Page 16 of One Night With My Grumpy Professor Daddy

“Good morning, Professor.” That unmistakable soft voice.

That voice.

I look up from the papers to the door where the voice came from. She’s dressed in a red sweater and a black skirt that makes my hand itch with the way her hips fill it out.

Ava Miller.

I glance at her up and down. Even with the change of hair, she’s still utterly gorgeous. As she stands before me, my mind races with a list of reasons she might be here. To talk about the past? To blackmail me? Threaten me? Or to rekindle whatever we had?

“Professor Armstrong?” Her voice draws me out of my thoughts.

“Miss Miller, how may I help you?”

“You were assigned my supervisor—I sent you an email last night.”

Of all the things I imagined I could do, bringing her to my office was not on the list. Her supervisor? But how could I not have known? I’ve been so out of it these past few days I’m not that surprised I missed an email.

“I apologize, Miss Ava. But I don’t think that’s a great idea.”

“What’s not a good idea, sir?” she asks. For a second, my gaze snaps up to her. This is the first time hearing her calling me sir and the things it does to me. This is exactly why we can’t work together if something as little as a title sounds sexy coming from her lips.

I take off my glasses and pinch the bridge of my nose, trying to relieve my budding headache. “I don’t think we can work together, and I don’t think I need to state why,” I say calmly.

“I don’t think I know why you’d say that, sir,” she says, looking irritated with where this conversation is going. “The Reason, Miss Miller. The school has a policy on certain relationships between professors and students-”

“I don’t think the law operates in retrospect. That was a long time ago— we didn’t know each other, and we had no idea we’d ever run into each other again. I just really want to get on with this project and get this semester done with.”

I take a deep breath, trying to change the direction of the conversation. “I can recommend you to another professor?“ I look at her for a response. But she just stares blankly at me. Maybe you should sleep on it, at least take it into consideration.“ At that, her cheeks flush, and the room grows hotter, causing me to reconsider this discussion in the first place. I quickly come to my senses. “Well, Miss Miller, I believe that’s all. I’ll be getting back to work now.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going anywhere.”

I look up to see the fire in her eyes. She might not be the woman on the beach from years ago, but one thing’s the same—she still knows how to get her way. If not more.

“Miss Miller-”

“No. Call me Ava—I don’t think you understand.” Shaking her head, I watch the gears of her brain work as though she’s thought about all I said and dismissed it.

She needs to see reason to be on the same page with me, but that’s not going to happen. One thing I know about stubborn women like this is that they only listen to themselves. And If she’s going to see reason, it has to come from her.

She launches into another tirade, “Professor Armstrong. I’m over whatever you think happened…”

I remain silent and stride across the room toward her as she rambles on.

I see the heat rising in her eyes with every step I take as she takes me in— She backs up as I walk toward her. I trap her against the wall, and her breath picks up. I lean in to take in her scent— sweet, like cotton candy. Holding her stare—I’ve dreamt of these eyes for so long.

“You’re over it…Hmm?” I whisper in her ear. Are you saying you haven’t dreamt about that night once in four years? You’re saying that you haven’t thought what it would be like to have me in you again? You’ve never touched yourself to the memories from that night?” She exhales shakily. But her face remains calm. “Tell me being this close doesn’t make you think about what it’d be like to just act on our impulses and touch each other like that night.”

As I talk, imagining my words too, I lean in, taking her lips in mine.

She stays frozen in the corner while I walk back to my desk.

“And this is why we can’t work together, Miss Ava.“ I sit on the edge, trying to hide my raging hard-on.

For a second, neither of us talks or moves. The hot silence fills the room. I know she feels this too, even after four years—there’s no denying this thing between us.

“OK.” Her voice comes out small. She turns towards the door, and I think she finally gets it. But when she reaches for the handle, she stops and turns around.

“You know what Mr. Armstrong….” Ava sashays towards me, her hips more defined with every movement. She keeps eye contact till she’s in front of me and points to my chest. I tighten as though she’s going to touch me, but she doesn’t —her finger slowly descends, tracing without touching. Then, as though we weren’t close enough already, he leans in, whispering in my ear. “You know what I think? I think you’re afraid of yourself. You’re so hung up on that night that you’re scared of losing control again.” Her hand moves lower, so close to touching the stiffness in my pants.

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