Move, move, move damn it!
In my whole seven months studying at Harvard Law, there has never been this many people piled outside the front doors. But, when Sofia has her first late morning, that's when the entire student body decides to do a charity walk starting from her building.
Sure, it's her fault that she slept in, and it is definitely her fault that she had eleven shots of room temperature tequila because her dorm decided to be fun for once and throw a party, but this is ridiculous. Even now her knees sting from taking a nasty tumble she took the moment she left the dorm. Squeezing between the swarm of buzzing students, she finally stumbles her way into the building.
As she runs up the stairs, slipping on the second floor as she rounds the corridor. If she misses this deadline, that's an instant fail. Bad. Very bad. This paper is 40% of her overall grade. For the average student who is promised a position in their Daddy's company, fucking up one test won't impact their life at all. Near perfect isn't good enough. Sofia got here on brutal determination and constant studying that shot her social life, she needs this. What most students have in connections, she has to make up for in being top of her classes.
3:47 pm. She's late. Beyond late. Sofia curses and shoves her phone in her pocket, rushing to the classroom. It creaks as she pokes her head in, breath held. She doesn't want to go inside panting and sweating.
No one is inside.
A squeak of metal rubbing metal eerily fills the silence. Sitting at the room's end is Professor Langley, sifting through the papers. With a brow furrowed and nibbling a pen, she doesn't even notice Sofia sheepishly walking between the chairs. It is nice to not be immediately scrutinized the minute she walks in like every other day. Langley openly despises her. It led Sofia to be a groveling know it all for the first few weeks of term, but no matter how good her work is, or how many under pressure interrogations she gets right, Langley is never satisfied.
What sucks more is that Sofia has an ungodly crush on her Professor. Langley is everything she should hate. Arrogant, cold and a borderline bully. Yet when she's in bed late at night, squirming as she slips her fingers under the waistband of her pjs, all she can think about is the woman's rounded breasts, the tattoo subtly covered with makeup on her wrist, the roundness of her hips and broadness of her shoulders. Not to forget those eyes...
Enough. Sofia takes a steadying breath, moving closer. Her paper is clutched tightly in her fingers, the corners crumpled from the death grip she has on it. Professor Langley hasn't looked up yet, her long fingers tapping against the desk as she skims the page in front of her. A daunting sound as she moves to stand in front of the oak desk.
Sofia clears her throat. "Professor?"
Langley pauses. Her whole demeanour, despite how impossible it seems, gets cold. Hazel eyes glare through thick lashes at Sofia, sharp, assessing. The pen between her fingers stills. "Miss Torres." The words are not pleased, but there's something else in her tone. There always was. An underlying buzzing like raising hair before thunder strikes the ground.
Sofia shifts on her feet. Despite the tremble in her voice, she stands tall when she says, "I know I'm late. There was this charity walk, and I--"
Langley silences her with a glare, "You know the rules, Miss Torres. Your tardiness is not my problem."
Sofia does know the rules. She obsessively reads them, as though it can prevent accidental bad luck like today. No late papers. No exceptions. But she still holds the paper out, hoping that cold hearted Langley can find some sympathy. She can't afford to fail. Not when she's worked so damn hard to be here. She croaks out a desperate, "Please."
Professor Langley doesn't take it. Instead, she leans back in her chair, crossing one leg over the other, the slow movement drawing Sofia's eyes down to the bare milky skin of her calves. Athletic. She's seen Langley's volleyball pictures on her desk before, but knowing that beneath those clothes could be delicate curves with sharp muscles makes her throat dry. The thought startles her. With a growing heat in her cheeks, she forces her gaze to Langley's. Why did she have to find Langley attractive?
A pause. The wind whistles outside, the droplets of rain turning into a downpour as Langley assesses Sofia. Her dark eyes hold the same scrutiny they have when grading papers. A sharp yet thoughtful look that somehow only made the pit of Sofia's abdomen thick with heat.
Feeling flustered, she stammers, "I--I just need you to take the paper."
Then she sees it. A subtle change. Sofia can feel it in the air between them. There's something unspoken there. Electric. Langley's soft pink tongue flicks across her bottom lip, her gaze never leaving Sofia. They trail down her body, smirking at the mud stains on her knees.
"Do you expect exceptions, Miss Torres?"
"No, but I worked so hard on this and it's good, really good, and I think if you read it--"
"Why should I?" Langley says, her voice bordering on teasing, "I don't owe you anything." A subtle smile curls her lip as she brushes her finger on the edge of Sofia's papers. "But, well, if you earned it, who am I to say no, hm?"
Sofia's mind blanks. A ringing fills her ears as she bashfully bobs her mouth like a fish out of water. Part of her wants to hold her dignity, and to tell Langley that she should earn her grade because the work is good, and not because of... whatever this is. But her body betrays her, locked in place as Langley's gaze flickers over her, slow and deliberate, like a predator locking on its prey. Is she prey even if she has wanted for months to be hunted and eaten alive by Langley?
It's wrong. It's exploitative. It's an abuse of power.
It's so damn hot.
Sofia forces herself to stand straighter. "I don't expect special treatment."
"No?" Langley muses, eyes dark with something Sofia can't quite name. "Then why are you still standing here?"
The words make Sofia's stomach tighten, her pulse thudding in her throat. She should leave. She should walk out and take the failure, but Langley hasn't told her to go. Instead, she watches, waiting, enjoying this far too much.
Sofia hates that part of her--some deep, buried part--likes it too. As she shifts, the wetness of her panties makes itself obvious. Heat throbs in her pussy as she tries to think of anything besides having Langley right here, right now.
Some form of tenderness crosses Langley's eyes, and a piece of sobriety makes her rigid in her seat. Sensing Sofia's hesitation, Langley rounds the desk. Tender and kind, her hand cups Sofia's jaw and tilts her head to face her.
