The Professors’ Plaything (Forbidden Fantasies #8)

1. Emma

1

EMMA

“ Y ou’re wearing that?”

My adorable yet often judgmental best friend Meghan eyes me up and down, tilting her head to observe me over the wireframe of her round glasses. Her soft peach lips purse into an O, and I can almost feel the disappointment rolling off her, as well-placed as it may be.

“Yes.” I smile brightly at her, smoothing my hands down the tight white shirt that strains over my large chest and the knee-length yellow leather skirt I’ve managed to squeeze into. The buttons on my shirt are working overtime keeping my girls at bay, and one strong breath could ruin everything. “Why, you don’t think he’ll notice?”

“Honey.” Meghan chuckles and nudges into me gently while we walk down the corridor. “You look stunning. There’s no way he won’t notice. I just don’t think you’ll get the reaction you’re looking for.”

“Why, what’s he going to do?” I smirk cheekily. “Tell me to get out of his class and change into something more appropriate? Then I can invite him along.”

“Emma!” Meghan’s cheeks flare crimson, and the blush quickly spreads down her neck, disappearing into the collar of the fluffy cardigan she pulls around her shoulders. “You shouldn’t talk about a teacher that way.”

“Why? I’d give anything for Professor Barlowe to help me into something more fit for class. I do my best learning naked.”

“You’re impossible.” Meghan rolls her eyes and adjusts the bag strap on her shoulder. “All I’m saying is you’ve squashed a lot of curves into a very tight outfit, and you’re heading into a four-hour lecture.”

“Beauty is pain. Curves like these shouldn’t be hidden away.” Reaching the door to my lecture hall, I pause dramatically, much to Meghan’s amusement. “I’ll be fine. Trust me; I’ve had years of practice being a curvy girl squashing into uncomfortable leather seats. I might as well look good doing it.”

“If you say so.” She glances past me, sticks out an arm to wave quickly at the third member of our group, Ana, then she flashes me a wide smile. “Catch you later!”

“Bye! Text me after class.”

Meghan melts into the crowd, becoming another spoke in the wheel of surging students searching for their classes. She means well, deep down. Meghan’s always been much more conservative than me, and while I’ve been trying to draw her out of her shell over the years, sometimes her sensible nature is precisely what I need.

Not today, though.

Today, I am determined to get Professor Barlowe to look at me as more than just another student in his class. Months of pining over the most attractive teacher I’ve ever laid eyes on have culminated in this moment. My words and actions have fallen flat when trying to get his attention, so now I’ll try the good old tactic of seduction through visual stimulation.

“Emma!” Ana half rises in her seat to greet me, scanning her eyes down my body while she wrestles with the wild mane of curls around her head. “Why do you look so fucking tasty?”

A warm appreciation blooms in my chest as I take my seat and align myself so I can help her pin down her hair.

“Today is the day Professor Barlowe will finally realize he’s deeply in love with me and whisk me away for a night of mind-blowing passion and sex.”

“He’s got competition,” Ana remarks, her voice slightly muffled as her chin hits her chest. “I’m ready to do that myself.”

“Thanks.” I laugh softly and successfully pin Ana’s hair in place.

She lifts her head and flashes me a grateful smile, then settles back with a sigh. “Have you finished the personal reflection story yet?”

Immediately, the warmth from thinking about Professor Barlowe melts away. I slump back in my chair, pulling several notepads from my bag and tucking them onto the desk. My bag sits neatly between my booted ankles when I’m finished.

“No. Honestly, when I write fiction I’m trying to separate myself from reality. I don’t understand why we have to put a piece of ourselves into this work.”

“Same,” Ana groans, rapidly tapping her pen against the desk. “Only my therapist is allowed to look that deep inside me.”

“Maybe I’ll ask sexy Professor Barlowe to help me.”

“Girl, how many months have you been lusting after him now? Should I be worried that you’re going a little crazy?”

“No, I have a plan.” It’s been too many months to count, but ever since I first saw him, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him even though he hasn’t shown me a lick of interest. That’s only made me more desperate for the simplest of things, like a glance in my direction or a touch of fingers when he hands me back a paper.

She lifts one perfectly penciled brow. “Okay, I believe you.”

“Trust me,” I say confidently.

Ana doesn’t reply, or if she does then I don’t hear her because a second later, Professor Barlowe strides into the lecture hall, and my entire world narrows to him.

Maybe it’s infatuation. Obsession. I don’t know and don’t really care. Everything about him draws me in and I want one taste. One little taste, and I’ll be satisfied.

Or I won’t.

He strides in with purpose and flashes a dazzling smile at the row of faces filling the lecture hall. Just a glimpse and my heart is fluttering. He’s tall and much more muscular than you would expect from someone who teaches Writing and Literary Concepts. With curly brown hair that sweeps back from his forehead, a constant easy smile, and striking hazel eyes that glint like warm coffee in the sun, I’ve been hooked from day one.

The class starts, and he greets everyone the way he always does, with an anecdote of something funny that happened over the weekend. His voice is low and velvet soft, yet he holds the attention of every single student in here. Me included. As he talks, he moves his hands back and forth while pacing the stage. Occasionally, he lifts his hands to adjust his dark, square glasses or drags a strong-looking hand through his thick hair. The top button of his shirt is always undone, and his tie—today it’s red—always hangs an inch or two down from his throat, loosely knotted.

I want to grab it. I want to wind my hand into the silk and use it to pull him closer to me. I want his velvet voice in my ear telling me how good I look in this skirt. How desperately he wants to rip this shirt from my body and kiss every inch of pale skin underneath. My mind runs with the fantasy for the rest of the lesson, and I don’t notice that the lecture is over until Ana snaps her fingers in front of my face.

“Earth to Emma.” She chuckles. “Where are you?”

“Sorry.” I straighten up. “I was miles away.”

“Clearly.” Ana gathers her laptop and books then slides them into her bag. “Were you and Finn away on some sexy retreat?” Ana laughs to herself as she stands.

“Maybe.” Gathering my books, I tuck them away, sling my bag over my shoulder, and then step out into the aisle. Ana follows and we make it a few steps down then I turn to her. “I just want to ask him something. Meet you outside?”

Ana affectionately rolls her eyes, then pats my shoulder as she passes. “You got it.”

The class is nearly empty when I reach the bottom of the steps. Professor Barlowe—Finn—stands near his desk, bent at the waist with his attention on his computer. I make a beeline for him, only to pause when a hand catches my elbow.

“Hey, Emma.”

Glancing up, I see another guy from my class standing next to me. Mike, I think his name is.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“Oh, I was just saying hi.” His thin, concave cheeks flush pink suddenly and a nervous smile spreads across his face.

“Oh. Hi.” I laugh politely and sidestep him, making a beeline for Professor Barlowe. “Professor?”

Finn lifts his head first, with his eyes still on his computer. Then those gorgeous hazel eyes lock onto me and warmth flushes through my body like a wave.

“Emma. How can I help?”

The way he says my name is like honey, each syllable dripping from his lips. I want to hear it over and over. Finn chanting my name like a prayer.

I put on my best smile, tuck a curl of dark hair behind my ear and step forward with my hip cocked. “I actually have some questions about the assignment you gave us last week?”

Finn clicks his tongue thoughtfully behind his teeth, his eyes never leaving mine, then he nods. “The personal reflection within fiction?”

“Yes.” I smile wider and allow my eyes to wander over his broad shoulders, slowly down his torso then back up to his face. I don’t know how much more obvious I can be that I’m checking him out.

“It’s not like you to struggle with something like that. You’re quite the talented writer.”

His compliment brings a burst of heat across my face and I switch my weight from leg to leg, cocking my other hip as I lean against his desk.

“Why thank you, I appreciate that. I just…There's something about this that I’m struggling with. Usually, I have no problem taking care of something so hard, but this one, I need some extra help.” Batting my eyelashes, I lean an inch closer and subtly bite my lower lip when our eyes meet.

Finn…is completely unaffected. His gaze doesn’t move, his voice doesn’t waver and if he picks up on any of the innuendos in my speech, he just doesn’t appear to care.

“I can organize some one-on-one time with a tutor if you think that will help. You have the skill, Emma. If you apply yourself.”

“Not some one-on-one time with you?” I ask with faux innocence.

“I tend to step in after assistance from a tutor fails,” Finn says politely. “Fill this out and get it back to me by tomorrow and I’ll assign someone to you.” In one move, Finn hands me a form then turns back to his computer. I’m silently dismissed.

And utterly rejected once again.

Frustration builds like static behind my eyes and I force my smile wider. “Okay. Thank you, Professor.”

Finn flashes me a dry smile, and it’s the last thing I see as I turn away and head out of the lecture hall.

Is this a sign I should give up? There were times in the past when his eyes would linger on me as he scanned the hall, or our fingers would stay connected long after I’d taken something from him. When he smiled at me, it sometimes felt like it was a secret smile only for me.

After that display, however, maybe I was wrong. Maybe there is nothing, and I’m just throwing myself at a man who has to deal with countless student crushes in his daily life.

“How did it go?” Ana pushes up from the wall as I trudge toward her. I don’t say a word and her face melts into a sympathetic smile, then she wraps her arms around me in a tight hug. “I’m sorry, babe.”

“It’s fine.”

It’s not fine. We make it four steps.

“He was completely unaffected! I might as well have been wearing a potato sack stuffed with straw.”

Ana snorts. “Maybe he’s just not into women. Then it doesn’t matter how hot you are. And trust me, no hot-blooded man with a love of pussy could resist you looking like that.”

I roll my eyes and sigh, linking arms with her as we walk. “Maybe. Fuck. Either I have to up my game, or it’s about time I found someone much more deserving of my affection.”