining the way the muscles in his back tensed under his shirt as he moved. He was in his early forties, decidedly older than all of the sniffling, awkward grad students the college had handed most of the classes off to due to budget cuts.
I stepped into his office after him and leaned against the desk. Bookshelves lined the two side walls. Dr. Romano's degrees lined the wall behind his desk, which dominated the rest of the office. There were two leather chairs across from the desk, and his looming, utterly-stereotypical desk chair behind it.
Dr. Romano locked the door and turned to me.
For a second, I got to look at him, up close. I'd only ever been this close to him when he came by my desk to correct the way I was mixing chemicals or hand me a test I was sure to barley pass. He stepped even closer to me and I felt blush begin to rise in my chest. I suddenly felt more exposed than I'd wanted to, like I was naked instead of just scantily dressed.
His jutting, clenched jaw was scruffed with graying stubble, a sign of the end of the semester catching up with him. His dark hair was cropped short and turning gray in careful streaks. He owned it like George Clooney. His lips were full and pursed tight in irritation at me. Being the object of his anger made me squirm, but not in a bad way. The way his eyes bored into me made my blush deepen.
I was - as his gaze dropped from my eyes, to my lips, to my chest - painfully aware that we were alone. Very, very alone. Behind a locked door, away from the security cameras and the other college students. He could do whatever he wanted to me, really, and I wanted him to.
When it became clear he wasn't going to speak until I did, I tentatively offered, "So...when can I make up my exam?"
"Right, your exam." He took one final step toward me, closing the gap between us to the point where we would be touching if either of us moved. If I stood up straight from my position against the desk, I would butt right into him. Dr. Romano finished, "Saturday."
"Graduation is Saturday."
"You should've considered that before showing up late to my class." Almost absently, his hand found the circular zipper at the top of my skirt. He toyed with it while saying, "Perhaps you should've spent a bit less time on this...getup...and you would've made it on time."
His pinky brushed against the inch of my stomach bare above the skirt's waistband. I sucked in a sharp breath at the contact. I replied, "Maybe I got exactly what I wanted with my getup."
He half-smiled, his lip curling up on one side. His eyes were transfixed on his own fingers, still holding my zipper. The confident sex kitten who'd left my apartment was gone under the threat of his touch. I was the same blushing, awkward girl who struggled in chemistry that I'd been all semester. "I don't think you've gotten everything you wanted, Ms. Simon."
I mustered up the strength to speak. My voice trembled. "No, not everything."
He looked me dead in the eye. "You think I'm naive to this sort of thing, Audrey? You think I can't tell when a student has a cute crush on me?"
"No, I don't-"
"I wasn't finished." He released my zipper and reached up. I followed the path of his fingers with my eyes until the rested under my chin, tilting my face up. He wanted me to look at him while he spoke. I obliged, batting my eyelashes up at him. His voice was clear and firm. "It's not every semester when that schoolgirl crush shows up to her final dressed like she wants to be taken like a little whore."
He paused, caressing my cheek for a second. My heart pounded in my chest, my neck, my flaming cheeks. I wondered if he could hear it, somehow. If he could look through my clothes and see how hard my nipples were getting, how my wetness was slowly but surely making its way into my panties just from him speaking to me. He seemed amused enough for that to be the case.
Dr. Romano took his hands off of me and stepped back. He crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to hear you say it. Tell me exactly what you wanted when you showed up late today."
I bit my lip instinctively and hoped that my lipstick wouldn't stain my teeth.
His composure dropped for a split second and he ran a hand through his hair. "Christ, don't bite your lip like that unless you want me to-"
"I want you to." His facade of cool confident wavering gave me the confidence I needed. I stepped toward him. Our eyes met and I stood right in front of him. I gave him my best femme fatale smile and parrotted his words. "I want you to take me like a little whore, Dr. Romano."
"Call me Eric." He reached up and loosened his tie, then unbuttoned his sleeves, rolled them to his elbows. "And say that again."
I breathed in, knowing I was about to get what I had come here for. "Eric, I want you to take me like a little whore."
"On the desk."
I went to position myself on my knees, but he grabbed me by the wrist to stop me.
"No. Sit back. Relax. I want to taste you first. I've been thinking about that cunt for weeks."
I perched on the desk and he knelt down in front of me. I was shocked, to say the least. I was no virgin, but the amount of 22 year old boys who wanted to start things off by going down on me was slim to none, which was a big part of why I usually went for older men.
Dr. Romano - Eric, I reminded myself - grinned a devilish grin up at me and took my zipper between his teeth. He tugged it all the way down, the sensation bristling my skin, until it unhooked. My skirt fell to the sides, revealing my soft stomach, my white lace thong, and, presumably, the translucent wet spot between my legs.
He held my legs back with perfectly still, strong hands. Then, his lips made contact with my inner thigh. He sucked my thigh, just two inches from my underwear, until a squirming pain ran up and down my spine. He switched to the other thigh, hot breath tickling my clit as he crossed. I bucked against his grip. He chuckled darkly. "Needy, aren't you?"
I whimpered. "Yes."
"Be patient, kitten. You'll get what you want."
"Yes, sir."
He gave another small laugh. "That's what I like to hear."
Then he reached down and, with confident fingers, pulled my thong to the side. "You have a very pretty pussy, Ms. Simon."
