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„We’re not going back to my office,” he says, when I approach him after class.
„Why not?” I ask.
He looks at the door, where the last bunch of students is leaving the room, before he looks back at me with a frown.
„You know damn well, why,” he hisses. „We can talk about the assignments right here.”
He looks angry—and so exhausted. And I can’t deny that it makes me giddy to know that it’s because of me. I’m getting to him, and while he taught his class with the utmost professionalism, I could still tell that he was shaken by the sight of me. I made sure to give him something to look at every time he looked my way, and his hungry gaze lingered on me every single time.
I have never felt more beautiful and powerful in my entire life.
„Okay, then,” I say, scanning the room for something to sit on. But there is no chair, except the one he’s sitting on, and the tiered seating for us students.
He keeps his head low and is focused on the papers in front of him, ignoring my presence, while I ponder what to do. I glance over to the door. Should I really be that brazen?
I hesitate for another moment, before I dare to walk around the desk, and lower myself on the edge of it, close enough for his arm to touch my bare thigh, as my skirt hikes up.
He jumps up from his seat, as if stung by an adder, and stumbles away from the desk.
„Don’t fucking do that,” he spits.
I lean back, supporting myself on my hands while I tilt my head to the side and give him a look of pure innocence.
„Or else?” I ask.
His eyes flit to the door, still standing ajar after the last student left, before he turns back to me.
„Are you really that irresponsible?” he asks, as he comes closer. „How can you not be worried about the consequences of your behavior? Do you not care about your studies or your scholarship?”
His words hurt, and I bite my lip in an attempt to swallow the sting that comes with them. I get down from the desk and get back on my feet right before him.
„Is that a threat?” I ask in a low voice. „Are you threatening to get me expelled or something?”
He looks taken aback at the accusation, but he doesn’t say anything or shake his head to deny it.
„We should focus,” he says instead, deflecting like he always does.
„I can’t focus, when I’m around you,” I declare. It’s an honest revelation, and one that scares me more than I care to admit.
He fixes me with a look that’s hard to read. I hate that his handsome face is such an enigma most of the time. I can tell that he’s affected by me and the things I say and do, but I can hardly ever tell in what way.
„It doesn’t matter,” he says, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself rather than talking to me.
I want to ask him what he means by that, but when I notice him glancing at the door, I turn around to find another professor from our department standing in the door. It’s Professor Fitzek, a very short man with the fullest beard I’ve ever seen.
„Oh, hello there,” he exclaims, sounding surprised.
„Professor Fitzek, hello,” Professor Jones greets him. „Do you need the room?”
„As a matter of fact, I do,” Professor Fitzek responds, while side-eyeing me, as I greet him with a polite nod.
„Unless I’m in the wrong room?” he asks then, throwing a confused look at the sign next to the door. „This is 233 A, isn’t it?”
„Yes, it is,” Professor Jones tells him. „We were just leaving.”
He casts me a warning look while throwing his satchel over his shoulder. Does he really think I’m desperate enough to tease him before the eyes of a colleague?
He leaves the room so quickly, that I have to hurry to scramble my things together and keep up with him, as he storms out of the room.
