“Oh, my God, Emma. I am so, so sorry,” Ruby exclaimed as she rushed in to take her seat in the front row of the lecture hall next to Emma.
“Sorry for what?” It was a rare thing for Ruby Lucas to ever be sorry about anything, so the look of distress on her face was a tad concerning.
“You know that… thing you sent me to look over?”
“Yeah… Oh, Ruby,” Emma waved off with a small blush blooming at her cheeks. “Don’t worry about hurting my feelings. If you hated it, you can just say so.”
“No, I loved it!” Ruby assured her. “The part where she hides under his desk so they don’t get caught together in his office, then proceeds to suck him off while he meets with the dean is so deliciously naughty. Oh! And then when he pulls her out from under the desk and bends her over it, yanking down her panties from under her skirt before he gives her a good pounding in retaliation,” Ruby paused to fan herself, “So. Hot. I loved it so much I practically stayed up all night looking it over for you, and sent you my thoughts and corrections before I went to bed.”
Emma’s brows pinched together and she pulled out her phone. “Really? I don’t remember seeing an email from you when I got up this morning.” She looked again. Sure enough, no email.
“That’s because I didn’t send it to you. I realized on the way to class that I sent it to… someone else.”
“Ruby,” Emma said in a tone of pure death. “Who did you send my highly explicit, smut fic to?”
The answer was barely audible, but the echo of it screamed in Emma’s ears. “Professor Jones.”
“Good morning, everyone!” Professor Jones called out as he entered the hall, his eyes sweeping over the masses until they landed on Emma. A smirk and brow raised in tandem and an amused glint twinkled in his stupidly too blue eyes. “I hope we are all in pleasant spirits today. Ready to satisfy the desires of our minds in scholarly pursuit.”
The way he drawled out the word desires as his gaze lingered on her left no question in Emma’s mind. Professor Jones had read her story. Her smut filled, explicit fantasy that spelled out in exquisite detail all the things she’d like to do to her hot professor (and have him do to her). Even though the characters in her story bore different names, there was no denying she’d based them off herself and Jones.
Something a Literary Arts professor was bound to pick up on.
Emma’s cheeks flushed and prickles of mortification skittered over her skin. Picking up her pen, she pretended to take notes as Professor Jones began his lecture, all the while scrawling death threats to Ruby in the margins of her paper.
When the end of class came, Emma warred with herself on whether or not to apologize to him for Ruby’s error. She really didn’t want to face him, didn’t want to admit the story he’d been sent had actually been written by her, but knew she’d have to answer for it at some point.
Not today, though, apparently. Before she could gather her courage, Jones collected his things and exited the room back towards his office. Next class, she told herself. I’ll talk to him after the next class. Or maybe she’d email him… nope. No more emails.
Emma never did go talk with Jones. Over the course of that final week of class she adopted the ignore it and it’ll go away philosophy. And it was working… mostly. Much to her surprise, Professor Jones hadn’t made any attempts to bring up the issue either. She’d expected some sort of response, an admonishment on the inappropriateness of such an email being sent to him, a jovial assurance that he knew it was an accident and no more needed to be said. Something. But other than the occasional twitch at his lips or furtive glance flicked her way whenever something was said in class that could be taken as a double entendre referencing her fic, the man hadn’t said a word to her about it.
Until the day of the final.
“Miss Swan,” Professor Jones called out as he finished gathering the class’ tests. “Would you be good enough to stop by my office later?”
“Uh… sure,” Emma said in startled reply.
“End of my office hours work for you?”
“Yeah. I’ll um… I’ll see you then.”
It was a good thing Emma had no other finals that day. She’d never have been able to concentrate on passing them, distracted as she was by what Professor Jones wanted to see her about. Not that she had to guess. It had to be about the email, about the fic, about what the fic exposed, and it exposed a lot.
By the time she arrived at his office, her palms were slick from nerves and the minimal contents of her stomach were ready to mutiny. His door was partially opened, so she knocked twice before edging it open further.
“Ah! Miss Swan. Please, come in and have a seat.” He gestured to the cozy looking leather chair he had positioned in front of his desk. The chair she definitely had not (she totally had) written about in her fic when she… er, her female character had lounged naked in it whilst her hot, British professor knelt before her with his head buried between her legs, making her come with his wicked tongue again and again.
Yeah. That chair.
“Um, what did you want to see me about, Professor Jones?” Emma asked while shifting uncomfortably, causing the leather beneath her to squeak and her cheeks to grow hot.
“Please. The semester is over. Call me Killian.”
Emma’s pulse ratcheted up at the offer. How many times had she evoked his given name in private over the course of the semester? Not the time, Emma!
Killian cleared his throat and picked up a packet of papers from his desk. “Before we get to the matter for which I asked you here, I wanted to show you this.”
Reaching across the desk, she took the proffered papers and realized they were her final; already graded with a large A denoted in red at the top of the page.
“I’ve already submitted your grade to the dean.”
Killian smiled and let out a small exhale of amusement before standing and making his way around his desk. Leaning back against its surface, he clasped his fingers together and crossed his ankles.
“I asked you to come to my office, because there is something I’ve been wanting to ask you all semester. I wanted to give you that,” he indicated to her final, “so you’d be assured that your answer to my question would in no way affect your grade in my class.”
Emma nervously wet her lips and stood to place her final back on her desk next to Killian’s hip. “What did you want to ask me?”
She’d left a small bit of distance between them but the tension within was drawing taut, pulling at her to step even closer.
Killian unclasped his hands and for a moment Emma thought he meant to reach out and touch her. Instead, he placed them on the desk, anchoring himself in place. “Now that I am no longer your professor, I was hoping you might like to have dinner with me.”
“You want to have dinner with me?” she responded breathlessly.
Where had all the air gone?
“I do.” A mischievous smirk pulled at Killian’s lip and he stepped forward, closing the gap between them and settling his hands on her hips. His tone deepened with his next words, sending a sultry feeling of silk rippling over Emma’s skin. “Unless, of course, you’d rather just skip ahead to pages four through thirteen in that delightful bit of sin Miss Lucas accidentally sent me a week ago.”
“Please,” Emma scoffed, hoping to detract him from how much she’d very much like to reenact her fic with him there in his office. “You couldn’t handle it.”
“Based on what I read, you may very well be right,” A devilishly handsome grin spread over his face and his brows swaggered as he replied, “But I love a challenge.”
They got through page eight before leaving his office.