Page 40 of Bad Professor

I assign an essay. It’s not due until the end of the term, but it’s a research paper and the students need time to work on it.

“You’ve got a few weeks, and you know enough not to leave it until the last minute. And to make sure you’ve got lots of time to think about it beforehand, I want all of you to make an appointment with me in my office to talk about what you’re planning. This needs to be done in the next two weeks. I’ve given you my schedule and you know my office hours, so email me and set up a time. You get extra points if you do.”

I threw that in at the last minute, just to give them incentive, and to tell myself that I’m doing the class a favour.

Tilly is the third person to make an appointment.

And it’s things like that give me hope that maybe somehow… someday…

I’ll have to get her to forgive me first.

“Thanks for coming in.” I stand up as Tilly comes in.

And then sit right back down because my cock hardens as soon as I see her. She’s wearing jeans and a pink shirt—a simple, not-making-an-effort outfit. But the jeans cling to her hips, belted to show off her tiny waist, and the shirt has an extra button undone. It’s enough to let me see the shadow of her cleavage.

She looks so pretty, even if she’s not smiling at me.

“I didn’t realize I had a choice.” She rests her hand on my desk for a moment, close enough for me to touch it.

I can smell her perfume. It’s a heady mix of vanilla and something that reminds me of sugar cookies. It makes me hungry.

But not for cookies.

“I want to make sure everyone got a chance to talk to me, make sure they’re on the right track,” I explain as she sits down. “With the essay. It’s worth a lot. It’s a big deal.”

Even with my fumbling, there’s no smile. “I definitely didn’t think you asked the entire class to make an appointment with just for a chance to see me,” Tilly says with a sarcastic tone in her voice that is new.

Maybe she’s always sarcastic. I don’t even know—having sex twice doesn’t mean I know her inner soul. Or even her middle name.

I just know what she sounds like when she comes.

My office is tiny, with piles of books heaped on the tiny shelves in the corner, desk covered with papers because I find it easier to mark a paper copy than from Google Docs, and the snake plant on the window sill is in desperate need of watering. It’s comfortable and I don’t have to share it with anyone.

But at the moment, I’ve never hated any place more because there is nowhere in it that Tilly can’t stand that I won’t be able to touch her.

And seeing her this close to me makes me really, really want to touch her. To push her hair back behind her shoulder before I cup her cheek. To trace a finger down the opening in her shirt. To grab her belt and pull her towards me so I can wrap my arms around her.

I can’t stop staring at her mouth.

I’ve been in the presence of beautiful women before. I’ve stayed friends with women I’ve had sex with and never before have I been affected like this.

All I can think about when I look at Tilly is the expression on her face when she comes. What she sounds like. How she pulled at my hair. Dug her nails into my ass.

Touched herself.

I pull my mind away from that image with difficulty, and resist the urge to adjust my hard-on under the desk. “Have you given some thought about what you’d like to write about?” I ask, letting the jibe about seeing her slide. She’s completely right, but I can’t tell her that.

“Obviously. I want to compare the use of female characters in the Lord of the Ring books to the Ursula Le Guin Earthsea series.”

“You’ve read it?”

“Yes.” Her retort is as sharp as a slap, but then Tilly’s face softens. “It’s always been one of my favourites. I reread it in the summer. I think it would be a good comparison.”

“Not in Tolkien’s favour.”

She shrugs. “We’ll see.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” I tell her, but keep talking because I don’t want her to leave. “I never would have expected to see you in this class.”

---