The Professor (Becoming Jane)

by Adare, Alexis

  "Oh, well, I'm a Danger on my Mother's side," I said with a smile, and laying a hand on his shoulder I ran my fingers down his arm until I found his. I opened it, depositing the panties into his palm. "Black satin is on our coat of arms."

  This is going well, from Tempting to Dangerous is just twenty-four hours. Huzzah!

  He gulped, and I turned to attend to the rest of my laundry, bending over to remove another load from the dryer, mimicking the same pose I'd presented to him when we'd first met at the pool.

  "Shouldn't you take care of that?" I asked just as the buzzer for his machine went off. I was referring to his wet neglected laundry, but my suggestive tone wasn't lost on him. Glancing over my shoulder, I caught him staring, wide-eyed, at my backside. The only thing between my bare flesh and his prying eyes was a tight pair of threadbare leggings. He didn't notice I was watching him, and the sight of him, staring at my ass, and the perfectly outlined cleft between my thighs, sent a shock of lust straight through my core. I stood up and turned to face him, our eyes met, and this time neither of us were smiling.

  His gaze coasted over my cleavage and he chuckled softly, cynically. He arched, stretching his shoulders and ran a hand through his hair. "Jane Trouble Claremont, distant Rascal relation, and of the Dangers on your mother's side; you are trying to get under my skin."

  "Yes. All week," I admitted. "Is it working?"

  "Too well, lovely, too well."

  I raised my eyebrows and tilted my chin, waiting for him to continue. When he didn't, I leaned in, took his hands in both of mine and brought them up to my cleavage to rest against my chest. "Would you like to keep these?" I asked, my words technically referring to the little black panties he still held, my tone implying so much more.

  He glanced down briefly, almost reluctantly and sighed heavily, . "I cannot get involved with you," he said emphatically, his eyes meeting mine again. Though his tone was hard and his expression wary, he stepped forward his body swaying closer to mine.

  "Well, I think you should know, that after our tempting little discussion in the library yesterday, I stayed and did a some research."

  "Oh?" he asked.

  "Yes, I read through the student handbook," I said. "Technically, teacher/student relationships at Wagner are strongly discouraged, but not against the code." It was true, I had looked it up, and was honestly surprised that it such relationships weren't expressly forbidden. Surprised and very, very pleased.

  "That may be the letter of the law, but it is most assuredly not the spirit," he replied.

  "I'm not in any of your classes," I countered.

  "Thank God for that. I hate to think what fresh hell you'd invent to torture me with if you had daily scheduled access."

  I narrowed my eyes at him. "You seem to like my brand of torture Professor," I said sliding my gaze down to the space, or rather lack thereof that lay between us. His hands, one still clutching my panties, were nestled in the valley between my breasts. Strong, elegant fingers pressed against my soft bare flesh, the tan of his skin a striking contrast to my creamy complexion.

  He cleared his throat. "It doesn't matter," he said. Removing his hands from my cleavage he leaned over me, tossed my panties into the laundry basket, and then stepped back, putting a little distance between us. "The appearance is what matters. As far as the University is concerned, I'm in a position of authority over you. You're on one side, I'm on the other. If anything were to happen between us, and the University found out, it could mean the end of my career, and it would be a black mark on your student record. I wouldn't wish that for you. All your hard work, everything you've accomplished to graduate early...it would all be called into question," he reached for the wine glass, but I went for it as well, and our fingers closed around it at the same time, gently tangling around the base of the bowl.

  "That's very thoughtful of you. But how about after I graduate? What then?" I asked, my eyes flitting up to his.

  "That's a different matter." he said, and the muscles in his jaw tensed. "One that I admit, has crossed my mind," he took my hand in his, removing it from the wine glass, and I watched enthralled, as his long fingers laced with mine.

  "When you're no longer a student," he said, "while it's still likely to raise a few eyebrows, we would be free to date."

  "Who said anything about dating," I said, lowering my chin I looked up at him through my lashes. He stared, his heated gaze moving from my eyes to my mouth. I licked my lips and spoke the words I'd wanted to say since the moment I'd seen him. "I just want you to fuck me."

  His expression changed in a flash. All hint of the reserved, respectable, introverted Professor disappeared at my words. All trace of amusement left his mouth and a darkness fell over his eyes like an eclipse of the sun. His hand clenched in mine and twisted, bending my arm, trapping it behind me in the small of my back. He stepped forward, pressing me against the dryer, my back arching against the hard edge of the machine, thrusting my chest up, into his.

  I could feel the heat of his body against my breasts and I inhaled his scent - cologne, masculine arousal and a whisper of wine on his breath. His free hand traveled up my waist, lingered across the tops of my breasts, along my collarbone, and plunged through the curtain of my hair to the base of my neck. He lowered his head to mine, then stopped, his lips so near my own that I nearly cried out in frustration. He pressed against me, caging me between machine and muscle. I gasped, and found myself unable to tear my eyes from his mouth. I was desperate for him, my eyes tracing a hungry path across the supple lines of his lower lip. I fought to maintain my composure, but my body betrayed me and to my shame, I writhed in his arms. An involuntary, primal response to my lust, I struggled to relieve my agony, to close the distance between his lips and my own.

  "Ah, ah, ah," he breathed, his tone sinister. He fisted his hand in my hair and tilted my head back, the stubble of his night beard grazed a raw trail along my cheek. His lips ghosted to the shell of my ear and paused, his breath warm and labored.

  "I want you to listen very closely, darling" he murmured, tightening his grasp, he crushed me against him, and ground the hard length of his arousal into my pelvis, stilling my movements. "Are you listening?"

  My chest was pounding, and I was amazed I could hear his words over the sound of blood rushing in my ears. Somehow I managed to nod.

  "Good," he said, his tone brusque, his accent thickened, concise and in command. "Now...Sweet Jane. I promise. I will fuck you. And when I do, it will be slow, and hard, and last a very..." he pressed a soft kiss to my ear, "Very. Long. Time."

  My breath hitched in my throat, desire pooling low in my belly as I felt a wave of wetness flood my panties.

  "I will have you, your thighs spread wide, your body displayed for my pleasure. I will see that pretty little cunt of yours glistening with hunger."

  I lifted my chin at his words, my gaze meeting his, and shivered at what I saw. Brilliant blue was replaced by black, his pupils dilated with lust and need. There was something definitive in his eyes, no idle flirtation found in their depths. Instead, they held only promise.

  "I will have you, on your knees. I will stuff that greedy, tight hole, so full of cock that you'll be begging for mercy," he slid the hand at the back of my neck along my jaw to my mouth. "Do you understand?" he asked, his thumb stroking across my lips.

  I nodded, unable to speak.

  "Now, if you've finished with your laundry..." he dropped his hand from my cheek, and drew the other from behind my back to hold both my hands in his. "It's time we each go home." He lifted my hands to his lips, and pressed a kiss to each of them. The gentleman had returned, his demeanor switching with frightening ease from predator back to the Professor of civility.

  "Yes, um...” I began, my voice quivering.

  Say something! Lizzy Bendit screamed at me. Get back in the game! Don't let him end this!

  But I couldn't find the words. Couldn't think straight. Hell I could barely stand straight, my knees were threatening t
o buckle completely.

  Before I could gather my wits, we heard the tinkle of the door chimes as the door to the Laundromat flung open, admitting a heavy-set man accompanied by a large sack of laundry and small yapping dog. The Professor released my hands and stepped away from me quickly, a watchful eye on the Laundromat’s newest visitor. He corked my bottle of wine, tucked it and the wine glass into my empty laundry sack, and set them gingerly on top of my folded clothes. He picked up my coat, and gestured for me to turn around, holding it aloft so that I could slip my arms into the sleeves. He turned me back around and zipped me up, then lifted my laundry basket and offered it to me.

  "But I," I began as I took the basket, looking up at him, still half dazed.

  "No more teasing, Jane," he said quietly looking over at the heavy set man who was currently overloading a washer while his dog pawed at the machine. "I mean it. Behave, be a good girl, and you will be rewarded." He grinned at me, then turned me around, aimed me at the door and swatted me on the butt. "Go on. Go home."

  "Seriously?" I said, twisting my neck to glare at him over my shoulder.

  "Seriously," he said, his tone stern. I rolled my eyes at him and then headed to the door, lingering for a moment to give him the dirtiest look I could muster before I stomped out to make the short, snowy trek up one block and across the street to my apartment.

  My brain was mush. I needed to think, to regroup, to come up with a new plan. This rendezvous had caught me by surprise and gone deliciously, unexpectedly awry. I was shaken and incredibly turned on. The Professor wasn't quite who I'd assumed he was. I'd thought I had him all figured out, just a shy guy in need of some heavy seduction to draw him out. I was wrong. He wasn't shy, he was controlled, self-possessed. But he had a weakness, and that was me. Something about me was "getting under his skin." He'd said it himself. Something about me had the power to undo him. He was immune to the other co-eds, and didn't avoid them on campus. I alone seemed to have the unique ability to hammer a few dents in that steely armor he wore. Oh how I wanted to see it fall off all together. He'd given me a taste of the raw power that lay under that restrained exterior and I wanted him to let it loose on me.

  We were caught in a battle of wills now, a game. I needed to pull out all the stops if I had a chance of winning. And I dearly wanted to win. While he promised we'd hook up after my graduation, I was now very much invested in the idea of seducing him into breaking that timeline. He'd gained the upper hand, and I wanted it back. I wanted to see him break his own rules, to see him on his knees, begging me for mercy. But his resolve was strong and I wasn't sure how I was going to get past it, especially if he was determined to avoid me for the next few weeks.

  I climbed the stairs to my second floor apartment, and let myself in just as an email alert toned on my laptop. I set down my basket and checked the message.

  To: Jane Claremont

  From: Office of Administration

  Subject: Class Alert

  We are pleased to announce that Professor Meredith Michaels has been invited to speak at the Women's World Fiction Conference. In her absence, her Friday classes will be covered by a visiting Professor from Northbrook, Dr. Thomas Grayson. We know our students will give Professor Grayson a warm Wagner welcome and we trust you will make the most of this unique opportunity to learn from one of Great Britain's preeminent scholars of classic English literature.

  Oh this is rich.

  I stared at the email so long that the energy saver kicked on and I could see the broad smile on my face reflected in the darkness of the laptop screen. Oh yes, they could trust me to make the most of this opportunity, they could trust me to give him a very warm welcome indeed. The Professor didn't realize it, but I was going to end up a student of his after all, even if for only one day. When Dr. Thomas Grayson showed up to class tomorrow he was going to be in for a big surprise. I took my laundry basket to the bedroom and flung open my closet with glee. I needed to find the perfect outfit for tomorrow's afternoon class. Something that oozed "fresh torturous hell" of the sexy variety. Yes, that ought to do it.

  Notes: Game on Professor. You're going down.

  3

  Chapter Three

  Having a sister that wears the same size as you and is a mega-talented burgeoning fashion designer, is a blessing most of the time. Tonight, however, I was cursing my overstuffed closet. I was spoiled for choice, locked in analysis paralysis, and after about five minutes staring at my closet I knew I needed some advice from the expert herself.

  "What's up, Chuck?" I grinned when Charlotte's face popped up on the laptop screen.

  "Janie!" she squealed, and waved frantically at the camera, making me chuckle.

  "Good to see you too, Charlie. Listen I need some serious help. I'm trying to seduce someone and he's resisting my considerable charms."

  "Inconceivable!"

  I laughed. "Not at all I'm afraid. It's a little..." I rolled my eyes, "er, complicated right now, and he's trying to hold out on me until things are less complicated."

  "And you want to make that impossible?"

  "Definitely."

  "All right, aim me at the closet," she said. "I need to see what we're working with."

  "Gotcha." I turned the camera around and planted myself in front of it. "I await your orders oh wise one," I said.

  "Well what's the scenario? Location, time, the exact reaction you are trying to provoke. I mean I need some more information here," said Charlie.

  "School, tomorrow afternoon, mind-numbing uncontrollable lust."

  "Okay, what's the victim profile?"

  "English, a little older, likes tea, smoking hot."

  "Mmm sounds yummy, go on."

  "He's super smart, wavy brown hair, the most incredible blue eyes, and a buttoned-up stuffy exterior that hides a molten hot core of raging alpha sex god."

  "Wow - me likey. Where did you find this guy?" she asked.

  "He's um...he's a professor." I cringed waiting for her to yell at me. Instead Charlie ran her hands over her face and sighed heavily, then laughed.

  "Well, that explains a lot. No wonder he's resisting. What did Mom say about this?"

  "Mom? I haven't talked to Mom about this."

  "Well you should! That's a dangerous liaison. She'll set you straight, talk you out of it..." Charlie trailed off. "No maybe not. Actually, she'd probably say..."

  "Go for it." We both said the words at the same time, and then laughed.

  "I don't know Janie. This just spells trouble. Maybe you should leave the poor guy alone." Charlie frowned at me.

  "No, that's not an option sis. Listen. It's inevitable..." I told her everything. The first meeting at the pool, our flirtations on campus, and the loophole in the University code of conduct. Then I told her about tonight's rendezvous at the Laundromat, the Professor's words, and his promise to "fuck me hard and slow," but only after I graduate.

  "Damn," said Charlie, fanning herself. "Holy shit. He has no idea what he's done. Yeah he shouldn't have said that."

  "No, no he should not have," I agreed.

  "You just don't challenge a Claremont woman like that. Poor man. I almost feel sorry for him."

  "Yeah, almost," I smirked. "So....you'll help?"

  "Well, of course. I mean, he must be destroyed." Charlie slid a pair of glasses on her nose and began pulling her long wavy red hair up in bun. "Let's get to work."

  An hour later I had the perfect outfit.

  "You're a genius Charlie."

  "Oh stop, don't - don't stop," Charlie teased.

  "I owe you, babe."

  "Yes, yes you do," she smiled. "Well I'm off to bed. Call me later. I want the whole story in excruciating, juicy detail."

  "You got it sis."

  * * *

  Friday 2:40 PM. Room 128 in the English building.

  I was twenty minutes early for my Women in Fiction class. I was wearing the genius ensemble that Charlie had picked out and I wanted to get to class before everyone else so I could be
sure to snag a prime seat down in front, directly in the Professor's line of sight. And what a sight I was. My dark hair was long, curled and flowing loose, my eye makeup was smoky, bringing out the greens in my irises and I'd slicked my lips with a brand new lip gloss, a color that was halfway between peach and watermelon. Under my red wool coat, I wore a semi-sheer long-sleeved sweater dress. It was fitted and the color of thick cream, it draped over my body like a second skin, stopping mid-thigh. I wore a pair of dark brown button up Victorian inspired boots, and a lacy sash belt cinched in my waist. The coat served to temporarily hide my secret weapon, and what I considered, my best asset. I'd told Charlie we were shooting to kill and she'd taken me at my word. As a result, per her suggestion, I was going full commando under that dress.

  The neckline showed off my cleavage, plunging deeply. It hugged the firm mounds of my breasts, emphasizing their size. In case my freely bouncing titties weren't enough to provoke some heat from the Professor, the elaborate openwork design certainly should. Without the coat, my rosy pink nipples were just barely visible under the ornate knit pattern that clung to my bust-line. Overall the whole look was dead sexy, feminine and romantic, and I agreed with Charlie that it was exactly the sort of thing that should get an English Professor's blood pumping.

  When I walked into the classroom, however, it appeared that someone else had already raised his blood, and not in a good way. The Professor was standing in front of the desk, his back to me, growling into his phone.

  "No. Absolutely not. It's out of the question and I'm astonished you would even ask," he said, his voice low and cold. "That was a gift from my parents and I hardly think it's--" he turned, and stopped talking when he saw me. He wore tight tailored grey slacks, and a black suit jacket over a fitted blue dress shirt that caught the color of his eyes. They glowed, impossibly blue behind those sexy rimmed glasses.

  "I can't talk now, I'll call you later," he said and hung up. Slipping the phone into his jacket pocket, he folded his arms across his chest and glared at me, the muscle in his jaw ticking with irritation.