Chapter 4
I spend the rest of the day debating what I should do.
On one hand, I want to go. He’s my professor after all.
After my constant tardiness and missing an assignment, I should be appreciative that he’s even giving me the chance to make up for it.
Professor Holmes doesn’t often give these kinds of chances.
However, he’s willing to do it for me because I’m his favorite student.
And that’s exactly the reason why I shouldn’t go.
The pure excitement and desire that coursed through my body when Professor Holmes closed the space between us was explosive. The way he was able to set my body on fire with a single touch, the way I was paralyzed by his gaze—it was an intense, all-consuming experience.
I’m worried about what will happen if I’m alone with him again.
He might not even know what he’s doing to me, but I am all too aware of it.
I’m unsure of how much I can take. If I make even more of a fool of myself in front of him in his office this evening, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over it.
On top of that, in our world, I am already as good as married.
Even on the off-chance Professor Holmes was intentionally making me feel things and we do end up involved—fuck, what am I even thinking about—it would be a dead end. If wind of our situation ends up leaving the campus boundaries, Nico would find a way to have us both killed.
Hell, he might even have my father pull the trigger, just for his own amusement.
Yet even though I know all the reasons why this is a risk—I’ve come up with a whole list of reasons why I shouldn’t even go near Professor Holmes again and just quietly spend the rest of my time at Saint Frederic in mourning for what could have been—I still spend extra time getting ready.
I take a long, steaming hot shower with all my favorite scented bath products.
I wash my hair twice, and style it into bouncy curls.
I lather every inch of my body in lotion, so my skin is soft, and spend nearly an hour choosing the right outfit.
I even venture away from the black lipstick I’ve been wearing the past three weeks and back to my signature blood red.
I tell myself I’m just making sure I present myself the way he is used to.
At five thirty, I leave my dorm room. It’s a fifteen-minute walk to the Faculty Building, but I chose to wear platform heels and I can’t be late under any circumstances. The sun is still high enough in the sky to coat the campus in a silky, warm glow.
I get a few looks from the other students—mostly guys—as I pass them, but I don’t pay them much attention. My thoughts are filled with what awaits me inside Professor Holmes’ office. What will he want me to do to make up for the assignment?
Knowing him, it could be some sort of essay or a test I’ll have to do in his office within a specified time limit. I put a few pens and pencils in my handbag just in case, and I even had the presence of mind to ask Cassidy to lend me her notes from the last three classes.
As I walk, I find that my mind wanders to other things.
It wanders to the prickles of shame I felt as he degraded me in front of the entire class, and how similar it had felt to the heat blooming in my core when he put his hand on my cheek.
I think of how much I wanted him to kiss me, and how right it felt in that moment, even though it would have been absolutely wrong.
That wet heat between my legs returns; I’ve taken my thoughts too far again. This certainly isn’t the sort of thing I should be thinking about right now. I shelve the feelings away as best as I can.
By the time I make it to his office, I think I have it under control.
Taking a deep breath, I knock firmly on the heavy wooden door.
Professor Holmes’ office is at the end of the corridor on the second floor of the Faculty Building. I’ve only ever been inside once before, when Cassidy and I had to drop off an assignment on the weekend. I feel my heartbeat in my soles.
There’s muffled shuffling on the other side before the door swings open.
Standing at the threshold is Professor Holmes. He’s wearing the same clothes as earlier, but there’s an unusual softness to him. The first button of his shirt is undone, and his hair is a little messy, like he has been running his fingers through it.
When he sees me, he narrows his eyes slightly, a smile twisting his lips. He glances at his watch.
“Miss Vásquez,” he says, a hint of surprise to his tone. “You’re pleasantly early.”
His approval makes my cheeks heat up.
“I didn’t want to be late,” I say lamely.
Professor Holmes steps aside so I can enter his office and closes the door behind me but doesn’t leave the threshold. There are bookshelves on almost every wall, each stacked with thick, heavy books. I catch a few familiar names—B.F. Skinner, Emil Kraepelin, and Jean Piaget.
The focal point of the room is a huge wooden desk that looks like it could be decades old.
There is a massive red leather chair behind it, and two plush armchairs are positioned in front.
The wall behind the leather chair is made entirely of floor to ceiling windows looking out to the courtyard below.
I take tentative steps deeper into the room. The wooden floor is covered by a heavy detailed rug of gold, red and yellow stitching. It’s intricate and seemingly hand-woven. It muffles the sound of my heavy shoes.
Looking to Professor Holmes, I’m about to compliment his taste in decor when I realize he has been staring at me the entire time. I catch him just as his eyes leave my bosom. There’s a different kind of intensity to his gaze now.
“That’s a nice color on you,” he says, putting his hands in his pockets.
I give him a small smile, trying not to seem too happy. “Thank you.”
I’m over the moon though, as I chose this aubergine-colored shirt out of sentiment. The day I wore it was the first time his eyes lingered on me. He might not remember it, but that day was pivotal for me. I thought about it for weeks after.
Now that I know he did like it, this whole thing feels like a fucked up meet-cute—my favorite kind.
“Please, take a seat,” he says, crossing the room in a few long strides and settling into the seat behind the desk. I do as he instructs.
The light streaming through the window behind him gives him an otherworldly glow. Even though I know I shouldn’t, I allow myself to appreciate his appearance in this light. He looks ethereal, like a fallen angel sent to torment my piteous soul.
"Have you given any thought to how you will make up for what you’ve done?” he asks, picking up a pen from his desk and twirling it between his lithe fingers.
I shrug. “No, I thought you would already have something set,” I say. “Like a test, or a timed essay question.”
Professor Holmes grins. “On no, little one,” he coos, and something within me stirs to life at his words. “The only option on the table is punishment.”
I pause. “Punishment?” I ask, swallowing thickly.
A chuckle rumbles from his lips. He stands suddenly, and I flinch. With his hands in his pockets, he rounds the table to stand beside me. My nerve endings light up when he gets close. I crane my head to look up at him.
“Yes, punishment.” He puts a hand on either of the armrests of my chair and leans down so that our faces are closer.
The smell of him disarms me. “I figure that I will have to punish you so that you start taking my classes seriously again. I owe you that,” he says with a dangerous smile.
“You are my favorite student, after all.”
His breath splays over my face. It’s warm and minty, and I feel the urge to kiss him, just like earlier. I bite my lip and try to think of anything else.
“So tell me, little one.” His smile grows. “Tell me how you want me to punish you.”
My hands are clasped in my lap, but even that doesn’t stop them from shaking.
His gaze holds me captive, and with each passing second the thoughts in my brain grow more heated and chaotic.
My eyes bounce from his eyes, to his lips, to the tuft of hair peeking out at the top of his unbuttoned shirt, and back.
“I don’t want to be punished,” I say, but my voice sounds weak even to me.
Another laugh.
“You don’t?” he mocks. “Then why did you wear this top?” He runs a hand along the swell of my bosom peeking out from the neckline.
Goosebumps pebble my flesh. “You know it’s one of my favorites.
” I nod without thinking and he chuckles.
“And this skirt.” He tugs on the hem of it.
“It’s so short you wouldn’t be able to bend over without flashing me. ”
My mouth is dry, and my heart is rattling in my chest.
“Did you hope to tempt me?” he asks, pushing a lock of hair behind my ear. “Because it’s working.”
His words send a shiver down my spine.
Professor Holmes doesn’t wait for my response; I’m sure the truth is all over my face. I probably look like a tomato, as my cheeks are so hot I’m tempted to cover them with my hands.
His gaze rakes over my body.
“You know, I’ve thought about this moment before,” he says in a voice so low it’s little more than a whisper.
“At first, I thought it was all in my mind. But then I heard your chatterbox friend, and it all came together.” He takes a deep breath, as if steadying himself from an internal turmoil I’m not privy to.
I’m still upset that Cassidy was so careless with something I told her in confidence, but I’m not entirely sure if I’m as angry as I should be. After all, it was her loose lips that finally got me the attention of the man I’ve been pining over since my first week at this school.
“I told you to come here so we could talk about your grades,” he says, his eyes settling on my lips. “I think we have something that the other wants. We can come to a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
My pulse quickens. Is he talking about what I think he is?