by Parker Grey
I’m still early. I walk to the campus mail room and check my mail. Nothing besides flyers for winter break internship opportunities that don’t pay well. On the way to the department again, I wander a little, trying to buy myself time and think about anything else besides fucking Professor Sharpe.
I can’t.
Finally, it’s 4:50, so I give up and walk back. The department is on the third floor of a big brick building, and I climb the steps in near-agony. I try to go slow so I’m not sweating too much when I get to him, but I can’t help myself.
I want to run.
His office door is closed when I get there. Suddenly I’m not quite sure what to do. Should I knock? What if he’s in there with someone else? Would I be disturbing them?
Would they know?
I stand right outside for a minute, straining my ears to hear what’s happening inside, but I can’t hear anything. It doesn’t look like the light is on, either, but I could be wrong.
At last I take a deep breath, screw up my courage, and knock on the door.
If someone’s in there, I’m here to talk about my thesis.
He’s my advisor. This is perfectly normal and acceptable.
There’s no answer. I wait, shuffling my feet. After a minute, I knock again, but I’m pretty sure he’s not there.
It’s five after five, and I have a sinking feeling in my stomach.
He’s just late, I tell myself. Things happen. People run late.
I stand in the hall and wait. With every passing moment, I’m more and more aware that I’m naked underneath my skirt — not just naked but naked and soaking wet. I got so turned on thinking about this that my upper thighs are slick, but now I just feel like an idiot.
A panty-less idiot. It seems like it shouldn’t make that much difference, but standing here, I feel totally vulnerable, like anyone who walks by can tell that I was excited to have sex with my professor who’s stood me up.
Still, I wait until 5:30 to leave. The only people who walk by are other undergraduates, probably leaving their final exam of the semester. Thankfully, none of them look at me twice.
It’s completely dark when I walk back toward central campus, fighting back tears.
I feel like an idiot. I just stood in a hallway, waiting for someone who wasn’t coming, like a sad lost puppy or something.
Of course he’s not interested, I tell myself. He’s handsome and smart and rich, and having a relationship with you is dangerous for him.
You shouldn’t be surprised he didn’t show up. Not at all.
I keep walking, my breath fogging up in the cold air. Campus is emptier than usual, since a lot of people leave town the second their last final is over.
I’m heading toward home, but I don’t feel like going back to my apartment. Erica is going to be able to tell I’m bummed about something, and I don’t feel like making up an excuse right now, and God knows I can’t tell her the truth.
The student union is still open, the lights glowing from inside.
Fuck it. I’m getting a cupcake from the bakery in the basement. Because if ever there was a time when I needed a damn cupcake, this is it.
Chapter 12
Professor Sharpe
I glance at my watch again, trying to hide my agony.
This meeting was supposed to be over by four-thirty. Instead, it’s almost six, and I’m still here, in this windowless room in one of the campus buildings, listening to a matronly woman with short hair drone on and on about ethics violations.
I know why I’m here. My past, combined with the fact that my chair saw a naked picture of a girl on my phone last time we met — well, it’s a recipe for this sort of thing.
And if there’s one thing that interests Greg, the chair of the Classics department, it’s covering his ass with stuff like this. I’ll make sure we don’t get caught, but if we do, this way he gets to disavow all knowledge and point to all these meetings he had me attend.
“Therefore,” the woman drones on. “If you have any business interest in a property which you yourself may be researching, it would be in your best ethical interest to appoint...”
I’m not even listening. I don’t even need to be here for this part, because it’s about scientific research and patents, and I teach history, for fuck’s sake. I wish I could text Melody and tell her why I’m not there, that I haven’t stood her up, that the taste of her honey was all I thought about this weekend.
But texting a student I intend to fuck, while in an ethics meeting, would be pretty stupid, so I don’t. Instead I check my watch every thirty seconds until we’re finally released.
The moment I’m outside the building I turn down a little-used path toward a dead garden, pull my phone out, and call Melody. I know it’s a little dangerous, but I can’t stand that I stood her up.
She answers on the fourth ring, her voice already staticky.
“Hello?” she says, sounding very formal, and also very nervous.
God, the things I want to do to her.
“Melody,” I say. “I got stuck in a meeting that went late. Where are you?”
A long, staticky pause.
“Wh ... aited ... —ve thirty,” she says, her voice coming in and out. “I’m at .... n gold ... afe. But—”
The line goes silent.
“Melody?” I ask, my fingers closing hard around the phone.
I’m answered with three beeps, meaning the line is dead. I turn and survey campus, quickly going over the map in my head, trying to figure out what n gold cafe might mean.
I could wait for her to call me back, but fuck waiting. I’ve waited a week for this, I’m not waiting more.
Finally, my brain alights on the answer: the Blue & Gold Cafe. It’s in the basement of the student union.
It gets terrible cell reception.
And with that, I’m walking across campus as fast as I can.
Chapter 13
Melody
I look at my phone in my hand, the words CALL ENDED white on the black screen, and for a moment I just stare at it.
He didn’t stand you up, I think, and my heart does somersaults in my chest. He was in a meeting that went long. That’s all. It’s not you, he didn’t find someone better, it was just an accident.
I grin to myself, then bite down hard on one knuckle, trying to hide it.
“Hey,” says a voice behind me, and I turn. It’s a bored-looking girl with a nose ring and blue hair, a broom in one hand. “We’re closing in, like, five minutes, so...”
She trails off, looking at me, and I nod. I gather the half of a chocolate cupcake that’s in front of me, put my backpack on, and head out of the cafe and into the basement of the student union. The girl locks the door behind me.
I put a fingerful of frosting in my mouth, then start walking. I need to get out of the basement and call Professor Sharpe back, my heart already pounding with anticipation.
I’m up the stairs, through a lounge, and walking purposefully toward the big exit doors when I hear him, behind me, calling my name softly.
My heart leaps into my throat, and I turn.
Professor Sharpe is standing there, between study tables and ugly blue upholstered chairs, both his hands in the pockets on his peacoat. There’s no one else in the entire big room, and right then, I’m struck motionless.
“Melody,” he says again, and starts walking toward me.
Just the way he walks makes me feel funny inside. A classics professor — someone who can read and write ancient Greek — shouldn’t have this kind of self-assured, totally confident walk. He shouldn’t move toward me like he’s completely certain that I’ll be at his beck and call after he stood me up, but he does.
And I am.
“Professor Sharpe,” I say. I feel like the air around me is vibrating, I’m so nervous all of a sudden. Warmth is already flowing down through my body, and I’m incredibly aware that I’m not wearing panties all over again.
He closes in on me, standing a foot awa
y, and just looks at me for a moment. I stand still, enthralled, not at all sure what to do or say. His face is unreadable but intense, and I’m totally certain of one thing: no one has ever looked at me like this before.
At last I look down, because we’re in public, and I’m a little afraid of what I might do if I don’t.
“I waited,” I say softly. “I wasn’t sure what to do, so I left.”
“I know,” his voice rumbles softly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stand you up.”
Then he puts one finger under my chin and lifts my face until I’m looking at him. I swallow hard.
“But I’m going to make it up to you,” he says. His voice is still quiet, but there’s a self-assured smile, almost a smirk on his face, and it turns my insides into jelly.
I’m still holding a third of a cupcake, and Professor Sharpe glances down, then runs one finger through the frosting.
Then he lifts his hand to my lips, and I open my mouth before I can even think, slipping him inside.
I lick the frosting off his finger instantly and swallow, sucking at him before I run my tongue over the rough, slightly salty pad of his index finger one more time, just to make sure I get all the frosting off.
Professor Sharpe growls, the noise low and deep in his chest, and I look up at him.
Now I can read his face. It’s pure lust, just barely held back, and seeing it there in his eyes makes my pussy flood all over again.
I suck his finger into my mouth until my lips are at the first knuckle, and I swear he growls again as I lick him and suck him slowly, letting him draw his finger from between my lips.
As his finger leaves my lips, I reach my tongue out and give it one last long lick, relishing the feeling of his skin against my tongue, trembling for more.
Just as I do, I hear a door shut across the room.
I jump backward and turn away from Professor Sharpe. My face goes nuclear and I jam my hand into my coat pocket, bend my head, scratch my face, anything to make it seem like I wasn’t just sucking my professor’s finger.
Professor Sharpe casually puts his hands back into his pockets and glances toward the sound. A student — looks like an undergrad — walks across the big study room, heading for the door on the other side. He doesn’t even glance at us as we both watch him leave.
The moment he’s through the other door, Professor Sharpe turns.
“Follow me,” he says, and he doesn’t wait for an answer before he starts walking away.
We walk to the back of the huge study room, where there are doors in the wall, and I raise my eyebrows.
“What are these?” I whisper. There’s a window in each door, but they’re all papered over. I always thought they were utility closets or something.
Professor Sharpe pulls out his keys, still smiling, and goes through them until he finds the right one.
“Group study rooms,” he says, his voice still quiet and rough.
He puts his key into the lock, and I hear a click. The doorknob turns.
“I’m going to teach you a lesson, Melody,” he whispers, and pushes the door open.
Chapter 14
Professor Sharpe
I grab Melody by the wrist and pull her through the heavy wooden door, shutting it firmly behind me. There’s a projector in here, casting a blue screen onto one wall, no other light in the room.
Perfect. I don’t need anyone getting curious and trying to open this door.
Melody clears her throat nervously, looking around with wide eyes, her hands on the straps of her backpack. Somehow the innocence in her eyes gets me even harder than when she licks frosting off my finger.
“Is this—” she starts, her voice low.
I don’t let her finish. I grab the straps of her backpack and pull her into me, pressing our bodies together. Crushing her sweet mouth against mine.
For a moment, she’s perfectly still, and then she opens her lips beneath mine, inviting me in. I slide my tongue into her mouth and taste her, still sugary from the chocolate frosting, soft and yielding and utterly delectable.
Gingerly, like she’s nervous, Melody slips her tongue against mine. Like she’s asking permission. I pull her even tighter against me and a growl comes from somewhere deep in my chest, like I’m an animal.
Melody whimpers softly, and I pull back. Even in the near-dark, her lips are swollen and red and she’s got a dazed look in her eyes, like she can’t quite believe what’s happening.
“Get that backpack off,” I order her.
I undo the buttons on my winter coat as she drops her backpack onto a chair, and I let my coat fall to the floor. I barely know what I’m doing as I take her by her coat and push her against the wall, finding her mouth with my own again.
This time she’s got a hand on my head. Her fingers wind through my hair, pulling me close as I plunder her mouth. I have this wild, desperate need to be inside her, right now, in whatever way I can.
I need to take her. Claim her. Now.
I undo her coat in moments and pull it off, dropping it to the floor, and right away my hands are under her sweater as she arches her back, her eyes going half-closed as she sighs, breathing hard against my fingertips on her belly.
“You thought I stood you up,” I growl into her neck.
Her hands curl against my shoulders and she gasps, just a little.
“Yes,” she admits.
I find the clasp on her bra, behind her back, and it’s undone in a moment. With one quick motion I push her bra over her perky, full breasts and run my thumbs over her hard nipples, my hands still underneath her sweater.
“Oh,” she says.
I pinch both nipples at once, just a little bit too hard. She gasps again.
“You don’t trust me?” I ask, my voice low.
Her eyes are closed and she’s breathing hard, her chest heaving below my hands. My cock is so hard that I think it might actually turn to stone, and I want to push her skirt up and plunge myself into her sweet pussy right here, right now, but I want this too.
I want to hear her say she trusts me, she wants me, she’s mine.
“I just thought—” she starts, and then swallows.
I plant my lips on her neck and then suck at her delicate skin gently, moving my lips down until they’re near her collarbone.
“I just thought you’d found something else you needed to do, that maybe you realized that, uh, doing this with your student wasn’t such a great idea...”
She trails off as I suck the soft skin at the base of her neck harder, hard enough to bruise and leave a purple mark.
My mark.
“Melody,” I say, my lips still against her skin, pinching her nipples. “When I say I’m going to do something, I intend to do it.”
I rub my palms over her nipples, taking her breasts in my hands. Fuck, they’re perfect.
“And when I say that I’m going to bend you over my desk and fuck your tight, sweet, wet little cunt until you come so hard you go cross-eyed, that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” I finish.
Her eyes pop open at the word cunt, and I smile. I take one hand off her breast and slide it down her side, past her hip, her thigh, until my fingertips are right at the hem of her skirt.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs. “I just... you weren’t there.”
I can tell she’s not wearing panties. I think she’s got the garters on again, and the thought nearly drives me wild.
“I got called into an ethics meeting,” I say. “I couldn’t exactly text the undergraduate student I’m fucking from there.”
She nods and I slide my hand up her thigh, pushing her skirt along with it, and her head goes back, her eyes closing. I was right. She’s wearing the hose with garters, the tops of her creamy thighs exposed and soft under my fingers.
I push her knees apart with my own and stroke her slippery, wet seam with the pad of one thumb.
Then I grin in surprise, because she’s completely bare.
“You shaved your pussy
,” I say. “For me?”
She nods, a slight flush coming into her cheeks.
“I wanted to see how it felt,” she says.
“Does it feel good?” I ask, slipping a finger between her lips.
“Yes,” she moans.
I can’t hold back any longer, and I sink my fingers into Melody as far as they’ll go. She’s tight and welcoming all at once, her sweet heat enclosing me eagerly. With my other hand, I hoist her leg in the air and then she’s against the wall, both legs wrapped around my hips as I curl my fingers hard inside her, stroking that spot that makes her sigh.
“You know, Melody, you had me fooled,” I say.
Her pussy is clenching around my hand already, even as my thumb finds her clit and starts rubbing it in slow circles.
“I did?” she whispers. Her hips buck against me, her hands on my shoulders, and she moans again.
“I thought you were a good student and a nice girl,” I say.
I stroke her clit again, and her whole body shudders.
“But instead you’re a good student and a dirty sex kitten who lets her professor finger-fuck her against a wall in the student union,” I go on.
Her muscles flutter and clench again, and I force my hand to slow down because I don’t want her coming yet, no matter how eager she is.
“I couldn’t help myself,” she whispers, and I bend my fingers inside her again.
Her back arches, and she moans explosively.
“I like it when you do that,” she says, her voice breathy and strained. “Professor, I’m gonna—”
I stop moving my fingers and pull them out slowly. She’s still gasping for breath, but she opens her eyes and looks at me.
I lick them off one by one, starting with my ring finger, looking deep into her eyes, because I have this deep primal need to taste her, to have her on my hands and in my mouth.
Before I lick my pointer finger off, she grabs my hand, stopping me. Then she guides it to her own mouth and sucks it in, licking and slurping her own juices off my finger until it’s totally clean, looking me in the eyes the whole time.