His gaze trailed down to my legs. He licked his lips.
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
I stepped closer, plucking the fake glasses from his desk and settling them on his face.
“Must I?” he murmured, kissing my hand as I adjusted them.
“You must,” I grinned.
God, he looked good, tall, tan, hair pushed back. I ran my fingers through it, ruining the neat style and making him look more roguish.
“Ready?” I asked.
He gave me a blank expression, but his eyes were warm, brown flashing with amusement.
He grabbed my chin, tilting it upward. “For you. But just this once.”
We’d see about that.
I nodded, and he gestured toward the door behind me.
I slipped out of the classroom, glancing down the hall to make sure no one was around to see how I was dressed. Luckily, it was dead quiet, no late-night seniors doing extra homework.
Perfect.
Let the show begin.
I’d always craved this fantasy, that’s what drew me to him in the first place. I had a thing for authority and attention, and he fit the bill.
I knocked on the door, biting my lip, my heart racing. The anticipation was pure excitement, but the edge of nervousness made it even better.
My favorite fantasy: a professor who found me so irresistible he couldn’t help himself. Dumb, pretty, blonde bait.
Of course, Nathan was too decent to actually cross that line when I was his student. Getting him to touch me back then had been a slow, careful game, but worth every second.
Because he was all mine now.
“Come in.” His voice was smooth, silky.
I stepped inside, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
Nathan sat in his chair, pretending to write something, not even glancing up.
I moved closer, my tennis shoes crackling faintly against the floor in the quiet room.
He finally looked up. “May I help you, Mr. Larson? Bit late to be in class, isn’t it?”
I crushed the urge to cross the room and beg him to fuck me.
To smile, bite my lip, wait until he kissed me and sucked at my neck.
No.
He was the perv, not me. I was just the helpless student.
I kept my eyes wide and stepped closer. “Professor? Can I talk about my grade? Um… I got a C on the final report.”
His gaze swept over me before he crooked one finger, beckoning me forward. I obeyed without hesitation, my sneakers whispering across the floor, a quiet testimony to his pull.
