It was supposed to be just another semester. Another lecture. Another forgettable professor.
But Professor Hale was anything but forgettable.
She was in her late thirties, sharp-eyed and sharper-tongued, with a voice that lingered like smoke and a wardrobe that walked the line between professional and provocative. No one dared make a move — not in her class, not in her presence. She had that don’t-you-even-think-about-it energy.
Except Jacob thought about it.
A lot.
He was top of her graduate literature seminar. She liked that about him — his mind. The way he challenged her in discussions, met her gaze without flinching. It was all unspoken, electric. Until the day he showed up for office hours with a paper in hand and a question he already knew the answer to.
She closed the door behind him.
“Sit,” she said, not looking up. “Let’s talk about your essay.”
But they didn’t talk about the essay.
She looked up and caught him watching her mouth. Her lips parted, just slightly. The room got smaller. The silence stretched tight.
“You know this is a bad idea,” she said, even as she stood, walked around the desk, and leaned against it — close enough for him to smell her perfume. “Say something.”
“I think about you,” he said, voice low. “Too much.”
Her hand reached out, fingers brushing his jaw. “Show me.”
He stepped between her legs like it was gravity. Kissed her like he might never get another chance. Her arms wrapped around his neck, pulling him down, her blouse already halfway undone. The air was thick with heat, the soft moan she let slip driving him mad.
Books fell. Glasses shifted. The desk creaked in protest as she tugged him in, her skirt hitched high, breath catching in his ear as she whispered his name like a secret. The power shifted, melted, tangled.
Later, she buttoned her blouse slowly, lips kiss-bitten.
“This never happened,” she said.
But the look in her eyes said it absolutely did.