Her Dirty Professor(6)

By: Penny Wylder



Part of it was her looks. On more than one occasion I pictured brushing my fingers through her locks. The full lips I’d love to kiss, and the curvy body I want to taste every inch of. It’s everything about her. Looks, yes, but her personality too. The inquisitiveness. That might not be all that of an attractive feature for most men, but for a teacher there’s nothing better. And the fact that she devours my every word, eyes stalking me as I cross the room. I’m used to students’ glazed-over stares as they watch the clock above my head ticking by, waiting for the hour to be over.

Not Georgia. She acts as though I’ve hung the moon, never questioning anything I teach. I have her in my grasp. If she’s as quick of a study in bed as she is in the classroom, she may just be the girl of my dreams. When it comes to sex, I could bend her to my will, dominate her, and she would love every minute of it.

But the distracted girl in my classroom is not the same girl I’m used to seeing on a daily basis. I’ve never seen her talk to Serena and Chad. Normally the Rockefeller wannabes talking in the corner don’t rattle her a bit. For some reason they have been for the last two days. And what was that, when she looked right at my dick yesterday? Not that I’m complaining, of course. It just took me off my guard, and I don’t like to be surprised in the middle of a lesson when I’m trying to get these thick-headed students familiar with chemicals that could easily poison them or burn their skin if they’re not careful.

In the months Georgia’s been in my class, she’s always looked me right in the eye. Yesterday it was as if my cock was giving the lecture. After class I even checked the front of my pants to make sure my zipper wasn’t down and that I hadn’t spilled my lunch down the front of me. Seeing her look at me like that, I’d struggled to keep from getting a hard-on in class. Struggle is putting it mildly. I had to force Mrs. Chambers, the cook in the cafeteria—the one with the mustache and blackheads the size of pennies—into my thoughts to keep my dragon down. Because trust me, when I’m hard, there’s no hiding it.

Every time I look at Georgia, she’s looking back at me with bare curiosity, as if I’ve done something so outrageous, so entertaining that it warrants all her attention in case I do it again. I try to hold her gaze but she keeps averting her eyes. Maybe I’m reading her wrong and she just needs help with the assignment, but I don’t think so. I’m not sure what she wants and it’s driving me crazy.

The entire period is a struggle to keep my focus. When the class is finally over, I sit at my desk and take papers from my students as they leave the room. When the last student is gone and the door shuts, I get up to lock it. When I turn around, I realize Georgia is still at her desk and she has yet to clean out her flasks and beakers.

I stand up, not sure what to do with my hands, so I shove them in my pockets. She’s looking down at the paper in front of her as if she’s really struggling. She’s my best student. She should’ve breezed through this assignment. It’s stuff we’ve already covered throughout the school year. I’ve never known her to struggle with anything since starting this class, especially things this easy.

Making my way across the room, I see last night’s assignment on her desk. Though I’m looking at it upside down, from this angle it looks complete. In fact, it looks more than complete. It looks as though she wrote out each of her answers and explained why in the margins for good measure. She’s always doing things like that, going above and beyond what I ask her to do when most students struggle to write two words. I even had a student once answer a question with “just because.” Not to name names, but his name sounds like Brad and he sits next to Serena . . .

“Georgia? Do you need help with something?” I ask her.

She startles at the sound of my voice, knocking over a flask full of blue liquid that splashes onto my pants and shirt.

I back away instantly, sucking in a worried breath. Working with chemicals, I know just how dangerous they can be. I once had a professor in college blow up a classroom. Luckily no one was seriously injured in the accident. But that’s one cautionary tale you don’t forget in this business.

▶ Also By Penny Wylder

▶ Hot Read

▶ Last Updated

▶ Recommend

Top Books