When I finally get up, there are a few students already standing around the lectern, and they take their time asking their own questions while I wait. I know I shouldn’t, but I want to be alone with Professor Sharpe. I don’t want some sweaty nerd breathing over my shoulder while I ask what I’m about to ask him.
You’re a sweaty nerd too, I think.
Finally, the last student is talking to him, so I pull down on my skirt and walk toward the lectern. I don’t know what I was thinking this morning, wearing something this tight and short or a top this low-cut.
Well, I do know what I was thinking, I just shouldn’t have been thinking it.
I was thinking, I want Professor Sharpe to see me as a woman, not a little girl.
I want him to see how grownup I am, even if I’m only twenty.
It was stupid, because now I have to talk to him dressed like this, and I’m so nervous my feet are sweating.
The other student leaves. Professor Sharpe looks at me and nods, and I walk up to him, heart hammering in my chest.
“Hi, Professor Sharpe,” I say, glad my voice isn’t shaking. “My name is Melody Canter, and I’m—”
“I know who you are,” he says, smiling slowly, the skin around his eyes creasing.
I stop short.
He knows who I am?
“You do?” I ask awkwardly, caught off guard.
I shift my weight from one foot to another, excruciatingly aware that I’m dressed for a frat party, not a history lecture.
“Certainly,” he says, his deep voice quiet, his eyes boring into mine. “You wrote an excellent paper on the emperor Julian’s attempts to convert the Roman Empire back to paganism.”
I’m blushing. My whole body is blushing, because of course he knows the papers I write and that’s it. He’s at least fifteen years older than me, and even though he doesn’t have a wedding ring I’m sure he’s got a girlfriend or something.
“Thanks,” I say, and clear my throat.
“What can I do for you, Melody?” he asks, his voice still quiet.
I take a deep breath.
“I’m a sophomore and our major declarations are due at the end of the semester,” I say, the words tumbling from my mouth. “And I’m going to declare a Classics major, so I need an advisor.”
He’s just watching me, like he’s waiting.
“Would you be my advisor?” I ask.
“That’s a complicated question,” he says, crossing his arms and leaning against a blank spot on the chalkboard. “I’m afraid I’m one of the tougher advisors in the department, and I demand more of my advisees than most.”
God, just the way he says it makes heat flow down through my body as I think about the things he could demand from me — that I lie back on the desk, spread my legs, say his name...
“That’s okay,” I squeak out.
“Other professors will be easier,” he warns me. “If I’m your advisor, I’ll ride you hard.”
I swear I can almost see the outline of his cock through his well-fitting gray pants, but I force myself to look at his face, not the monster down below.
And make no mistake: it’s a monster, but I already knew that. I’ve been staring at it in awe for most of a semester, and I’ve got no problem with Professor Sharpe riding me hard.
Or me riding him. All I have to do is take my panties off and he could take me right here in this classroom...
“That’s fine,” I say. “I’m up to it.”
He lifts his briefcase to his shoulder and smiles at me again, but this time there’s something new in his eyes, something glimmering and hungry.
“Good,” he says. “Let’s talk this over in my office.”
Chapter 2
Professor Sharpe
I unlock the door to my office, then point Melody to a chair and sit behind my desk. She glances around with her huge blue eyes, taking everything in as she yanks on her skirt again, trying to keep herself covered as she sits in the chair facing my desk.
“I assume you’re familiar with the coursework,” I start, lacing my hands on the desk.
Melody nods, her mahogany hair falling over her shoulders. I force myself not to look down, even though I’m nearly certain I could see a tiny peek of her panties if I did.
“And you’re also aware that you have to maintain a certain GPA,” I go on, the words on autopilot. “Though if all your work is as excellent as it is in my class, that shouldn’t be too hard.”
Melody smiles and looks down, crossing her legs as she does. I’m glad I’m sitting behind my desk, because being this close to this girl — this student — has me rock hard for the millionth time this semester, my cock straining at the zipper of my pants.
“I’ll keep my grades up,” she says, a half-smile on her face.
I nod, then go on with the requirements for being a Classics major as she blinks, smiles, and agrees with me.
Thank God I do this all the time, because I can barely think straight with her right here. I’ve been watching this girl all semester — the way she blushes when she asks questions in class, the way she bites her pen sometimes when she’s thinking, her perfect lips sucking on it carefully, her pink tongue just barely visible, the way she walks out the door of my classroom.
I want those wide blue eyes staring up at me as she gets on her knees, her pink tongue darting between her lips as she carefully takes my cock in one hand and then, slowly and carefully, takes it into her mouth millimeter by millimeter.
My balls tighten at just the thought.
“Of course,” she says in response to something I’ve said. “I’m thinking of applying to grad schools after college, so my thesis would be really important.”
I keep talking, but her skirt’s inching up her thighs bit by bit, the neck of her shirt low, her shoes totally impractical for the weather we’re having. She’s uncertain of herself for sure, but there’s no way she knows the effect it’s having on me.
She’s too young, I remind myself. She’s your student.
If anything happens, you’re fired, tenure or not.
You’re already skating on thin ice after that incident when you were in grad school. Don’t be stupid, Ethan.
We talk about her thesis. I force myself not to think about spreading her legs on my desk and drinking her sweet honey while she moans my name, my tongue in her tight little pussy.
Jesus, of all the women to turn me on this much, why did it have to be a student? Why couldn’t it be someone less dangerous, like a coworker or my stepsister?
“Well, I’m happy to take you as an advisee,” I say. “Just remember, I’m much harder than most advisors.”
In more ways than one, I think.
“I don’t mind hard,” Melody says, then blushes. “Actually, I think I prefer it.”
For just a second, I look at her lap, her tiny skirt ridden almost all the way up to her hips. A tiny triangle of her white panties is visible between her thighs, and I have to force myself to stay seated instead of walking around the desk and bending her over it.
“Good,” I say. “By the way, I’m having all my advisees over for hot chocolate and snacks on Saturday night. Certainly not mandatory, but you’re welcome to come if you’ve got nothing more exciting planned.”
She shakes her head a little too vigorously, then blushes pink.
“Not at all,” she says.
“Perfect,” I say, and stand without thinking.
My erection is practically halfway across my desk, a goddamn tentpole sticking out of my pants. There’s nothing I can do except pretend it’s not there, even though we both see it.
She also stands, looking me determinedly in the eye. We shake hands.
“See you Saturday,” she says, opening my office door.
“Yes,” I say, and she leaves.
I take a deep, deep breath, because it’s nerve-shattering how much I want to fuck this twenty-year-old undergrad, this girl who I absolutely can’t touch.
My cock is so hard it hurts, so I close and lock my door quickly and pull down my blinds. I’ve got one hand firmly around the bottom of my shaft before I’m even sitting down again, and I have to bite back a groan as I stroke myself.
Think about porn, I command myself. Think about a coworker, your waitress last night, an ex-girlfriend.
Anyone but Melody. Anyone.
I stroke harder and faster, carefully trying to keep my mind blank as my cock fills my fist, so hard I think it might burst.
Then she pops into my head again, her big eyes and perfect lips and tiny skirt, walking into my office.
Stop it, I think.
Fantasy-Melody walks around my desk, her big innocent eyes watching me jerk off, her lips parted, her chest heaving. My cock twitches in my hand, and I stroke faster, thinking about the same fantasy I’ve had a million times.
Now she’s bent over my desk, my hand in her hair, her skirt around her waist, her pink pussy exposed. Please, she says in the fantasy, begging with her eyes, and I drive myself into her tight hole, her eyes rolling back as I fill her up, tight and wet and hot —
I come with a grunt as my balls tighten instantly and I shoot spurt after spurt of thick, ropy cum, gritting my teeth together against the groan threatening to explode from my chest. I pump my fist up and down my cock again and again until I’m totally spent, breathing hard.
Then I open my eyes, and realize I just came on the floor of my office. Again, because I can’t control myself when I think about Melody.