Page 11 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

As she zips up her bag, her wireless earbud falls out.

I lean over and swipe it up off the floor to hand back to her. “What are you listening to?”

“Christmas music. Thanks.”

Her fingers only brush my palm for a split-second, but it’s enough to send a possessive spark racing up my arm. I want to catch her wrist and pull her close.

Instead, I simply fall into step beside her as she hurries toward the stairwell. “You know, I’m not sure I trust the note-taking skills of your classmates.”

“The slides are on the class site,” she says. “Can I email you if I have any questions?”

“Of course.” I get in front of her and hold the door open. “I have office hours now, if you?—”

“I’m sorry, I can’t. But I will email you. Thank you.”

And then she takes off running down the stairs.

I start to follow her again, because what the fuck, but then I hear my name called from behind me.

“Noah?”

Fuck.

Turning around, I give a short nod to my department chair. He’s a nice enough guy, about a decade older than me, but a stickler for the rules.

Chasing down a student who gives me hard-ons is definitely against the rules.

“Chris,” I say politely. “What’s up?”

“I heard a kerfuffle.”

“Did you?” I glance around. “No kerfuffle here.”

“Must have imagined it.” He scratches his jaw. “Hey, do you have a minute to talk about the new extension program we’re proposing?”

Swallowing my frustration, I nod. “In your office?”

Figuring out what’s wrong with Paisley is going to have to wait until the next opportunity to talk to her.

Chapter 6

Paisley

I manageto steer clear of Dr. Lowry all week.

I can’t even be sure I have good reason to do it. As soon as the recording of last week’s livestream was made available to subscribers, I re-watched it, listening for him saying my name. But all of the dialogue at the end was edited out.

Did I imagine him saying he was going to breed me?

Those words have pounded through my mind as I’ve come on my fingers, making a slippery, aching mess, every night since.

A whole week of taboo desires—and dodging the professor who inspires them.

It’s so wrong.

Suddenly it’s Sunday night, and I’m sitting cross-legged on my bed, staring at my laptop.

Unlike my usual routine, I have not taken my jeans off. They are firmly zipped up. Icannotslowly rub my clit while I watch my professor take care of himself.

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