Chapter Three
LUCY
Professor Kane’s dark brown, almost black, eyes are fixed on me. Her mouth is small, but her lips are full, and even from a distance, I can see she is frowning.
“I see you, Ms. Anderson. Come in,” she says firmly.
She leans, ass sitting on the front of her desk, arms crossed over her chest. The shirt sleeves pull tight, revealing the soft indent of her capable arms as they press her breasts upward. There’s a soft blonde sheen on her forearms I’ve never seen before; it’s so pretty, I want to paint her…
I want to touch her…and kiss her…and get on my knees for her…and…
“Ms. Anderson,” she practically yells, leaving no room for disagreement.
I jump, shoving the door open and scurrying into the lecture hall. Without the benefit of fresh underwear and a wet wipe, my thick thighs slip against each other with no friction at all.
My heart is racing so fast, it hurts, as I stand at the top of the stairs and squeak out the words, “You called on me?”
Professor Kane frowns, her pale brows pulling together like arrows pointing to the disapproval in the deep crease between them.
She looks different tonight. A few blonde curls from her low ponytail have come loose and hang right below the delicate sharpness of her cheekbones.
And her eyes—lightly lined at the corners, they seem to flash red in the moonlight as she stares at me unflinchingly.
Her displeasure seems to have increased.
My legs feel like warm Jell-O; I could tumble head over heels down the steps of the lecture hall at any moment and land at her feet. I’d smile at the thought, but she’s staring at me so intensely, I must’ve done something wrong. I want to fix it immediately. I want to make her smile.
“What? Is something on my face? Paint?” I quickly swipe at my cheek and then remember the newly discovered blue splotch on my thigh. I push the corner of my skirt high on my leg and attack the paint with my short nails. “Sorry, I know I got some here. It just won’t come off—”
I raise the skirt higher to get a better angle.
“Stop!” Professor Kane hits the corner of her desk with that black pointer stick thing, and I freeze, hand still holding the hem of my skirt. Her dark gaze dips to my thighs and then quickly back up. Her frown deepens. “Drop. The. Skirt.”
I drop it and swallow hard.
Her voice softens and slows as she adds, “You came to see me, Ms. Anderson—”
“Lucy,” I jump in, my body humming with energy I’m desperate for her to direct. She is just so certain and sure… Just tell me what to do…
“Fine. Lucy.” She exhales slowly, her eyes closing for a moment as she says my name. “Now is not a good time. I’m about to leave.”
She grips the pointer tightly with both hands as she looks out the large window—the moon is high in the sky, nearly full, only a sliver missing—before directing her focus back to me.
“Your final grade was generous. You passed, and unless I’m mistaken, the Fine Art Conservatory’s graduation was today, so there is nothing more I can do for you— ”
“You know what school I go to?” My heart beats a little faster, my face warming as I rock back on my heels. Professor Kane knows where I go to school. She knows I graduated.
“I’m not done, Lucy,” she sighs, looking back to the moon as if it will calm her before continuing, “You came to my door. So why are you here? And spit it out, quickly.”
I want to fuck you.
No, I can’t say that, but I didn’t think this far ahead. I never think far enough ahead. Not when planning out an art piece or my future, and certainly not how to seduce my teacher…ex-teacher. I don’t know how I’m going to do this.
“Stop biting your nails,” Professor Kane interrupts my careening thoughts.
“Sorry. I didn’t realize I was.” My body relaxes just the tiniest bit at her command, and I release my hand back to my side.
Still I can’t answer her question; I don’t have a good enough response. Instead, I shift my weight from foot to foot.
“You’re making me nervous, Ms. Anderston—Lucy” she says, placing the long pointer on the desk behind her. "Don't just stand there in the doorway. If it’ll help, you can sit down, and then tell me why you’re here.”
Movement is easier when she demands it. Hands straight at my sides to keep from playing with the hem of my skirt or biting my nails, I walk down the stairs. Front row, center, I sit down with not one single idea of how to get my teacher to fuck me.
“Now speak, Lucy.”
There isn’t enough room to cross my legs, and I have to sit with my knees apart, short skirt riding up. I’m not sure what to do with my hands. I still don’t have a plan.
“Lucy!” Professor Kane practically barks out my name.
“I don’t know what to do next year,” I stammer, unsure of what I’m saying, but I keep talking.
“I have these two opportunities, both good. One is an artist in residence position that would let me get to work right away, the other this really amazing painting program where I could learn from masters and really focus on honing my style. I mean, I jump around so much… Maybe that makes sense, but maybe just doing it makes more sense. I don’t know… I…I thought you might be able to help.”
“You came to ask for career advice?” Her frown returns, stronger and deeper than ever, her arms tightening under her chest and straining the fabric over her cleavage.
If I really pissed her off, would the button pop? Focus!
“Um…yes. I thought you’d be the right person to ask.” It’s true. I have no idea what I’m going to do in the next couple months, or even tomorrow, but I’m not here for that.
“You are an artist, and I’m a historian. What advice do you expect from me?” Suspicion deepens her already husky voice, the shirt pulling tighter…
“Well, ah…” Clasping my hands on the desk in front of me, I nervously jiggle my legs, my knees swaying back and forth.
How do I tell her I’ve been obsessed with her from the moment I stepped into her class?
How do I tell her I’ve memorized every inch of the strong, soft curve of her neck, and I know where all the freckles are?
I barely passed her class to begin with. Why the hell did I think I could pull this off?
I’d been hopped up on the success of graduating. I’d gotten cocky, and now, I can’t back it up.
Professor Kane’s gaze drops to my knees. Immediately, my shaking legs still under her attention. Red flashes in her dark brown eyes as she stares between my thighs.
Look at me. Please. It’s all for you. I want to beg. Slowly, I inch my feet even further apart.
She presses her fingertips to her temples. Her nails are longer and sharper than I ever remember seeing them. They divot her lightly tanned white skin, and a few more curls fall loose as she shakes her head.
Staring at her mouth, her lips part, and her teeth glisten in the moonlight, her canines long and pointed.
“Never mind, Ms. Anderson,” she huffs, the muscles in her forearms impossibly tensed beneath her shirt sleeves. “Stand up.”
I jump to stand, but the desk is small, and my ass is big. I move slower than I want, my skirt stuck on the arm of the chair.
“Gods almighty, just go stand in the corner until I think of what to do with you,” she commands, exasperated.
Her demand might not be a serious one, but I’ve never been so happy to obey. Following her gaze, I hurry to the front corner of the room, the one closest to the large windows. Butt against the wall, I face her.
She’s pacing now, long nails casually brushing over the pointer stick as she moves back and forth in front of her desk.
Please grab it again. Please!
My body hums with anticipation, and I don’t know where to look—the floor, her hands, the stick, her face.
Cool moonlight hits the strong, straight bridge of her nose and curves over the surprisingly sweet cupid’s bow of her lips.
The silver light glitters on the sharp points of her teeth.
She is stunning in a way I can only hope to one day be a good enough artist to capture.
I stare at her, and a small moan escapes my lips.
“I can’t… Lucy, just face the wall,” she barks.
I spin to face the corner, my posture straight and my hands at my sides, just how she likes me.
Does she like me? I can’t tell, and that just turns me on more.
“You’re lying, Lucy. You did not come for advice. Now, why are you here?” she asks, first gently, and then, when I hesitate to answer, she sharply adds, “Speak!”
“I’m here for you, Professor,” I blurt out. “I’m here because I want you, however you want me. In every way you might want me.”