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“All the same, could you answer my question please?” There’s no fire in her statement, no spark in her eyes. She’s standing by the still-open door, arms hanging limply by her sides. I long to take her into my own arms and…what? Shake some life back into her? Fuck it back into her more like. Rut her down into her mattress until she screams my name and comes undone on my dick.
“Close the door,” I grind out from between my gritted teeth. She does, without question, which does absolutely nothing to diminish the hard-on I’m sporting. I’m pretty sure the girl I met in the bar would have had a lot more to say about me issuing orders like that – especially with a couple of drinks inside her – but this girl gives me…nothing. It’s as alarming as it is arousing.
I need a fucking drink.
“Professor—”
“I got your email.” I cut her off before I can do something crazy like beg her to call me Sir after all and kiss the shit out of her.
“Oh.”
“And I’m here to tell you that you can’t withdraw from my course.” Because I can’t bear not to see you every day.
“Why not?”
“The deadline has passed.”
“When was the deadline?”
“Last week. I gave a reminder to my students in the lecture.” This is bullshit. I did no such thing because I don’t care if they transfer out or stay and fail. But I also know that she doesn’t know this, so I can pretty much say whatever I like at this point.
“Oh. I wasn’t there.”
“I’m well aware of your abysmal attendance, Miss Van Der Zee.” The barb slips out before I even formulate my response. What is it about this girl that brings out the worst in me?
Wanting her and knowing you can’t have her. Being unable to think straight because your dick is so hard. Blaming her for the bluest balls in history.
Her shoulders slump with her disappointment, and I almost feel regret. Where’s her spark, her fire? Why isn’t she challenging me on this? We could have so much fun if she got her spark back…if things were different.
Literal sparks flew the last time she faced off against me. Where’s that passion and heat now? It’s a sobering thought, and I fucking hate being sober.
I have to tamp down the urge to press her against the wall and devour every inch of her, to see if that will bring her back to life.
Forbidden fruit is always that much sweeter and I bet she’s the sweetest of all.
“Do you know why I was off?” she asks quietly.
“I do not care for the pathetic excuses of my students, of which there are many,” I sniff.
God, I’m being such an asshole but I can’t seem to help myself around her. It’s not a case of ‘treat ‘em mean to keep ‘em keen’, more, keep her at arm’s length to avoid dicking a student and fucking up the entire mission. She’s just one pussy. You shouldn’t be tangled in knots over her like this. Get a grip, Vance!
“I’m sure whatever excuse you’ve concocted will be no less creative than the last. How students choose to squander their education is entirely up to them. I get paid either way.”
“I was in hospital.”
“Like I said, Miss Van Der Zee, I do not care. Clearly whatever it was wasn’t fatal as you are still here. I am simply here to tell you that I expect you in my class first thing tomorrow morning. Do not be late.”
“I need to switch to online learning!” she blurts out as I turn to go. I pause. My back is to her so she can’t see the triumphant grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. There she is. I school my expression before turning back to her.
“And why is that? Are you suddenly suffering from some contagious ailment which may infect the rest of the student body?”
“I have agoraphobia.” She thrusts a sheet of paper at my chest, and I catch it easily.
There’s some bullshit diagnosis form signed off by a Doctor Parks. Interesting and useful. I mentally file the name away to have Reef look into later.
Holding out the paper to her with a dissatisfied shrug, I wait for her to take it back from me. When she doesn’t, I allow it to float to the ground between us like a shot-down white flag.
Neither of us are backing down.
