My Professor(16)

She’s leaning against the opposite wall, and I indulge in staring for a second. In that getup, she’s all legs.

The noise from the door opening catches her attention, and she looks up from her phone.

My presence startles her.

“Professor,” she says with a reverent tone.

“What are you wearing?”

Slowly, she processes what I’ve said and the tone in which I’ve said it. Her chin juts up with pride. “Nothing that concerns you. Are you done? I need to touch up my lipstick.”

“By all means.”

I stretch my arm out, gesturing for her to enter, making it clear that I’m not quite ready to vacate the bathroom but she’s free to join if she wants.

Her eyes narrow with annoyance and she steps past me, making sure to dig her heel into my shoe as she passes by. There’s no apology.

How…interesting.

I should leave, but I don’t. Did my presence here actually startle her, or did she see me get up from my table and follow me here?

I lean against the doorframe and watch her tug her lipstick out of her purse, lean against the counter, and start to paint her lips red. The position has her hips tilting up, hiking her skirt that much higher.

Her eyes catch me staring in the mirror.

“How has your night been, Professor? Have you terrorized anyone?”

I chuckle softly under my breath, appreciating her candor.

“I think you’re the one who’s been doing the terrorizing. Is that what you normally wear when you go out?”

“It’s a costume. Are you so old that you don’t recognize it?” Her condescending tone is slow and mocking.

“It invites the wrong idea, I think.”

“Oh god.” She rolls her eyes. “Spare me the ‘If girls dress like that, they’re asking for it’ lecture.”

“So to be clear, you’re not asking for it?”

Her eyes blaze with fury.

I need to stop this, should turn and leave and let her be, but I can’t. It feels like this will be my last chance with her. Tonight is a gift, and I won’t squander it.

She drops her lipstick back into her purse and zips it closed.

“I didn’t realize I could hate you more than I already do.”

“Your opinion doesn’t matter, Emelia. You’re my student. A child.”

I might as well have called her insignificant.

“And yet you’re standing there, staring at me putting on my lipstick. Is that an appropriate way to be looking at your student?” When I don’t reply, she continues haughtily. “Why are you still here anyway? Is your night out not going the way you planned? Afraid you’ll end up with that boring blonde in your bed wishing it were someone else instead?”

Our eyes meet in the mirror, and she unfurls a cocky smirk.

Hmm.

Maybe a little lesson is in order.

I step fully into the bathroom and let the door bang closed behind me. The lock twists into place with a flick of my finger, and her confident façade crumbles. I can see her body tremble as I step closer.

“I’d almost believe this act you’re putting on if I couldn’t smell the alcohol on your breath, if I didn’t know what you’re really like. I’ve seen you, studied you…and not just when you’re in my class. I know this isn’t you. You’re an obedient little thing, Emelia. You can barely look me in the eyes when we speak. You shook like a leaf when you were in my office on Tuesday and I was reprimanding you.”

Something flares in her gaze. It’s like recognizing like, a hidden piece of her that needs this the same way I do.

It’s what spurs me on, goads me into coming completely clean.

“I know you follow the rules, know you keep your head down and try to disappear into the crowd. I know you aren’t trying to be a distraction in my class, but it can’t be helped.”

Anger builds inside her, but she doesn’t speak, doesn’t flee. I know she wants me to keep going, so I step close enough to catch her scent. Yes, there’s the alcohol clinging to the air between us, but there’s her shampoo too, that feminine sweetness she left behind in my office the other day.

I can’t help but reach out and touch her, only a gentle brush of my finger against her cheek as I admit something dark and twisted. “I made you come up to the front of the class and sit on that chair as a way to punish us both. I wanted you there at my fingertips, completely untouchable, and I put you there on display because I knew you would like it.”

“I didn’t,” she insists, but she tilts into my touch.

“Emelia,” I chide. “You wore that dress to my class, that fucking baby-doll dress, and you looked like a plaything. I thought about you in that dress the whole way home. Lying in bed that night, I couldn’t stop myself. I had to ease my suffering.”

I see the realization settle on her shoulders as she understands what I’m telling her. Her lips part. Her breathing turns unsteady.

“This is harassment,” she says, but her voice comes out weak.

I trace my finger along her jaw slowly, following its trail with my gaze. “You’re right. That’s why your cheeks are stained this lovely shade of pink and your chest is rising and falling so fast…like a hummingbird.”

Her eyes close as my knuckle grazes her bottom lip.