I sigh in relief when I step out of my pants then boxer briefs that had been trapping my cock, causing it to strain and push painfully against the fabric.
I step into the shower, closing the glass door behind me and lean against the wall, both hands firm against the tile with my head bowed, letting the hot water cascade over my head and down my back.
My eyes are screwed shut, but her face is all I see, even as I try to drown it out with painfully hot water that feels like needles in my skin.
I want her. That’s obvious.
I want to hold her, to touch her face, to slide my lips against hers while she screams my name when she comes.
Fuck.
I push myself off the wall and grab my bottle of overly expensive body wash and squirt a bit into my hands, lathering it up to scrub the day away.
I spread the suds across my chest and down my arms, then up onto my shoulders and neck.
I angle my face toward the spray, letting the beads of water pound my face into oblivion. I relish in the slight pain the scalding temperature brings. It reminds me I’m human and that my actions, my thoughts, have consequences.
But that doesn’t stop the trajectory of my hand. It continues lower and lower, grazing past my hard as steel cock to scrub suds on my thighs.
With my eyes screwed shut, I can’t escape her perfect face and the erotic aura that surrounds her constantly.
She doesn’t even realize it, but she has sex pouring off of her even when she does the most mundane things.
Writing notes in class or pushing her hair from her face when she’s trying to focus on what I’m saying during a lecture are more alluring than painting by Teodor Axentowicz or Tamara Ĺempicka.
When I was watching her earlier this evening, fuck, I felt like a voyeur peering in on one of her most private moments. She was vulnerable in the way she was biting her lip for the camera and erotic in the way she was arching her body to get the correct angle for the lighting.
I wish I could say that I don’t mean to let my hand fist around my cock. I wish I could say it’s an accident that I thrust my hips forward, using the slippery soap to ease the motion, fucking my hand in the privacy of my steam shower.
But it’s not.
I plant my left hand on the marble wall in front of me and use my right to furiously stroke my cock purposefully, with her body in my head, her laugh in my fantasies.
It’s so clear, the desire, that I can almost feel her, as if my hand is her body squeezing me tightly as I push into her from behind.
I want to bend her over my desk and make her scream until every soul on campus knows what I’m doing to her.
Pressure, intense pressure, builds in my spine, spreading up to my cock, and my balls painfully draw up as orgasm nears.
“Fuuuuuck,” I grunt out and I can hear her voice. That sweet timbre leaving that smart, perfectly shaped mouth.
That’s it. Come for me, Professor.
My movements are furious, violent even. My arm is starting to burn from the repeated movement, but I’m past the point of no return.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I grunt when I fall over the edge, letting all evidence of my desire for her disappear down the drain.
I drop my head to the cool, hard wall in front of me, still using it with my forearm to prop myself up to catch my breath.
I’ve tossed off at the thought of a student. This is wrong on many, many levels, but fuck if I wouldn’t give everything I have to have her for real.
Chapter 5
Tristan
I have office hours once a week, for an entire day, to allow students to come to me for assistance, conversation, anything they may need from me. It’s not my favorite time of the week, however, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t keep my door a bit more ajar on this particular day, hoping to see a certain brunette darken my doorstep.
She’s been a quiet observer in my class over the past few weeks since our interaction during the first lecture, only chiming in when asked, but always arriving early and prepared. She was a not so quiet participant in our hallway tango. She’s the epitome of a good student, and fuck if that doesn’t make her even more attractive to me. I’m a fucked-up man. If Adrianna knew the things that I thought about in the shower last night, she’d make sure my job and any chance of tenure were stripped from me.
As I’d deserve, but I can’t help myself.
I have found myself drawn to her more and more, and last night was that volcano exploding after simmering just under the surface for too long.
The universe has dropped her in my path more than once. I can’t ignore that.
I check my watch, and sigh heavily. I still have another hour until I can leave and begin the much-needed weekend.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Professor Sloane?”
I look up to see Nora poking her head inside, and I rise from my seat. The way she’s backlit once again from the light in the hallway reminds me very much of the night we met at Nuova, then again on her first day of class. “Miss Morgan,” I clear my throat, “come in. Have a seat, if you’d like.”
“I don’t think I want to sit, actually. I think I should stand.”
“Is everything all right? You seem upset about something.”
We both know why she’s here.
We both know she saw me watching her.
What I don’t know is how she feels about it.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know that I saw you watching me that night.” I watch the rise and fall of her throat as she swallows, waiting for my response.
“I saw you and you saw me. You didn’t say anything to me then.” I lean in closer. “Why inquire about it now? In fact, would it be safe to say that you enjoyed the fact that I saw you? Let’s not forget our little… dance… in the hallway at Nuova.”
She takes a single step backward, and I respect the distance. I won’t cross that line. “That was different. I didn’t know who you were then.” She shakes her head, like she’s shaking away a thought. “That doesn’t matter. Why were you watching me? Were you following me?”
I scrub my hand along my jaw. “It’s not stalking, love. In fact, I had no idea you’d be there. That is the route that I take to get to my car at the end of the day. When I saw you there, I watched for a moment.”
“You ogled, stared like a stalker, and captured the moment on your damn phone.”
“I don’t like that word. Too negative.” I shake my finger. “I rather prefer the term… research. Stalking would imply I sought you out, and that is not the case.”
“How do I know you’re not lying right now to cover your ass? Every time I moved, you moved. I’d pout, you’d shift your weight. I’d lay my hand on Gavin’s chest, you’d stretch your neck. I’d lick my lips and you’d do the same. What game are you playing with me?”
She’s standing taller now as she defends herself. Nora is no longer the shrunken violet that her physical form would imply. Now, she’s a fully bloomed rose, and I’m thoroughly enjoying it.
“I’m offended that you’d think I was playing a game. I’m an artist before a professor. I’m drawn to things that inspire me, and what I saw did just that. It greatly inspired me.”
“Yes, the research that you’ve been speaking of. It’s creepy. This should solidify your induction into the creepy academic of the month club. I don’t know if you do this with one student a semester or with a harem of them. No matter which way, you can leave me out.”