Page 12 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

“How are you getting home?”

“Train.”

“It’s not safe.”

I rise from my seat. “I’m not scared.”My voice is barely above a whisper, and it wavers slightly as I step closer and tilt my head back to look up at him through the fringe of my lashes. This close I notice our height difference. It’s not too much, a few inches. Enough that he would have to bend his head to kiss me. “You could come with me. Make sure I get there safely.”

OMG, where in the world did that sultry boldness come from?

His sharp gaze searches mine. “Ivy,”he breathes out, his voice low and thick, with I think, a hint of warning—or is it desire? I can pretend it’s desire, right? “What are you doing? This isn’t… If we get caught?—”

“We won’t,”I rush to interrupt as I eliminate the distance until I’m standing a scant inch from him, my chest rising and falling with each breath as I inhale his warm male scent, and it does weird things to my body again, like the first day. Does he notice?

“We can’t.”

“Why not? I’m an adult. And I want to.” Is this all me? My imagination?

“Are you sure?”

And that’s the big scary question.

His stare is heavy with implications I’m ready to explore. I think we’re on the same page. I think he’s thinking what I am. I want this. All of it. I probably shouldn’t, but I do. I’ve never felt like this before. I certainly never imagined my first time foranythingbeing with my professor.

But we can start with a kiss.

I reach out and finger the hem of his shirt—a daring move that surprises me and risks being forever ashamed of my actions if I’m wrong. “I came to New York to learn. I want you to teach me, Harrison.”

His breath hitches, and I know I’ve crossed a line. But it’s too late to go back now. I wait to see if he’s going to cross it with me.

The air between us is heavy with anticipation.

“Be sure about this, Ivy,”he warns, his voice a velvet caress against the charged silence. The hair on my arms stands, and my core contracts with eagerness.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,”I confess, my voice trembling like a leaf in a storm. “All I know is... I want to do it with you.”

My declaration hangs in the air like the faintest perfume. And then, emboldened by a courage I didn’t know I possessed, I lift up on my tiptoes and kiss him, my lips barely skimming his. It’s a whisper of a touch, a tentative question, waiting for his answer.

It takes a moment before I hear him moan, almost like he’s in pain, and then his hands find my waist, and he pulls me flush against him. His hardness rubs against my belly as he cups my face, and his mouth descends on mine with an urgency that steals my breath. He starts slow, tentatively pressing his lips to mine, but all too soon, the kisses are demanding and warm, his tongue tenderly coaxing me to open so he can dip inside to further his exploration.

It’s thrilling and terrifying at the same time because I want to experience it all. I want him to slow down so I don’t miss a thing. I want him to speed up, so can I see what comes next. I’m caught in the whirlwind of the moment, the taste of his kiss like the first drop of rain after a scorching summer day. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and completely new. I clutch at his shirt, grounding myself in the reality of his presence.

His tongue dances with mine, a seductive samba that leaves me dizzy and wanting more. I don’t know if I’m doing it right, but each movement is a lesson in passion. Each caresses a promise of more as he tilts my head to the left and then the right, expertly navigating the depths of my mouth.

My body is alive, tingling everywhere we connect. And the parts that don’t are eager for their turn.

This is my first make-out session, but with Harrison, it feels like discovering a hidden piece of art. Every brush of his lips is a stroke of genius, andevery sigh that escapes is a testament to his skill. I want to rip off his shirt and run my hands over his athletic body. I want him to do the same to me. Eager to take this further, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my chest to his, deepening the kiss.

The crackle of a walkie-talkie shatters the spell between us, slicing through the thick air of lust.Instantly, I’m yanked back to earth from whatever dizzying height Harrison’s kisses had taken me. My heart hammers against my ribs, not from passion this time but from the sudden rush of panic. I’m sure my eyes are wide as saucers.

“Shit.”Harrison is as startled as I am. His eyes, like the darkest rum, are brewing a storm. His puffy lips and flaring nostrils draw me closer again despite the urgency of the moment. “Go into the breakout room,”he whispers. “Don’t turn on the light.”

Without hesitation, I grab my bag, and my legs wobble like a newborn fawn, but somehow, they carry me across the classroom to the small, attached breakout room. It’s a tiny space used for privacy, a haven filled with books and papers that suddenly feels like a sanctuary.

I duck inside, planting my back against the cool wall. My pulse is racing, each beat screaming ‘caught, caught, caught’ like some alarm bell gone rogue.

When I peek out, he’s shuffling the papers I was marking into a pile. He’s acting poised as if there’s nothing to be worried about, but the tension in his shoulders tell me he’s on high alert.

“Is everything okay, Professor Ashe?”The security guard’s booming voice should be muffled through the door, but it might as well be a megaphone directly into my ear.

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