Page 14 of Hot Professor (Tainted Professors)

The room is almost full, and Ivy hasn’t yet arrived. I start to worry. Is she sick? Has she been hurt? Did she miss the train into the city? Even though I’m sitting at the desk, my head down as though I’m reviewing the papers in front of me, my attention is glued to the door.

Finally, she walks through it and stops. Her long red hair is in a ponytail today, and it swishes against her back as her gaze sweeps over the room, searching for an empty chair.

With no small amount of effort, I pull my eyes away and do the same, realizing there isn’t one. The room is packed. It never fails; everyone shows up on test day. Even kids I’ve never seen before.

Ivy looks at me, and I motion to the chair beside me. There happens to be an extra chair by the desk today, a chair from the break-out room. Probably pulled out during the previous class. Today, she’ll be close enough to touch.

But I won’t.

I stand and wait for her to make her way to the front of the room and take the seat before I hand out the test papers and give my instructions.

I could have used the break-out room myself while they did the test. I could have put Ivy in the break-out room to take the test. Neither solution is suitable or acceptable. I retake my own seat next to Ivy not the least bit disappointed in the situation.

Today, she’s wearing a thigh-length black wrap-knit dress that molds her body, black tights, and brown knee-high boots with a small heel. I close my eyes and breathe in her lavender scent, letting it fill my nose and work through my senses to calm me.It’s the first time I’ve been so relaxed in days.

The rest of the class is hunch over their papers, lost in a world of essay responses and character analyses. Only the sounds of papers being flipped, the occasional cough, or feet shuffling on the floor can be heard.

Ivy cocks her head, tilting it enough to see me. “Professor Ashe?” Her voice is a soft caress, all innocence and hidden depths. But her eyes are full of questions.

“Later.”

She stares at me for a long moment and then nods before she turns back to the test.

No matter how hard I try, I can’t concentrate on my work for the next hour and a half. Her presence fills my mind anddistracts me completely. Something needs to be done before one of us explodes.

The last student trickles out of the classroom, and with their exit, a heavy sigh of relief is expelled from my chest. The door clicks shut, sealing us in a silence that pulses with expectation. My heart drums an exhilarating and terrifying rhythm—I want Ivy, completely, irrevocably.

And she wants me. Which floors me, to be honest. She could have any other boy her age, but she wants me. That knowledge is potent, I’m not going to lie.

“Harrison?” The sound of her voice neutralizes the tension that vibrates through my body.

The inexplicable need to close the distance between us is almost unbearable. But I’m worried that if I lay a finger on her, get close enough to smell her, see the shades of green in her eyes, and watch her pupils dilate, I won’t stop this time.

I admit I’m weak.

She looks up at me with those wide eyes, an ocean of purity and curiosity. “Is everything okay? We’ve hardly talked since… Are you mad at me?”

“No, Ivy. I’m not mad at you,” I assure her, my voice husky. I’m achingly aware of her proximity. It would be so easy to kiss her again, to drop my mouth over hers and lose myself in the sweet taste of her mouth.

But not here.

“Listen, Ivy...” I start, trailing off as I search for the right words. I take a deep breath, reminding myself that patience is a virtue, especially now. “I want you to know that whatever happens between us, it has to be your choice.” I don’t want her tofeel obligated or to think I expect anything from her. Given the things she’s said and that kiss, I think she wants me as much as I want her, but I need to be sure. I need her to make the move.

She nods, a pretty blush coloring her cheeks—a delicate bloom of pink that makes me wonder if she gets darker red when she comes.

“Here.” I scribble down my address on a scrap of paper from my desk and the key code to my apartment building in case the doorman isn’t around when orifshe arrives.

She takes the folded paper, her fingers brushing against mine and a shot of heat surges through me.

“Harrison, I—” she begins, but I hold up a hand, stopping her mid-sentence.

“No pressure. If you want... more, come to my apartment. I’ll be home tonight. And if you don’t, that’s fine too.”

“Okay.”

“Only if you want to, Ivy. No obligations, no expectations.”The lie tastes bitter on my tongue because, hell, I expect the world to conspire in my favor.

Her eyes meet mine, and I see the same fire, the same hunger I feel mirrored back at me.

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