Page 15 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

I have to leave her now before I press her up against the wall, bend her over the desk, or lock her in that tiny room and show her how much I want her.

Leaving the note in her trembling hand, I pack up my briefcase with exaggerated slowness simply to torture myself. With one last longing glance, I finally force my feet toward the door. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done—walking away from her, not knowing if she’ll follow.

As I stride down the hallway, my mind races with possibilities. Will she come? Does she resist the pull between us as poorly as I do? If she does, will she stay the night? Or will she only want to talk?

The streets of New York City are a symphony of chaos and life, but none of it matters, I don’t see or hear a thing as I hail a cab. The city lights are a blur as they pass by the car’s window, my thoughts consumed by red waves and green eyes the entire drive.

At home, I wait in the quiet of my penthouse while my heart pounds loudly in the silence. For a while, I pace the length of my living room, each step a drumbeat of impatience. My apartment feels too big, too empty, too quiet. Then I grab a cold beer and sink into my couch, trying to focus on anything other than the ticking clock, the weight of waiting, the hope that she’ll knock on my door.

Time stretches thin and taut as I wait for Ivy to decide whether to leap into the unknown with me or not. I’m ready to catch her and dive headfirst into whatever this is.But only if she says yes.

And if she says yes, then tonight we’ll pick up where we left off a couple of weeks ago, this time without interruptions.

Chapter 8

Ivy

Harrison is waiting for me, probably thinking I’m not coming, but I needed to come home and change first. I also packed a small overnight bag—just in case. I don’t want to be presumptuous, so I’ve tucked everything into my book bag to be less conspicuous. I also need time and space to prepare. This is all so new to me. I don’t want to embarrass myself or let Harrison down. I’m sure he’s been with many women before me, experienced women, and I don’t want to be a disappointment.

I typed his address into my phone and then shredded the note and tossed it into a trash can before I got on the train. I’m a little worried this might cause trouble for Harrison, so I don’t want to leave any breadcrumbs. But we’re consenting adults, right? And I’m the one making the decision.

When he handed me his address and asked me over, I lost all ability to speak as giddiness bubbled up inside. Over the last couple of weeks I wondered if he regretted the kiss. If he considered me a young, naive little girl, somebody not worth his time.Or did he not want to get tangled up in another scandal?

Since the day classes started the gossip mill has run amuck with rumors and speculation. I’m not immune to them,especially when they’re whispering about it right behind me, so decided to search out the blog article I heard mentioned. The girl who had sex with him boasted about their night together, going into more than required detail, probably embellishing the whole affair. Many in the comment section questioned if it even happened. Others congratulated her and hoped they’d be his next conquest. She certainly painted him in a favorable light, but it was obvious to me, she planned it, right down to writing the article itself.

What surprised me is that I found no response or any hint of recourse from Harrison or the school. If it did happen, were there repercussions for him or her? Is that why he’s been avoiding me, he doesn’t want a repeat? And if it didn’t, why wouldn’t he defend himself?

These are all questions I need to ask Harrison before anything more happens between us.

“Okay,”I mutter, reaching for my laptop with trembling hands. It’s time to do some quick homework of a different kind.

My parents never openly discussed sex around me and I never had the birds and the bees conversation when I hit puberty. They clearly discouraged sex before marriage, but Mom did try to make up for it before I left home. I’m not sure who was more uncomfortable with that conversation. But I walked away with more questions than answers.

My fingers fly over the keyboard, clicking through websites and pages that would surely shock my conservative parents. As I watch the scenes play out, my heart hammers in my chest, and I realize that no amount of preparation can equip me for what will happen with Harrison. The images on the screen flicker in my darkened apartment as the couples move together, and their moans of pleasure and orgasmic cries send shivers down my spine, igniting a flame that sparks arousal to burn almost out of control.

After thirty minutes of research, I snap the laptop shut, every erogenous zone I have on high alert.

Now that I have an inkling of what to expect, it’s time to get ready. I put my hair up and then jump into the shower, meticulously taking care of my body using my favorite body scrub, followed by my lavender body wash. With one leg on the tub’s edge, the razor glides over my skin, leaving nothing but smoothness. I want to be perfect for him.

Dried off and make-up completed—going with a natural look—I choose a simple dress to match—a soft sweater dress in light pink. I like the way it hugs my curves. And beneath? Nothing. It’s risqué, but I want to be very clear in my intentions in case he has any doubt.

Standing before my full-length mirror, nerves dancing under my skin, my reflection stares back, equal parts innocent girl and emergent woman. Tonight, I’ll step across the invisible line that separates the two. “Harrison will take care of me,”I whisper with confidence to the girl in the glass, trying to steady my heartbeat.

I take a deep breath and grab my bag, keys, and courage. I leave my apartment, the threshold feeling like a starting line. As the Uber driver takes me back downtown, the city’s pulse syncs with my own—a symphony of possibility, of new beginnings. Tonight, I’m not Ivy Kendrick, the student. I’m a woman on the cusp of something beautiful, even forbidden. Excitement and nerves cause my skin to tingle.

The driver pulls away, leaving me on the curb with a view that snatches my breath. Before me soars a sleek tower of glass and steel, lights twinkling like stars plucked from the night sky to nestle in Manhattan’s concrete jungle. “Thisis where Harrison lives?”The words fall lightly from my lips, laced with awe.

I smooth down my coat over my dress and inch toward the entrance, a bout of anxiety suddenly accosting me. Before I getthe chance to open the door, it’s done for me, and a doorman in a long grey coat tips his hat. His gaze sweeps over me with curiosity as I give him Harrison’s name, but he simply nods and ushers me through the lobby to an elevator that whisks me skyward with a whoosh that echoes the rapid beat of my pulse.

“Deep breaths,”I coach myself as the doors silently slide open when I reach the top floor.

I step out and into a plush and eerily silent hallway. In my building, the walls are so thin I can hear what my neighbors are planning for dinner. Nothing is sacred. There, the walls are so stained the original color is no longer distinguishable. Here, there is expensive looking artwork on the dove grey walls and beautiful vibrant planters that look real.

According to the gold-plated signage, there are only four apartments on this floor. I follow the directions to Harrison’s. How does a professor live like this? My mind races with questions about him I’ve never considered until now. He said his father was a senator, but I don’t know more than that.

When I’m standing in front of his door, I pause, swallowing hard. This is it. If everything goes how I hope, I’ll leave a full-fledged woman.

I’m about to push the bell when the door suddenly swings open, startling me, and I jump, putting my hand to my chest.

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