Page 6 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

Glancing down, I see a squiggly line where my pen went off the page. I sink deeper into my seat, hoping the flush in my cheeks isn’t giving me away.

I can do this. I can keep it together. Can’t I? This achy feeling I’ve got in my gut, between my legs, and in my breasts is challenging the question. Maybe Mrs. Brooks had a point. This might not be such a great idea.

The second the final word drips from Professor Ashe’s lips, signaling the end of the lecture, I’m on my feet. My heart’s a wild drum solo as I sling my bag over my shoulder, aiming for a ninja-like exit—silent, invisible, unnoticed.

“Ms. Kendrick, a moment, please.”

I freeze mid-escape and swivel toward him. His eyes lock onto mine. His voice is like velvet, and it effortlessly reels me in, like the fish Dad and I used to catch at the lake.

“Yes, Professor,”I murmur, edging closer, my palms clammy.

“Please, call me Harrison,”he says with an easy smile. “I’m not much for formality. I think we should get to know each other better if you’re going to be my TA. It’s important for our working dynamic, don’t you agree?”

“Uh-huh,”I nod, more puppet than person. Strange? Totally. But his gaze has me pinned like a butterfly in a display case—I can’t look away.

“Great. Let’s start with your experience then.”He gestures for me to sit in his chair while he leans back against his desk, exuding a sense of effortless charm and intelligence. It’s the perfect blend of academia and allure.

And I’m completely falling for it.

“Experience?”My brain short-circuits. What kind of experience? Life? Work? Love? Oh God, not love. Please not that. I’ve got none of that. Other than a couple of stolen kisses with Edward, one of the boys back home who was also homeschooled. Sometimes, our parents got us all together so we could do some group activities. During one joint venture, Edward decided to steal a kiss behind a tree instead of searching for different types of flowers and leaves for our science project. I found it less than impressive—the kiss, not the project.

“Teaching, research, any previous assistant roles?”he clarifies, unaware he has inadvertently tiptoed into a minefield of innuendo.

“Not specifically, but I worked as a camp counselor for kids over the last few summers back home. And I’ve done some clerical work at our local library. It’s small-town stuff, though. I don’t have any real-life, city, or even school experience. Sorry.”The word slips out with a resigned sigh before I can catch it. My cheeks are bonfires. Suddenly my resume seems woefully inadequate, and I question why I’m even here.

“That’s not a bad thing. Everyone starts somewhere, Ivy.”

“Right, yeah.”I laugh, wishing the ground would swallow me whole—or at least turn my blush down a few thousand watts. “It’s new territory for me, you know? Being... here.”The world is vibrant and dizzying, starkly contrasting to my sheltered upbringing.

“Not to worry. I’m sure I can teach you everything you need to know. We’ll navigate this experience together,”he reassures me, and somehow, it’s exactly what I need to hear, even though he doesn’t mean it at all the way I’m interpreting it.

“Thanks, Professor Ashe.”

He quirks his brows.

“I’m sorry. I mean, Harrison. I’m looking forward to it,”I manage, my words feeling like clumsy fledglings taking flight.

“Why don’t you meet me at my office after your last class today and we can establish a schedule and discuss duties?”

“Sure.”That should give me enough time to get my brain and my body functioning as they should so I can have a proper discussion with my professor without being distracted by thoughts of his scruffy beard brushing against my breasts or between my thighs.

At least I hope it’s enough time.

Chapter 4

Harrison

It doesn’t matter if you’re five, eighteen, thirty-four, or older; the first day of school is exciting. The halls are packed with groups of students recounting their day, and the hum of their chatter is a soundtrack to my internal pep talk as I head to my office to find some notes I think I left there this morning.

An image of Ivy Kendrick sitting in the front row pops into my mind like it’s been doing since I met her earlier today. I’ve always been drawn to redheads, curious if they’re fiery under pressure or when they’re aroused—or if they melt. That long red hair she continuously tucked behind her ear—so soft looking, I can picture it gliding through my fingers.

I know I promised Dean Martens that I would be a good boy, but fuck me, being around that gorgeous young woman almost every day is going to be a test of my will. I’m still a man who can appreciate a beautiful woman.

For probably the first time in my life, I could give a rat’s ass about books. I’d love to learn what Ivy’s ass looks like. How it would feel beneath my hands as she rides my cock.I’d love to see how round those stunning eyes get when she comes. Breasts, not too large, but bigger than a handful, and those luscious lips I can picture moving up and down my length.

Mom and Dad would tell me to stay focused.

My friends would tell me, screw focus—get laid.

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