Page 18 of One Night With My Grumpy Professor Daddy

The class suddenly becomes hotter. I was expecting him to end the discourse there and not add on.

“I think regardless, free will is free will. There is a choice not to want a repeat just because… there doesn’t have to be a reason,” I retort, holding his gaze.

The hall goes quiet for a few seconds—then, a student begins to cough—And chuckles erupt from the hall. He looks away from me, breaking our little back and forth.

“Thank you, Miss Ava. That’ll be all, he says as he turns back to the PowerPoint presentation on the screen.

Professor Armstrong goes back to lecturing, and I’m lost in my thoughts. I don’t know what to make of the exchange, his chosen topic, or his reaction when I stated my example.

“...and that brings us to the end of our lecture for today. Now. For your take-home. I need you all to write about free will from your respective viewpoints. You can write it however you want, but show passion or your stance. Be sure it gets to me by the end of the week. And with that, I hope you all enjoy your day, class dismissed.” The class breaks up, and I didn’t realize how distracted I was till it did. I watch Professor Armstrong put his laptop into his bag and leave the class.

with the speed of lightning, I pick up my notes and dash out the door. I’ve had a long day, and it feels like this is just the beginning.

A week later, I made my way to Professor Armstrong’s office to submit my assignment. I’ve been preparing myself mentally all weekend for today; I don’t want a repeat of what happened the last time I was here. Aiming for a sophisticated, relaxed look, I’m wearing my hair in a high ponytail, with a sleeveless button top with the first four buttons open, giving off just enough cleavage paired with my pleated flair mini skirt. I suck in a deep breath and knock on his office door.

“Come in.” His gruff voice commands from the other side.

“Good morning, Professor Armstrong. I’m here to submit my assignment,” I say as I enter the office.

If he asked me why I hand-wrote it or why I’m submitting it personally, I’ll say passion for the subject. But I’m not sure that’s entirely true.

He rises from his seat and walks towards me; this is not how I was expecting this to go. I force myself to remain calm as he stretches his hand out for the paper.

“Can I have it?” He asks, and I hand it over to him and watch him read every line.

He looks up from the paper and sighs.

“Miss Ava, we can’t have a repeat of this again. I mean, you already said the same thing in class, almost making a mockery of my lecture.”

“Only because you called me out,” I retort.

“I’m the professor—I can call on anyone in my classroom for their opinion.”

We’re both breathing heavily at this point and somewhere during our argument, we moved towards each other. I see the fire in his eyes as they meet my boobs, and he s notes how close we’ve gotten. I’m painfully aware of how hard my nipples are poking through my shirt. I glance at the paper in his hand to distract myself and back up.

“Now, you gave it as an assignment, and I’ve penned down the thoughts that align with me. I even handwrote it so you see the passion.” “Just because I slept with a man doesn’t mean I’ll sleep with him again.” He reads out from my paper. “Did you need to put that example down?”

“It’s a valid example.”

“No, it’s not. And if I oblige you and keep up with that example, you may not want a repeat of the experience, but what about your body? What if your body wants it so bad you can’t say no?”

“I can control my body and control what I want.” I bite back.

“Oh really? Is that what you think.”

“Yes, sir.” I grit out.

“So, you don’t want this?” His body’s pressed against mine— just like that night on the beach when I landed on top of him. Our lips so close they’re almost touching…. If I stuck out my chest, my nipples would graze him. He leans in closer and whispers, “Your body doesn’t want this?”

For a second, I clench up, holding still so my traitorous tits don’t rub on him. His breathing on my lips, neck, and chest makes me want his hands there. I close my eyes to stop myself from thinking like this.

“Look at me, Ava.”

I look into his gray orbs, and I’m hit with a depth of desire— I can almost see what’s going on in his head as images of different ways he can bend me over his desk…sinking into me— leaving me to take what he has to give. My heart is beating so fast I wonder if he can hear it.

“Look at me and tell me that if I kissed you right now, your body won’t respond. Tell me you don’t want this as much as I do, and I’ll back off. Tell me to stop, Ava.” With every word, he presses his body closer, leaning in till he’s barely a hair’s breadth away.

I don’t answer because I want the opposite of that—I want to feel those lips on mine again—I want them all over my body. I want him to do things to me that I've never known…and I know I shouldn’t be thinking this.

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