(This is my first story for Literotica. I've revised for minor cleanup and an additional pass to eliminate some silly things like overuse of adverbs and some annoying echoed words or phrases that I hadn't noticed in previous passes. I'd be delighted to receive any comments or feedback and I've got a thread in the forums for this as well. If anyone has requests for future scenes between these two lovers, I'm happy to receive them.)
The clock on the wall ticked past 9 p.m., its steady rhythm a faint counterpoint to the rustle of papers under his hands. Professor Jason Calderston sat in his third-floor office in the Psychology building.
Even the grad students had gone home for the night and his office was a cocoon of quiet, the campus beyond the tall windows hushed under a blanket of October night. Dim street lights cast long shadows across the quad below, while inside, a single floor lamp bathed the room in a warm amber glow.
Jason sat at his desk, surrounded by the detritus of a long day--graded essays, a half-finished manuscript, a stone-cold mug of black coffee abandoned hours ago. His shoulder-length hair, a mix of dark brown and silver, framed his face. The coarse, short beard framing his rugged face (more salt than pepper these days, damn it) caught the light as he leaned back in his worn leather chair.
At 48, his six-foot-and-a-fraction frame still carried the hard, corded muscle of his powerlifting and Crossfit pursuits, with a slight softening of his middle from too many late nights working and a fondness for whisky. Fatigue tugged at him -- he'd been up since 5 a.m., and the ache in his shoulders was a quiet nag.
He scrawled a final comment on a student's paper and reached into the bottom drawer of his desk. A bottle of Crown Royal whisky sloshed as he pulled it free, his secret companion for nights like this.
A widower for three years, the whisky had been Jason's companion of choice as he processed his grief. Last week at an academic conference, he'd found a post-doc from a southern university flirting with him. To his great surprise, he had responded in kind. One thing led to another, and he'd wound up going back to her room and they'd had some vanilla (but satisfying) sex.
The change in his mood was unexpected, but not unwelcome. He had no idea what switch had flipped inside of him, but he was suddenly noticing women again. After years of being banked, the embers of his desire had flared into flame. They smoldered now beneath his steady, taciturn exterior.
Jason poured a generous measure of the whisky into a tumbler, the amber liquid catching the lamplight as he lifted it to his lips. The first sip burned smooth and warm down his throat, a quiet reward as he savored the stillness.
A soft knock at the door jolted him from his appreciation of the whisky.
Lena stood framed in the threshold, her five-foot-five silhouette backlit by distant hallway fluorescents. Platinum hair shimmered around her heart-shaped face, cut into a sharp and sleek bob just above her shoulders, with a slight inward curve at the ends framing her neck. Wide, almond-shaped blue eyes locked onto him, icy and piercing yet brimming with unspoken depth, while her full, rosy lips curved into a smile that was equal parts invitation and challenge.
She carried herself with the confidence of a woman who knew her power. A loose coat hung open just enough to offer a glimpse of her lush body and the outfit beneath: a fitted top that clung to her bosom and a fitted miniskirt in broad black-and-white houndstooth that hugged her hips. Tanned and shapely legs disappeared into shiny knee-high boots. Jason scanned the outfit as 'classy, but sexy as hell'.
Lena was no stranger to Jason's world. A mature student in one of his larger classes, she balanced her part-time degree studies with a high-stakes day job as a public relations manager for firms owned by wealthy sheiks from Dubai.
This semester, she'd sat in his classes once a week, her expressive eyes fixed on him from the back row of a big lecture hall. She appreciated his iconoclastic approach to teaching, gruffly straightforward among academics who relished complex words to prove their education. His physical presence was an undeniable draw as well - somehow, he made her feel safe just hearing his voice.
From her first week in his class, thoughts of Jason consumed her nights. Her slender fingers and innumerable toys had given her countless orgasms as she imagined his strong hands, his gravelly voice, his vivid blue gaze unraveling her.
The crush had grown into an obsession, and tonight, she'd resolved to act. She'd chosen some sexy clothes, something daring yet plausible for a late-night "study session," draped the coat over it to mask her intent, and made her way to his office, heart pounding with weeks of pent-up longing.
"Professor," she said, "Still slaving away over papers? Or is that whisky a sign you're finally ready to unwind?" Her eyes flicked to the glass in his hand, then back to his face, a playful glint dancing in them as she waited for his response.
Jason's gaze lifted from the papers, his eyebrows raised at the vision in his doorway. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking faintly under his weight. His graying beard creased as a wide smile emerged.
"Oh! Yeah, I'm done for the day," he said. His fingers curled around the whisky glass, the amber liquid glinting as he raised it slightly. "Although, theoretically, I'm not supposed to have this here." He paused, his smile deepening with a flicker of mischief. "You won't fink on me to the administration, will you?" He tilted the glass in a silent toast to his unexpected guest, his gray-blue eyes meeting hers over the rim, steady and inviting. The weariness from his long day lingered, visible by the slight hunch of his broad shoulders, but a spark of interest was clear.
Lena grinned as she uncrossed her arms and stepped further into the office, her long coat swaying open to reveal more of her tight curves and stylish, sexy outfit. She sauntered toward his desk and rolled her hips with deliberate ease, then stopped just close enough to let her presence fill the space between them. Her wide eyes sparkled with playful defiance as she leaned forward slightly, resting one hand on the desk's edge, her delicate fingers brushing the corner of a graded paper.
"Fink on you?" she asked. "Not a chance, Professor. I'm good at keeping secrets--especially the fun ones." She straightened, tossing her platinum locks with a flick of her head as she fixed him with a lingering stare. Her other hand toyed with the collar of her coat, nudging it wider to hint at the plunging neckline beneath, daring him to notice.
