Page 31 of Bad Professor

Focus on Dexter, because all I can think about is how I was astride him, and he was deep inside me when I told me to touch myself.

His mouth between my legs. The feel of his hair between my fingers.

Your pussy is mine.

I squeeze my legs together.

The lick of desire is instantaneous and quick to consume me. I walked into this class with the usual first day of school nerves and end up practically trembling with want for the professor.

I’ve never looked at a man and wondered what it would be like to make love to him. But that’s all I can think of as I watch Dexter—what would it be like to have him again? And remember what it had been like to be with him.

Images of our night together flash through my mind on repeat, and the memories of how it felt—how he felt inside me, under me, between my legs—turns me on more than anything ever has.

The lick of desire is now an inferno, and all I can do is sit there and wait for it to end.

It doesn’t help that Dexter was made to command a crowd. He holds the class in the palm of his hand, attention fully on him, as he teases with smiles, funny stories, striding across with long legs.

He looks so very good in those jeans.

I’m sure I’m not the only one turned on by the sight of him.

Dexter is smart, articulate, and passionate about what he’s teaching. Within a half an hour—it would have been less had I not been so stunned to see him—I want to pick up every Tolkien book he’s ever written and read it straight through to find the hidden meanings that Dexter alludes to.

Seeing him in his element like this makes him even sexier.

I can barely breathe.

I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll beg me never to stop.

How can the man who said that to me a few nights ago be the same one describing how Tolkien’s works came to be published?

He’s good at lecturing. That shouldn’t surprise me. Nothing should surprise me more about seeing him here in the position of authority.

There must be rules about sleeping with teachers. And university professors.

Am I going to be kicked out? Failed on principle? Should I leave?

That can’t be possible. This man—this intelligent, eloquent man avidly talking about the role of Samwise Gamgee in the books versus the movies, cannot be the man who made me come five times.

No one knows. No one knows.

I keep telling myself that for their entire two-hour lecture and it’s the only way I manage to stay in my seat.

But I know. And I can’t stop thinking about it.

I know now that I couldn’t text him because I was afraid. But seeing him here, right before me suggests that there was no need to be scared of him or what it could be. Maybe this was fate.

What are the chances of me being in school and Dexter being one of my professors?

He’s my professor. Fate can’t be so mean to give me something that I can’t have.

I still want him.

When the class is finally over, I waste time putting away my laptop, slipping into my jacket so that most of the students have already filed out.

Dexter stands at the front gathering his papers.

Taking a deep breath, I summon whatever courage I have left and walk down the steps. “Professor,” I call.

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