Chapter Text
Strangely enough, you had seen the message pop up during your lecture, subconsciously letting your thighs rub against one another, losing your train of thought. It’s a simple string of words—the familiarity and formality of her name in your phone. You hear her voice; I expect you to be dressed and ready for me later. You blink, staring around the lecture hall. Row upon row of filled seats. Face after face—some tired, some drooling, some stilling their hands against keyboards. The soft afternoon light filtered through opened windows. The creak and squeak of chairs as students fidgeted in their seats.
When your lecture is over, please stop by my office, professor.
You chuckle, apologizing to your students, though most were entranced by you rather than the source material you discussed. No other set of words was sent.
You clear your throat. “Where was I?” you ask, looking around at the students in the room.
“You were about to explain Caligula’s descent into madness.”
You press your lips together, forcing a smile.
“Not quite his descent into madness, but close enough.”
Another message appears.
Try not to entertain your students for too long when you are done with your lecture.
You flip over your phone. You continue your lecture, striding on the stage back and forth. When your lecture is over, you remind everyone of the coursework and the time to turn it in. Should they seek your assistance, they know your office hours. You retreat quickly, collecting your things. The lanyard around your neck bounces off your chest, your keycard catching the light. You two were on opposite ends of campus, your heeled feet echoing against concrete. The building you seek is empty on the outside but crawling with students on the inside, lingering to speak with professors about deadlines and extensions and asking questions about their class work. You slip by quietly, making your way upstairs. You reach the designated door, the familiar name on your phone. You politely knock.
You hear a soft voice from the other side to enter. You push open the door and step into the office space, the soft sound of smooth jazz playing from a record player in the corner. You watch her behind her dark mahogany desk. Her reading glasses rested down the bridge of her nose. She peers up from her reading. The soft curl of her deep red lips pleased that you appeared at her office at her request. The soft pink of her tongue glided against her lips. She leans back in her leather chair.
“My, how obedient of you. Be a dear. Close the door and lock it.” Her voice is low and husky, and she removes her glasses carefully, the leg of the glasses resting against her lips as she lets her eyes rove over you.
You huff, doing as she commanded. You look at her, resting your things on the small coffee table, and stride over to the leather couch, smoothing out your skirt and taking a seat.
You see amusement behind her crisp slate eyes. Your eyes land on the tasteful amount of cleavage on display from the cream button-up she was wearing. She clicks her tongue, finally resting her glasses atop her desk, running a hand through her dark hair.
“There will be a change of plans for tonight.” Her usual lilt is thick and velvety.
You take a breath, chuckling. “You had me leave the opposite end of the campus to come here. For you to inform of plans changing? You had no problem sending me messages during my lecture.”
She presses a finger against her lips, the curl, “Oh professor, you know how I adore informing things in person. I’m afraid the Dean is keeping me here a bit longer today. Have you forgotten what day it is today?” Her tone isn’t at all innocent.
You blink. You know what day it was. Your cheeks burn. You press your lips together, looking away, “Professor Dimitrescu, I didn’t expect you to be sentimental.”
She sways in her leather chair, purposely rising. She heads toward the record player, turning the volume dial up. Her strides are filled with purpose toward the dark leather couch.
“I made a promise to you.” She approaches, letting her hands rest against your shoulders. She leans down, pressing her chest against you, “Or have you forgotten? Should I give you a preview?”
You turn to face her as she pulls away—a heat settling in the air. She had reminded you sometime in the early morning. A flush settles over your cheeks. A vivid image was flashing. Your back arching off the mattress. Your bound hands were pulling on silk ties—the flicking of her tongue. The warmth of her hands holding your legs open. The trail of wet kisses against your skin. The devilish smirk against her lips as she popped out beneath the sheets. Those same lips took a hard nipple into her mouth. Your quiet pleas left parted lips.
You clear your throat, squeezing your thighs.
“These are hours for students…”
“I could take an hour? Is that what you would like, professor?”
“Yes… No!” You look at her.
You see the sly little smirk.
“I understand plans have changed for tonight, but you could have said so via text.”
She clicks her tongue, pulling her hands away from you, rounding the couch, “But I adore watching you become flustered and disappointed. Only to spread those pretty little legs for me in my office.”
You begin to slide away from her, “That isn’t true.”
She takes a seat, crossing her legs. The sheer stockings catch your eyes. The squeak of leather and her hand sliding against your knee.
“Is that so? If I slip my hand between your legs and let my fingers trail against you, you won’t be wet?” She asks, arching a brow.
“No.”
Her hand moves higher.
“Oh, my sweet professor, my colleague. You are a horrible liar.” She leans close enough, brushing her lips close to yours, straying, letting her eyes fall from yours to your lips.
You part your legs slightly; her hand travels higher. She inches closer, moving toward your ear, her breath hot, “I’m merely suggesting I get you excited for later in the night when I stop by to visit.” The backs of her fingers meet the pleasant heat you exude. You feel her slipping her fingers beneath the hem of your underwear, snapping it back. You turn to look at her. You swallow.
“Professor.” You warn.
She looks at you, her gaze dark. “Oh, please. This little act of being demure and innocent is unbecoming… though appreciated on my part.”
You feel a digit against the fabric. You catch her wrist. You roll your bottom lip into your mouth, your eyes flickering across her features: her dark gaze, lashes fanning, semi-parted lips, and robust nose. You inhale, parting your lips, “I appreciate your forewarning that there is a change of plans. I can’t stay in your office. Even if it’s a quick romp…”
She purses her lips, pouting.
“You don’t want to return to your next lecture all hot and bothered?” The delicate flutter of her lashes as her fingers glide against the evident wet mark against your underwear, up and down.
Your grip on her wrist loosens. She takes advantage to press her nose against the pulse of your neck. The soft press of her lips and her breath's warmth against your ear, “Hm, Won’t you indulge me like you did early in the morning.”
Her fingers continue to stroke you over the thin material. A new wave of heat settles all around, and you can smell the subtle hint of jasmine. You reach out to fist the silk of her blouse, pulling her closer to you.
You are breathy, “That is unfair.”
She says, “I’ve been trying to get you to quit for over a year, and you refuse. You enjoyed our clandestine activities between lectures when I took you behind the pulpit and when we snuck away to a bathroom. Behind faculty buildings…I even proposed that if you leave. You would be taken care of, and I would be tended to thoroughly…”
She circles her fingers over the fabric, varying from stroking to jerking her fingers against you. Your eyes dance around her face, revealing the pleased look on her face. You bite on your bottom lip, holding in a moan. Your hips move against her actions. Her pearly grin spread wider. She picks up her pace, staring at you with a lust-filled gaze—the steady movement of her fingers against your vulva.
“I wonder if you ever truly hear yourself?” You clamp your legs closed, trapping her hand. “Now, was that all you wanted to tell me?” You turn your wrist to stare at the time against the dial of your watch, letting go of her blouse.
She hums, and her smile slowly dissipates, “Should I remind you of our shared rules?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Open. There are a few things I would like you to do.”
You open your legs. You feel the back of her finger beneath the hem of your underwear, pulling it to the side. Three fingers. You swallow, staring at her impassive face. The pleased smile appeared slowly against her crimson lips. There was no denying it: you were wet. You see the flutter of her lashes, a sigh.
The dipping of a single digit, “You are to eat.”
She pulls her finger out, adds a second digit, and slides it in quickly. “You are to bathe and choose a fitting state of dress, preferably exposed.”
She continues a solid in-and-out motion with her two digits, watching you whimper and listening carefully. She slips her two digits out, prepping the third, plunging deeply into your seeping heat, “And you are to keep my cock nice and warm.”
She begins to move her fingers at a steady pace, feeling how you grip her digits. She rasps, “Repeat what I have just said.”
You meet her thrust, and she seizes your hips to still, and you answer with a whimper, “I am to eat.”
“Good,” She breathes, “What else?”
“I am to bathe and dress accordingly to your wishes. Exposed.”
She curls her fingers, causing you to lose your train of thought.
“One more, Draga mea.” She coos.
Your face is warm, and your lip is quivering as she pushes her fingers against your sweet spot, “To keep your cock nice and warm in my wet cunt.”
That does it; the leather of the couch squeaks beneath you both. The increase in speed, tortuous friction of her fingers in and out. Your parted lips and sweet moans escape. Your grip on the back of the couch tightens, hips meeting her thrusts. She hovers close to you. She feels your tell-tale signs that you were close.
“I’m… Please, may I?” You pant.
Her fingers continue their assuage. “Go ahead.”
A few deeper thrusts of her fingers, down to her knuckles, coating them in your arousal. She watches you come down from your high. Your closed eyes, your head thrown back, the spasms. Your mouth is agape with no sound escaping—a sweaty brow. She coaxes you down—the press of her lips against your throat. Her fingers slipped out of you.
“Open.” She orders between her hazed enrapture of you.
You breathe, opening your eyes and taking her slicked fingers into your mouth—her quiet coos of praise as you suck her fingers clean. How lust-filled her gaze is as you do so, pulling her fingers out of your mouth, the tips resting at your lips, trailing down your chin.
“A small preview, Draga mea.”
You smooth her blouse and cup her face. She stiffens your tenderness, which constantly affects her. You take the time to settle your breathing, and so does she.
“You and I agreed that the nature of this relationship was solely for sex. What if I had plans? Hmm?”
She scrunches her face, “With whom? Karl? Donna?”
You shake your head. You had no interest in the man. You had noticed how she glared at the other professor in his attempts to woo you. Donna was an exception. Though the force of her possessive gaze never went unnoticed. She glared at everyone who approached you. You let go of her face. She leans back against the leather of the couch. You watch her reaching for a tissue on the coffee table, eyes settling on a closed water bottle, sliding it to you. Ah, a whore’s bath. It was the best for now. You clean yourself, something she would typically do for you, but for lack of time, there is something she wishes to share.
“I intended to invite you to my home, but my daughters…”
You rest your hands in your lap, balling up your tissue. You blink. Yes, she wanted to invite you over to spend the night. You lived on the opposite ends of the city. She had spent more nights with you than you could count. It's not always for sex, just the simple company of a warm body and somewhere to rest. Quietly leaving her things. It didn’t help that her youngest daughter was in one of your classes. She had told you in the beginning. You feared you would give away the nature of your relationship to her youngest, and so far, you have exceeded in not revealing anything. You pretend not to know anything of the young redhead when she is in your lectures or when she reaches out for assistance.
“They changed their plans on you, huh?”
She presses her lips, staring at her office door, her fingers playing with the hem of your skirt.
“I sometimes believe they do this on purpose. I love them dearly. I enjoy your bed and have a few accessories in the drawer of your nightstand for when I stay over. But I want the comforts of my bed ruined to smell of you when I awake in the morning.”
You shake your head, “You truly cannot hear yourself, can you?”
“Beloved, I am bereft.”
You sigh, “Let yourself in, and I will be waiting.”
She pouts.
“Though if you are extra late, I might start without you.” You press a quick peck against her pouty lips.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
You tilt your head, shrugging, collecting your things. You chance a glance before parting. The not-so-innocent wave of her eyes drinking you in. Her crossed legs, the worn red bottoms, her ankle rotating. Her slender finger tapped against her lips. You have grown used to the way she looks at you. She was meticulously removing your clothing with her gaze. Her tongue roves over her teeth. The glaze of lust behind her eyes would remain there. She was already planning how she would take you. Your anticipation for later was building. You see her devilish little smirk as if she knew.
You huff, “If it's permissible, I might dare.”
She laughs heartily.
***
ONE YEAR AGO
You sit near the window. You have an array of textbooks open. You are thankful the bar is somewhat empty—a few students playing the dart board. Your glass of beer has been forgotten about. Only half of it is gone—your pen glides against your notebook. You were trying to ignore the notion you had been stood up. You focused on your task, preparing for your lectures—the entrance door opening and closing—the whispers of the students playing darts—the echo of heels—the quiet request for a glass of wine.
You look up. Your eyes meet a pair of grey ones. She tilts her head. She hears the clink of glass against the bar top. She turns to take it. She approaches the opposite chair across from you. She exudes an overpowering intensity.
“May I sit here?” She asks.
You blink, leaning back and staring around; much of the bar is empty. Your eyes flicker to the students whose eyes avert away when you catch them. You clear your throat.
“You may.”
You tried not to look at her for too long. She was a beautiful woman—tall and graceful, curvaceous. Her navy ensemble was elegant, with the neat ruching of her top against her waist and the glinting of the gold buckle of her belt. She settles across from you.
“Isn’t it a little presumptuous to be working on schoolwork this early?” She asks, tilting her head to read what you were working on.
You blush.
“Roman emperors? Hm. What’s a lovely young woman like yourself sitting in a seedy little bar brushing up on Roman Emperors and where those ruffians in the corner let their lecherous gaze fall on you?” She swirls her wine.
You lean back in your chair, tapping your pen. “The kind of young woman who was stood up and picked the little niche seedy bar with fewer students partying?”
She stares over the rim of her glass at you, eyes looking at you up and down, curling her lips into a smile. You provided an unexpected answer to her unasked question.
You press your lips together, staring at the surface of the table. “Oh god. Did you think I am a student?”
“You aren’t?” She arches a brow.
“No! I’m flattered you think I am that young…”
“Are you the new professor in the history department?” She asks, resting her glass on the dark tabletop.
You blink, nodding, “Ancient Mythology of Greece and Rome and the History and Culture of the Roman world.”
“The introductory courses?”
“Yes.”
“Hm.”
You lick your lips. You close your notebook. “Not to alarm you, but you might have my youngest in your lectures.”
“Oh… you… I see.”
“I won’t tell her about your planning, though; I’m sure your syllabus is set in stone.”
You twirl your pen between your fingers. “It is.”
“A shame you were stood up.” She whispers.
You tilt your head. “Was it, though? A shame?”
“No, I wouldn’t have this great privilege of speaking with you.”
You rest your tongue between your teeth. “I suppose it is a privilege.”
Over time, the bar filled with students. You had packed up your things—another pint of beer for you and another glass of wine for her. You paid attention to how a few students stared at her. She was attractive and alluring. You stared at her hands; you brought your glass to your lips, finishing the last bit of beer. You spoke quietly with one another. You noticed the brushing of her hand against yours. You had checked the time on your watch. It was late. You clear your throat.
“I hate to cut things short. But it is late. And I don’t want to keep you.”
“Nonsense.” She waves her hand. She begins to stand along with you.
She insists on paying for your two pints. You wait outside, watching the young students slipping in and out. Some drunkenly and some sober enough to take care of their drunken friends. She steps out. She clears her throat, “I realized I haven’t offered my name.”
You begin a steady pace as you walk away from the bar.
“Professor Alcina Dimitrescu.” She offers.
You pause, and she continues her steady stride, turning to look at you.
You had heard the murmurings from older students. Everything you had heard seemed to escape you—the cruel dragoness from the arts and science department. There was no room for error in her course. Her ire. You felt for the older students taking her course momentarily, quickly staunching your sympathy when you heard. Plus, she’s hot. You swallow. You blink. You certainly felt her authoritative nature, and she was hot.
“You’re infamous on campus.” You advise.
She sighs, adjusts her purse straps, and purses her lips: “My temper is infamous. I’m aware of what the students and faculty think.”
“So, I’ve heard.” You continue walking along the side block.
“Hm. I hope you don’t mind my prying. But…”
You stare at her.
“What were your plans with your date that stood you up?” She stares at you from the corner of her eye.
You pause beneath a streetlight. Her eyes flicked up and down against you. You blush. You had been blushing quite a bit in her presence.
“You needn’t answer…”
You sigh. “…it’s been a while, and I thought going on a date would spark something. I don’t want to bore you with banal-“
She crosses her arms now that you look at her beneath the soft light of the street lamp. You feel small. An aura surrounds her; you feel it when you look at her. Someone you could unyieldingly submit to. Someone who provides a sense of security. A mild sense of thrill crawls over your skin, a tingle down your spine. Your cheeks warm, you answer truthfully, almost meek, “Sex.”
Her lips curl upward. You look away.
“Look at me, professor.”
You return your gaze to hers.
“There’s no shame in wanting to ask or look for such things. Perhaps you will fare better now.”
Her words slowly catch up to you. You immediately blush. “What if I had been a student? Would you have sat down with me? Would you be offering what I am looking for so….”
“Hmm. Possibly. You are unmistakably attractive. A consenting adult nonetheless.”
You wonder where this woman has been during your university years. You shake your head. You lick your lips.
“Would you like to take me home? Perhaps we can discuss this privately, and I suppose some rules are in play.”
She hums. “There are rules at play. We can discuss this privately, professor. I can most certainly take you home.”
You walk alongside her. She leans over to whisper in your ear, “I suppose I have to take you under my wing and teach you a few things. I’m a complex marker. I will subjugate you until you are nothing but perfection.”
Your cheeks are warm. You clear your throat.
You hadn’t discussed much for the remaining time spent. You had offered her a beverage. One that went neglected, opting to sedate her thirst by having her mouth between your legs. You saved your shared discussion after a shared equal amount of orgasms after she had the last word to be shared between you both.
***
PRESENT
You can hear her hurried steps. You lick your lips, your upper body pressed into the sheets, your lower half exposed, knees bent. The sound of your bedroom door opens, and you hear her sharp inhalation. You peer over your shoulder, breathing heavily, wiggling your lower half. She chuckles darkly. You see, her blouse was missing, discarded along the way. You can see how her ample chest heaves at the sight of you exposed to her. The pink of her tongue glided against the crimson of her lips. You listen to the sound of her undone zipper—the fabric rustling. Her movements around the room. Her hand's meeting the soft flesh of your ass. You can hear her settling behind you—an amused oh escaping her. The bunny tail had been a last-minute add-on. Her hands were running against your soft flesh up and down. She chuckles again.
“What would your students think of their sweet, darling professor?” Her voice was oddly sweet and saccharine. “Do your students know you wear such lacy and exposed pieces beneath your clothes as they watch you during lectures?”
You feel her press a kiss against a butt cheek, trailing upwards against your lower back, moving higher and higher until she reaches your ear, her weight pressed into you and a hand pushing the toy you were keeping warm go deeper.
“Answer, professor.” She orders her breath hot against your ear.
You bite on your bottom lip. “No, they do not…”
“They don’t know that their sweet professor becomes unbearably wet at the thought of her colleague fucking her between lectures?”
“No, ma’am.”
“They don’t know that their sweet professor spreads her legs for another professor.” She pulls the toy to the tip, slamming it back in.
You close your eyes, whining, “No, Alcina.”
“Oh, I enjoy it when you can’t bear the thought of being found out. Of how much of –”
You interrupt her, “If you don’t fuck this sweet professor who is presenting herself as a bunny to her wolf senseless like you said you would, I will have to warm someone else’s cock.”
Alcina’s hand snakes its way into your hair, pulling your head back, and she growls, “Someone else? My little bunny, the only name coming out of your filthy mouth is my name alone.”
You groan, you push yourself back against her, “Then make me say your name.”
You feel the abrupt pull of the toy, feeling every ridge, and you are left feeling empty. You groan, missing the feeling of being filled. Her hand slips away from your hair; you stretch your arms forward, maintaining your lower half up for her—the warmth of her leaving, the quiet shuffling sounds, the tightening of straps, the clicking of a cap. She seizes your hips, lifting them a bit higher, feeling the brush of her chest against your back.
“Your hand, little bunny.” She requests.
You lower one of your hands. She slips the small remote into your hand. She pulls away. You peek over your shoulder. You see the dark glaze of her eyes, the heat of her hands on your waist, and the protruding purple cock between her legs as she slots herself. Her chest rhythmically rises and falls. You click a button. Her hands dig into your hips. You hear the quiet vibrations.
“You little—”
You click the button, silencing the vibrations. You wiggle. “My finger slipped.”
She clicks her tongue, and she aligns herself with your center; she slowly sinks into you. She continues with her slow thrusts. You click a button again. The rhythmic sound of skin meeting skin. The creak of your mattress and the movement of the headboard banging against the wall. A mixture of panting and grunts. You push back to meet her thrusts, wanting more. A firm hand against your lower back, the other holding your hips, pounding. An incandescent pleasure building, her pace changes, hitting your sweet spot. Her name does leave your mouth. Your grip on the tiny little control loosens.
“A-Alcina… please…”
Her hand snakes its way to brush the swollen nerve. She continues to drive herself into you. Her whole weight atop you slicked sweaty skin. Her breath was warm against your ear, “Hmm, what is it that you want?” The flick of her tongue against your lobe.
“I want to…” You pause, “I want to cum. Please.”
She bites on your shoulder.
“Please… I want to…”
Her fingers circle your sensitive clit. Your ragged breaths and moans.
“Go ahead, cum.”
Your hands grip the sheets, her pace and rhythm falter, and the toy's vibrations and hilt hit at the right time. The increase in volume that escapes you is a mixture of curse words and her name. Burying your face into sheets as a guttural moan escapes you—the gush between your legs. You dissolve into pleasure, closing your eyes and seeing stars. You release tiny moans. Her hand moved away. She slowly ruts her hips.
“What a good girl.” She coos. You lift your head, your hand searching for the remote, finding it and ramping up the device she had inside of her. Her fingers dig, sinking deeper at your hips.
Her head rests against your shoulder, her breaths hot against your skin. She closes her eyes, permitting the vibrations to bring her to her climax. Her hip movements are slow. You rest your tongue between your teeth. You listen, and you feel.
She slips out of you, you whine. You hear her ragged breaths, “Little bunny,”
She admires the sheen of sweat against your back. You turn over. You stare at her flushed skin. You smile. You stare at the glistening toy between her legs and how her hips jerk upwards—the bounce of her breasts. You rest on your elbows, and your eyes darken. “Rub it against me.” You ask.
She pulls you down. You hold the back of your thighs. You see the heavy glaze behind her eyes. She takes hold of one of your thighs. Her chest heaves, and her other hand fists the base of the silicone cock. She glides it between your slicked lips. Her jerky movements, her eyes focused between your legs. You urge her on—the deep flush against cheeks and neck. Her tongue peeking out to wet her lips.
“Mhm. There you go Alcina.”
She hooks your left leg around her hip. She sinks into you again—unrestrained desire seeping forth. The snapping of her hips, the sway of her breasts. She readjusts, and you wrap your legs around her, your hands resting against her sweaty back. Her mouth ghosts over yours, and you slide your hand to the nape of her neck, pulling her mouth against yours. She emits a hum. You let go of her mouth, breathing, your eyes staring into hers. She slows down, her hands digging into the sheets. Your hands brushing over her skin, keeping her close. Whispers that escape past your parted lips. She tenses, her steady pants wavering. You quietly urge her on.
You listen to the string of curses leaving her lips and how she shakes—the loud beating of hearts—the sudden collapse of the woman atop you. Your hand soothing her.
“Off… turn it off…”
Your hand searches around, finding it and clicking the button. Your apology is on your lips, but the meeting of her warm lips is against yours lazily. You both lose track of time. Far too engrossed in your activities. You lost count after your fourth orgasm. Sticky and wet. The brushing of her nose against your neck, the light nipping. She hums.
“My sweet professor, " she whispers, planting a kiss against your collarbone. “What do you need?”
You blink, shaking your head. “Water.”
“Okay. Shower?”
“Yes. But, stay like this for a moment.”
Her skin was sticking to yours. She obliges your request to remain tangled together.
***
She had gotten you a bottle of water, wrapped you in the duvet's warmth, and slipped into the bathroom to start your shower. You watched her pulling out her selection of pyjamas for you and herself. The toys used were put aside to be cleaned later—something you advised that you would take care of. You're honoured to see this side of her. This need to take care of you. To get you your water. To prep your shower for you. To permit her hands to lather lotion against your skin. The warmth of her hands massaging in. Her slender fingers card through your hair, quietly braiding it for you. You listen to her soft humming. You hear her chuckle.
“Hm.”
“The bunny tail was a nice treat.”
You blush. You feel the braid resting over your shoulder. She presses her lips against the curve of your neck. Her hands running up and down your arms. You turn around to face her; she is wearing silk button-up pyjamas.
“What took you so long?” You ask.
She sighs, “After I met with the Dean, I bumped into my youngest. Asking me questions about you…”
You blink.
“Only to further ask me where I would spend the night.”
You settle against her lap—the soft glow of the bedroom lamps illuminating the room. You rest your head against her shoulder. “Why was she asking you questions about me?”
She presses her lips together, “Dearest, it's…”
You pull away from her shoulder. She clears her throat.
“What?”
“My daughter has a crush on you.”
You chuckle.
She stares at you, pushing her tongue against her cheek.
“Oh… You do know that I wouldn’t reciprocate.”
She presses her lips together. “My dear, it isn’t you. I fear acting on anything. It is my daughter…”
“Daniela wouldn’t…”
“She has been seeking advice periodically as of late. She had not-so-subtly asked me if I had ever fallen in love with an older woman.”
You were trying your best to suppress a smile from breaking out. “I see, my darling professor Dimitrescu is in a predicament. She is sleeping with her daughter's crush and is tormented by the thought of revealing this relationship to her child.”
She rolls her eyes.
“There is nothing wrong with her having a crush on me. I’m aware of lecherous gazes and…”
She presses a finger against your lips.
“I’m merely informing you of my daughter's fancy over you.”
Your gaze dips to her eyes and then to her lips. You push your lips against her finger. She grips your chin, “I worry she might do something, and you will cause her heartache. In part, so will I…”
You take hold of her hand. “This was meant to be temporary…”
You notice how she deflates.
“Though most of the rules we have set have been tossed to the side. Haven’t they?”
She inhales, “They have been tossed aside. I want to put the matter at rest for now. It’s late.”
***
How you find yourself sitting in her lectures is fleeting. Your thumbs rest beneath your chin, index fingers resting against your lips, and your eyes follow her. You had slipped in quietly, sitting at the back, which was surprisingly empty. She is ethereal behind the podium. The lights were off, and the only light provided was from the projector and the slides she was going over. Somehow, in the semi-darkness, she spots you, locking eyes. She doesn’t lose her train of thought, projecting her voice to be heard at the back.
You note her varying moods. Playful. Sarcastic. Haughty. You catch her eyes more than once—the click of the projector shutting off—the lights illuminating the hall. The sudden rush of students packing up at her final reminders. You see her pushing her tongue against her cheek. Students rush by, ignoring you. You cross your arms, leaning back in your chair. A few students linger around her. They eventually climb up the stairs and are out the doors. It’s just you and her in the grand space of the forlorn hall. She collects her things, and you admire her attire. A soft beige cashmere sweater and checked pleated wool wide-leg pants. She climbs the steps, stopping and slipping into the seat before you.
“Rumours are going to spread, professor.” She advises, “I already have several under my belt.”
You smile, “What’s one more? I’m scoping out halls… I don’t think I could be one of your students.”
She offers you a half smile, “Why?”
“To scoping halls or the latter?”
“I don’t care for the first half. The latter.”
You lick your lips, feel your cheeks warm, and answer honestly, “You’re too hot.”
You see her smile widely, pearly teeth and a soft blush, “Am I?”
“I wouldn’t be a productive student. I would try to figure out how to get you to bend me over a desk.”
She tilts her head, eyes darkening. She rests a hand against the table before you, drumming her fingers against the surface.
You continue, “I’m no different than the students who say the same. Though, I would pass your course.”
She clicks her tongue, “Would you?”
You sway your head, lean forward, and press your chest against the table. “I would pester you for extra credit.”
“You certainly would…. Pester me.” Her eyes flick to your face.
“I would do my best to be a good girl in your course.”
Her fingers still, “Would you?”
“Mhm. I should stop. Unless you have some free time?”
Her voice was calm, and above it was a whisper, “Coffee? Then my office? I can fulfill one of your fantasies. I can even give you a grade…”
You smile, moving to stand, “I have some time. However, the Dean has been looking for me.”
She follows, “Is that why you came here to sit in my lecture?”
“If the Dean asks, you haven’t seen me.”
She chuckles.
It is the sudden opening of the doors, and your smiles dissipate and are replaced with neutrality: wild red hair, flushed cheeks, and piercing eyes.
“Mama? I—Oh! Professor, what are you?” Daniela’s voice trails.
You press your lips together. You clear your throat, “Professor Dimitrescu, I will keep your words in mind. I will continue scoping.” You nod at Daniela.
You feel both their stares as you leave.
“Daniela, it is rude to stare.”
“Huh? Sorry, it’s just I came to ask you something… I. It’s just the professor is glowing today.”
Alcina presses her lips together. She would agree there. There was a specific luminance you were emitting by god. You were working her up. The image of you bent over her office desk. She feels her daughter's inquisitive gaze fall on her.
“Kind of like you. You’ve been glowing all day, mama.”
She sucks in her cheeks, arching a brow. She watches as her daughter deflates.
“Could the professor be seeing someone? I heard it long ago, and this was a rumour, at least believed to be. She was engaged at some point.”
Alcina drapes her arm over her daughter's shoulder, sighing. She would not comment. She knew your past from conversations you had with one another in private. They would remain private discussions in which you both have placed information in the palms of your hands—a trust you had placed in her hands willingly. She relished those quiet moments of sharing. Your relationship was meant to be temporary, but like moths to a flame, you were drawn to return to each other’s embrace—the rapport you both had built.
“Do you think she is seeing someone?” Daniela asks, worry seeping through her voice.
Alcina clears her throat, “My little bug, it’s probable. Crushes… Crushes tend to hurt us.”
She regrets her words the moment they leave her mouth, seeing the flurry of emotions on her youngest’s face slipping away from her hold, stalking off out the doors.
She sighs.
***
She pinches the bridge of her nose, setting her pen down—the soft, familiar knock. “Enter.”
You enter, softly closing the door. “I thought I would stop by before I head off…”
She sighs. You lean against the door. “I take it something happened after I left?”
She closes her eyes, snorting, “Did you know there is a rumour about your previous engagement?”
You tilt your head, sighing, “Yes. It’s not a rumour when it’s the truth.”
“You and I know this.” She runs a hand through her hair, covering her mouth.
You approach her desk cautiously, your heeled steps clacking against the floor. She looks at you tiredly. You remove her hand away from her mouth. You hold onto it as she leans back in her leather chair.
“We can always end this amicably.”
She squeezes your hand. You are aware that is a blatant no on her part.
You whisper, “I don’t wish to subjugate either of us in contention. The university has cameras in the halls and smaller classrooms. I don’t want to come between you and your daughter. What she feels might be a fleeting bout of admiration.”
Alcina closes her eyes.
“You’re rather insistent on ending things as of late.” She whispers.
You sigh, bring her hand to your lips, kissing her knuckles and pressing them into your cheek. “Have I? I don’t mean to. I’m merely seeking to elevate the issue.”
“The issue is you are my consolation. I regale in our private intimacy. Our established…” She opens her eyes. She is met with your smile.
“Oh, my. My darling professor who teases me for being sweet is rather sweet herself.”
“Oh… quit it. I can’t afford my reputation to plummet to such extremes.”
She slips her hand away from yours. “Beloved?”
“Hm?”
“Thank you for checking in, but refrain from suggesting ending this.”
You look away, pushing away. “You’re welcome… I,”
She burns holes into the back of your head, and you nod, “Of course, good night.”
You’re gone before she says anything else. She rests both elbows on the surface of her desk, running her hands through her hair. Her tongue soothed the corner of her mouth.
“I can’t let go of what I lectured and perfected…” She whispers.