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God damn it.
He forced himself to meet her eyes, and in them he found all the things he desired and dreaded.
“G-Good afternoon, Professor.”
Even her voice was a siren call, and it required Herculean effort on the professor’s part not to respond. Conscious of having his secretary’s curious glance on him as well, Matthijs strove to keep his face expressionless as he spoke to the girl. “Whatever you have to say can be discussed in my next class.”
“I was just hoping to explain—”
“But I’m not paid to listen to explanations, am I?” He knew he was being more cruel than usual, deliberately acting every inch the scoundrel he was reputed to be, but it was better this way. She might never know why, but that didn’t matter. He knew, and that was enough.
Stalking to his secretary’s desk, he reached for the pad of monogrammed stationery Mrs. Montez always had in stock and pulled out his fountain pen. The professor swiftly scribbled a note, saying curtly, “This is my written consent for you to request a different adviser—”
“But I d-don’t want one.”
The reply, stammered out as it may be, sounded like a love confession to his ears, and the illogical thought had the professor spewing another mental round of curses.
What the fuck was wrong with him?
Tearing off the scribbled sheet, he slammed it down on the counter and turned back to face the solitary, dark-haired thorn in his side. “I’ve been doing this far longer than you, Ms. Leventis, so I’d take my advice if I were you. The two of us are not going to be a good fit.” And it was damn well true, since his dick was insisting it was going to be a perfect fit for her virginal pussy.
“But Professor—”
He walked away as if he hadn’t heard a word. It was better this way, he reminded himself savagely, and always would be. The thought had the professor slamming the door shut behind him, and he barely managed to control himself from driving a fist to the wall.
What was it about her, dammit?
She was like the fucking Tethered counterpart of St. Anthony, and instead of helping people find things, she was the cause for them to lose things.
He could damn well attest to that, with the way she made him lose control – lose his fucking mind even – whenever she was around.
A semblance of a prayer formed on his tongue, but years of bitter resentment refused to give way, and so the words stayed unspoken. While His existence remained true in the professor’s mind, faith in Him had long been extruded. God was real, but God was not always there, and so it was up to humans to solve their own shit.
Tossing his coat on the armchair, he unfolded his length on the leather couch and leaned back as he reached down to unzip his pants. His dick was out in a moment and throbbing painfully, having already swollen to full size.
Mijn obsessie.
That was all she was, nothing else. The why was immaterial, but the how was still within reach. Eliminating her hold on him was only a matter of time and willpower. He would jerk himself off as many times as needed, fuck his mistress ten times a day, and even pay a fortune for a ménage à trois if that was what it took.
Anything – any fucking thing – was an alternative worth trying, for the cost of doing what he craved the moment he saw her was too high a price to bear.
The professor began to stroke himself, in the middle of his office, decency be damned. What was a workplace violation when his soul was at risk of a longer stint in Hell?
And yet…
He couldn’t stop himself from staring at the door, couldn’t help fucking imagine how things would turn out if she were to enter his office unbidden, couldn’t stop wondering where things would go if she were to see him like this.
Ah, God, if that were to happen…
His grip on his dick tightened.
Fucking obsessie.
But with the thought having already taken hold and refusing to let go, he could no longer stop himself from imagining. Fantasizing. Craving.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
His breath quickened as his own strokes became wilder and less controlled.
And that was when he saw the door starting to open.
Her
Diana was still trembling.
A minute had already passed since the professor not-so-subtly demanded she quit his class, and she wasn’t fully able to get past the shock of it. One thing was for sure though. It was definitely no longer accurate to think of him as Mr. Still Furious. Rather, he seemed more like Mr. Furious Only With Her, and it was as confusing as it was painful.
“I’m so sorry, Ms. Leventis,” the professor’s secretary apologized in mortified tones.
“I just don’t get why he’s so mad at me,” Diana confessed helplessly. “And if he would just let me explain…”
