Page 16 of The Professor's Holiday Surprise

I can’t lose sight of my priorities today.

The second Paisleyknocks on my open office door, my cock is half-hard for her. So much for willpower.

This is the first time she’s come to my office. We’ve been alone together before every class, but that’s in a room where other people are expected at any moment.

It’s a solid two hours before my posted office hours are to begin. And I am the only faculty member with an office on this floor who is in right now.

This is as alone as we could possibly be.

She’s wearing her standard outfit of jeans and a sweatshirt, and today she has an unzipped puffy vest on over that. The denim stretches across her hips and curves around her thighs. The sweatshirt—this one a plain black hoodie—does an annoyingly efficient job of disguising her shape.

But instead of dampening my attraction to her, the don’t-look-at-me fashion choice just highlights what I can see. Her pale, delicate neck. Soft, rioting curls spilling out of a ponytail. A flash of freckles across her nose and a little mole just above her right eyebrow.

A perfect, full mouth, unadorned and innocent.

Her hazel gaze is hidden, though.

“Is this a good time?” she asks, not quite making eye contact.

“Yes, of course, come in.” I could use a distraction from imagining her on her knees between my thighs, stretching those lips wide around Dr. Lowry’s cock. “You had your practical lab last week?”

She steps inside and lifts her head so now she’s staring at the ceiling. “I did.”

“How is your report coming?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “It’s finished.” She pats her backpack. “But I, um, actually wanted to ask your opinion about which classes I should take next year.”

I gesture for her to sit across from me. “Happy to help with that.”

She pulls a folder from her backpack and lays it on the desk between us. “This term, I took a variety of classes to dip my toes back into learning. Of those, I’ve enjoyed your class and Dr. Mohammed’s Technical Report Writing for Agriculture the best. And that surprised me, so I’m thinking of adding a couple of business classes next year. Given that I want to maintain a horticulture focus, which of these would you recommend?”

“The most practical courses, other than the hands on stuff, are things like Mathematics of Farming.”

She makes a face, that full mouth pulling down in disappointment. “I was afraid you would say that.”

I grin at her. “Not what you wanted to hear?”

“A stats course is what made me drop out of college the first time.” And even though that was a decade ago, she says it in such a way that I know it’s still a wound she carries.

I lean forward. We’re not very far apart, even though a desk separates our bodies. “Can I tell you a secret I vary rarely get to share with my students?”

Her gaze flicks up for just a second. A flash of interested hazel. “Of course.”

Finally, I have her attention. It fills me with an electric charge.

I smile and wink at her. “I couldn’t have handled a stats class at eighteenortwenty-one. But when I took Mathematics of Farming at twenty-five, it was a walk in the park.”

“That makes me feel better.” She tilts her head to the side. “Why can’t you tell other students that?”

“Because most of them will graduate before they turn twenty-five. Tragically, they don’t have your advantage of age. You’ll be fine. You’re fucking smart. And your brain is finally fully developed.”

She bursts into laughter. “Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Our secret, for sure.” Her fingers play with the edge of the papers and her gaze drops again.

“What’s wrong?”

---