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“Whatever, Professor Khan,” I spat, doing my best to keep from clawing his eyes out—or his shirt off; whichever, I couldn’t seem to keep the two separated at the moment. I was furiously angry at him, sure, but with his dark blue eyes practically twinkling, I still had to keep my legs pressed tight together.
“I prefer it if my sexual partners call me by my first name, Foster.”
Foster—ahem, Professor Khan—leaned casually against his desk. Arms folded, he eyed me with as much interest as you might someone telling you the weather.
If you were to ask me what came over me, I couldn’t tell you. It was like some demon infiltrated my body—a demon totally justified in her actions, but a demon nonetheless. Up to that point I had never been the type to get physical, especially with authority figures. Even if those authority figures were no-good liars, albeit panty-drenchingly hot no-good liars, but no-good liars all the same.
I rushed up to Foster and shoved him so hard he fell backward on his desk. It felt good, almost too good. I folded my arms, relishing my victory over Professor Asshat. The victory was short-lived.
Slowly, Foster rose from his akimbo position. He took time to rearrange the papers that had scattered and even lifted up a picture that had fallen. When he was finished, we stood staring at each other.
Foster advanced toward me.
Nearly tripping over my heels, I backed up to get away from him. Suddenly the tables were turned and I was pressed so hard against the door that the doorknob dug into my spine. Slowly, with deliberate care, Foster touched my face. My breath hitched.
I hadn’t known he was my professor when we had sex, but now I did. What kind of person did it make me if I continued it?
Sure, Foster was the best most attentive lover I’d ever had and probably would ever have. He was a brilliant and kind person, but he was also my professor. He was forbidden fruit. It could not happen. Ever. I got so caught up in my rambling thoughts that I didn’t notice Foster had closed the small space between our lips. When I looked up, he was only a breath away.
“What—what are you doing?” I stuttered.
“I’m going to kiss you,” Foster replied simply, a small smile playing on his lips—lips that were much too close to mine.
“You can’t do that,” I protested. “You’re my professor.”
Foster raised a brow. “Do you want me to stop?” Reaching out to stroke my cheek lightly, he continued. “I’ll stop if you don’t want this, Nora. I’ll back up and go behind my desk and I’ll stay that way for the rest of the semester, if that’s what you want.”
My emotions warred with my mind. I’d come to this school to be a nurse. A relationship with Foster would jeopardize everything I’d ever worked for. It was a no-brainer. I had to say no. Foster needed to be Professor Khan.
I swallowed and, looking in to his Atlantic blue eyes, whispered, “Don’t stop.”
* * *
Foster threw me on the desk and it didn’t matter that a paperweight was digging in to my back, because what was digging into my thigh was way more distracting. His mouth was on mine in a moment. I could hardly breathe between his weight, his mouth, and the paperweight digging into my back. It was a scary but euphoric feeling, like I was giving up all of myself to Foster. He grabbed the back of my neck, forcing my mouth even further into his. He bit my lower lip, sucking at it.
I groaned as Foster undid the clasp of my skirt and pulled it down.
“I’m going to fuck you now,” Foster said, eyes drilling me. “Understand?” I nodded. I was breathless from his kisses, and honestly, my lips were a little swollen and numb.
“Say you understand, Nora,” Foster said, his voice darker.
I smiled. “I understand, Professor Khan.”
“Oh, Miss Starling.” Foster spun me around so that I was bent over the desk. “You are very good at following directions.” Foster inserted one finger inside me. I moaned when he moved the finger, causing me to feel the motion inside.
“Yes,” Foster whispered against my ear. “Very good at following directions.” Foster slipped the finger out. I groaned, disappointed to lose him. Soon I felt his presence again, but I knew it was definitely not his finger. I gripped the wood, preparing for Foster.
He slid purposefully inside of me. The sensation was too overwhelming and I released my grip on the wood. His powerful thrusts deepened until he bottomed out inside me, and my nails made soft noises as I scratched the desk.
“How’s that?” Foster asked. I groaned in reply. “Hmm… I don’t know what that means. Perhaps I’m not deep enough?” Foster pulled out of me before ramming himself inside. He hit so hard I yelled, “Oh God!”
I turned my head to the side, wanting to get a better look at Foster. The hard wood of the desk cooled my hot forehead and from my angle I could see his tattoo, fully exposed. It was a howling wolf.
“You’re improving, Miss Starling,” Foster growled. He continued the fast, torturously deep rhythm until I was screaming his name—at least I think I was screaming his name; it could have been gibberish. He was making me come so hard and so, so well that I nearly blacked out on the desk.
The waves of my orgasm subsided to shivers. Foster mopped my sweaty hair from my forehead. Leaning in, he whispered, “Well done, Miss Starling.”
“Professor Khan? Are you available? It’s Ellen from your morning class. I have a few questions.”
