I knew what I had to do.
I scanned the ten questions I'd written out in my notebook one last time. Solving them was a breeze, of course. I constantly exaggerated to my mother about how terrible I was at math, and academics in general, really. No need for her to know school was actually a little
too
easy. I was not at risk of failing Professor Z's class, nor any other class, truthfully. I just loathed putting in extra effort during the school year unless absolutely necessary. But to make this impending encounter believable, I'd stayed up late selecting challenging problems related to our recent lessons.
Today, Professor Z's height appeared even more pronounced than usual. Or perhaps it appeared that way because I now sat in the front row so that I could catch him after class. He likely stood well over six feet two inches, his long legs accentuated by the black tailored trousers that were casually crossed as he perched against the teacher's desk. My gaze drifted to his left hand resting casually beside him. A plain but thick silver ring adorned his pinky finger, a surprising contrast to his otherwise clean, modern look. I shivered involuntarily as I imagined that ring pressing against my clit as he bites my neck, and I let out an audible moan. I darted a glance around the room to see if anyone had noticed. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice. Or so I thought.
As I lifted my gaze back to Professor Z, he was looking at me. He
was
looking at me! His expression remained unreadable, but for the first time, his syrupy brown eyes lingered just a beat longer before shifting to someone else. Did he hear me? The mere thought, the possibility that he might have finally noticed what his presence did to me, had me pooling in my seat until I could feel my wetness between my thighs. I tried crossing my legs to alleviate the ache, but all it did was worsen the mild throbbing. With ten minutes left until class dismissal, I gathered my things and excused myself. I needed to escape to a quiet place and compose myself before attempting to approach him for office hours. I wasn't a fucking temptress that knew how to chase anyone the right way. Up until Professor Z, I did not truly know what it meant to crave someone, much less with the raw and painful intensity I felt for him.
Once I saw him enter his office, I allowed him five minutes to settle in before approaching the door. School policy mandated open doors during office hours, but Professor Z, true to his nonconformist nature, disregarded this rule. Today, the door was closed. Hearing his "come in" felt like stepping into the unknown, a dangerous thrill. I took a deep breath, trying to remember why I was even here. What was it again? Damn it. Here I was, about to confront a professor about...ignoring me? Was I being delusional? I had been accused of this once before in high school when I told the boy at the top of the class that I would get a perfect SAT score even though he'd called me "mid at best." I
did
get a perfect SAT score because I didn't appreciate that description. How can I be delusional about something I know I can have?
Suddenly, he stood in front of me.
"Oh hello, I thought I heard someone out here."
My breath hitched, my heart hammering against my ribs as I inhaled the faint scent of his cologne. Spice and berries, a surprisingly classy and elegant combination. Why, why did a nerd like him wear something like this? And what was with the silver ring on his left pinky finger? He was an enigma, completely beyond comprehension, and it made me
angry.
"Do you want to come in?"
He backed away from the door, allowing me to walk in before shutting it. There were probably rules against shutting the door with a student inside but he'd proven to not care about any rules at this school.
"Do you have questions for me?"
His question snapped me out of my haze. I fumbled for my notebook in my bag, his dark emotionless eyes watching me intently. God, I wanted to shake him. I wanted to crack that ridiculous facade so badly. I settled across from him, placing the notebook on the desk between us.
"Um yes, I had a bit of a difficult time with the logic here," I said, pointing to the first question in my notebook. He glanced at the question briefly, then lifted his gaze back to me, his expression unreadable. A familiar prickle of embarrassment crawled up my arms, flushing my cheeks. Why was he staring like that? Did I have something in my teeth?
"The truth, please. These questions wouldn't keep you up at night."
My rug of pretense now snatched rudely from under me, I felt as though I was sinking fast. My mind raced. What could I say? More importantly, how did he know? I made sure to be a stellar average student, never trying to truly excel at anything.
"Ms. Aierien, is it?" He leaned forward ever so slightly, "Why are you really here?"
Despite my earlier fantasies, the intimacy of his question still shocked me.
I suddenly felt exposed. I had on a simple white cotton dress, corset center, short and billowy on the bottom, something that only Free People could design to perfection. Underneath, my braless breasts felt sensitive, perking up just at the sound of his voice.
"I don't know," I responded, meeting his gaze. It was the face I desperately wanted to sit on, yet it remained frustratingly impassive. Even with the undeniable fact that the pink of my nipples pressed against the see-through fabric of my dress. Goosebumps erupted over my skin as I imagined placing my right foot on my chair and letting my dress pool and bunch around my waist while my thigh lay exposed. I imagined him watching me as I caressed my soft sunkissed thighs, while slowly approaching where I ached the most. Would his eyes light up? Would he crave me then? Want me so much that he would bury his tongue within me without asking?
"There it is again," he said.
I gasped, yanked back to reality, and met his gaze with a jolt. "What is?"
"There's this intense look on your face," he said, his voice a low rumble. "I've seen it a few times in class. It's unlike anything I've ever encountered, and certainly not something I'm accustomed to seeing in my classroom. What could possibly consume your thoughts so completely?"
"You," I breathed, the word leaving my lips in a whisper. God, I'd finally done it. I'd confessed.
"Excuse me?" His response was a breathy question mark in an already charged room.
Emboldened by a surge of defiance, I blurted out, "You."
