Professor

  Professor

  Jenika Snow

  Contents

  Synopsis

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  PROFESSOR

  By Jenika Snow

  www.JenikaSnow.com

  Jenika_Snow@Yahoo.com

  Copyright © March 2019 by Jenika Snow

  First E-book Publication: March 2019

  Photographer: Wander Pedro Aguair

  Cover model: Andrew Biernat

  Cover photo provided by: Wander Book Club

  Editor: Kasi Alexander

  Line editor: Lea Ann Schafer

  Proofreader: Read by Rose

  Cover created by: Mayhem Cover Creations

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: The unauthorized reproduction, transmission, or distribution of any part of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to five years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

  This literary work is fiction. Any name, places, characters and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or establishments is solely coincidental.

  Please respect the author and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials that would violate the author’s rights.

  The things I knew about her, the way I watched. It was all to protect her, all to know her.

  She liked her tea with milk and sugar, extra sweet just like I knew her lips would be if I were to kiss her.

  I was desperate for her.

  She chewed on her pencil when she was concentrating, her little tongue coming out and moving along her bottom lip.

  I was hungry for her.

  She played with the ends of her hair when she was nervous, her fingers delicate, long, like she played piano, her nails painted pink.

  The things I thought about her doing with those tiny hands.

  And she bit her bottom lip when she was worried, those straight white teeth sinking into the red flesh, like an apple being broken into, the crack of it consuming.

  I didn’t deny I wanted her. I didn’t even try and hide it.

  Innocent. That’s what she was.

  I stalked her, knew her every like and dislike … obsessed over her.

  I wanted her like I’d never wanted anything in my life. And I told myself that watching her, following her, was to keep her safe. To keep her mine.

  I was her professor. She was my student. It was wrong to need her the way I did. But she consumed me, like I was gasping to breathe and she was oxygen.

  I was a selfish bastard, and when it came to Grace, I wanted her all to myself.

  1

  Professor Goode

  It’s said that an obsession is an idea or thought that continually preoccupies or intrudes on a person's mind.

  But I say it’s more than that, more than a definition, a string of words thrown together. Nothing can accurately describe how I feel, what I feel, the lengths I’d go to, to get what I wanted, who I wanted.

  They’d say I was obsessed.

  I called it love.

  I remember the first day I saw her, how she looked, how I instantly felt. It had been hot outside, slightly humid, unusual for the time of the year. She’d had a sheen of perspiration on her temple, and I’d wanted to run my tongue along it, gather it up so I’d take a part of her into me.

  I remember the first time I saw her like it was yesterday.

  The first day she’d put her spell on me.

  The first day I’d fallen in love with her.

  The first day I’d become obsessed.

  I’d known from that moment on, no other would have her. She was mine, and I’d make her see that.

  She’d walked into the classroom in this white sundress, these little black flowers splattered across it like spilled ink. Her dark hair had been piled high on her head almost haphazardly, like she’d been running late and hadn’t known what to do with it.

  Strands had fallen down as if she’d been running, the tie in her hair unable to keep the locks in place. Her cheeks had been pink, and I’d wondered if they’d be that color when she felt pleasure.

  Her breathing had been rapid, her chest rising and falling, her breasts pressed against the bodice of her dress, her nipples hard as they’d poked against the thin material.

  She’d apologized to everyone she’d walked by as she made her way to her seat, and I followed her the entire time, tracked her with my gaze, unable to pull my focus off her.

  She screamed innocence and vulnerability, with her delicate beauty that had made the very male part of me rise up. Never had I felt such an instant attraction, such a bone-deep arousal.

  And it was in that very moment that I knew without a shadow of a doubt I had to have her.

  She was my student.

  I was her professor.

  It was against the rules.

  But that made no difference to me. I was born to break the rules for her. I’d realized that as soon as I saw her, as soon as she’d sat in my class. Even now I thought about the way she’d crossed her legs, her dress rising up, exposing even more of her alabaster skin, as if she rarely went out in the sun.

  Everything from her pink painted toenails to her little pearl earrings screamed she had no knowledge of the world, of its dangers.

  She had no knowledge of the filthy things that men wanted to do to women … that I wanted to do to her.

  But she’d find out soon enough. Gracie would understand how deep my need for her went, how much I’d already claimed her as mine.

  And when she did, that would be the greatest pleasure of all.

  2

  Professor Goode

  Focusing was damn near impossible when Grace was in my class. Fuck, it was impossible every fucking minute of every fucking day.

  She was all I thought about anymore. She was all I wanted. And my need for her had grown into this consuming obsession. It controlled me, made me feel unstable, and I knew the only way to sate this craving, to end this hunger, was to make her mine.

  I found myself looking over at her constantly, unable to stop myself even though I knew it wasn’t right. I should keep my distance. It was best for my sanity and would be professional.

  “Can you repeat that last part, Professor Goode?”

  I cleared my throat and looked at the student who’d asked the question.

  I tried to clear my head and focus on my lecture. “So we are able to trace that the CCR5 delta 32 mutation, which hampers the infection rate of HIV, evolved in European populations.” I glanced at Grace as I spoke, seeing a male student seated beside her lean in close and whisper something to her. “Most specifically Northern Europeans.” I felt my eyes narrow, curled my hands into fists at my sides.

  Grace looked less than pleased with his close proximity, which pleased me, but the jealousy in me grew exponentially.

  “How did the mutation occur?”

  I heard the student ask the question, but my attention was on the little asshole who was still leaning in far too close to Grace. He mov
ed his arm next to hers, nearly touching hers. He started to whisper something to her again, and I could see the frustration in her face.

  “Mr. Baldwin, if this class is monotonous to you, you’re more than welcome to leave and give up your seat to a student on the wait list.” My words came out clipped, angry. I didn’t even give a shit that he was speaking during my lecture. I was pissed that he was too close to Grace.

  My Grace.

  “I’m sorry, Professor Goode.”

  The student straightened, seeming embarrassed by being called out in front of the class. He should have been glad that’s all I did.

  I couldn’t pull my focus off Grace, could see she had an almost embarrassed expression on her face, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip. She looked between me and the asshole sitting next to her, then back at me again.

  I had my hands curled into tight fists at my side, was trying to control myself. Even something as simple as another male talking to her infuriated me. I was jealous, so fucking jealous it ate away at me.

  I forced myself to turn around, to attempt to appear like I had my shit together, that I was actually supposed to be teaching a class, not lusting after my fucking student.

  “I want a thirteen-page paper on a genetic variant in a certain population completed and turned in to me by the end of the month.” There was a shuffling of paper and a murmur of voices, but I didn’t turn around, because if I did, my attention would go right to Grace. “Don’t act surprised by this, it’s on your syllabus.” My voice was hard. I was still annoyed, the jealousy still present.

  Class ended and I kept my back to them, putting paperwork in my satchel, my body tense. When I heard the door shut, assuming everyone was gone, I rested my hands on the edge of my desk and braced my weight, hanging my head and closing my eyes. I breathed out slowly.

  “Professor Goode?”

  The sound of her voice, that sweet, melodic tone, went through me, calming me yet inflaming me all in the same breath.

  I clenched my teeth together, my jaw set hard as I straightened and turned around to face Grace. She stood a few feet from me, a couple books held in her arms, pressed to her chest as if they were a shield. She looked so nervous as she glanced up at me, her eyes wide, that little sundress so fucking innocent.

  “I just wanted to apologize about interrupting your class.”

  God, her voice had this pitch to it that instantly aroused me.

  “I’ll make sure not to sit next to Theo again. He likes to talk during class.” She worried her bottom lip again, and I wondered if that was a nervous habit. I wanted to reach out and pull her lip away from her teeth, smoothing my thumb along the flesh before I dipped down and kissed her.

  It took everything in me not to make a little sound of need in that moment.

  “No need to apologize, Miss Hart. It’s not your fault.” I had my hand braced behind me on the edge of the desk, my nails digging into the wood. But I kept myself in control, kept my expression blank. I could see her pulse beating rapidly beneath her ear, and lowered my gaze farther down to the bodice of her dress. Her nipples were hard as they poked through the material.

  I fucking loved that dress, but I also wanted to demand she change out of it, that she cover herself so no other man could look at her, could fantasize and lust after her.

  I swallowed, feeling the lump in my throat, my mouth so dry. As we stood there for several seconds not speaking, just staring at each other, I swore I could see desire lick across her face.

  She nodded slowly and offered me a shy smile, tucking her head as she glanced up at me through her lashes.

  God, my chest ached.

  “I’ll see you later, Professor Goode.”

  She left, and watching her walk away was so fucking hard. I actually found myself taking a step toward her, wanting to lock the door and pull her right up against my body.

  I was losing my fucking mind where Grace was concerned. But if this was what insanity felt like, I didn’t want to be sane.

  3

  Grace

  Who would have thought Genetics in Physical Anthropology would be the class I looked forward to every day?

  But then again it wasn’t the course that intrigued me, but the person teaching it.

  I thought about Professor Goode, all the little things he did, things I doubted anyone really noticed in lecture.

  The way he furrowed his eyebrows when he was looking over his notes, deep in thought. The fact his gaze was dark, penetrating … consuming.

  Or the way he curled his long, strong fingers around the eraser right before he cleaned off the board.

  He was articulate and precise. He made sure his lines were exact when he wrote quotes on the dry-erase board. He was strict in the way he spoke, in the way he gave us our assignments.

  It was hard concentrating in his class, hard to do anything but lust after a man I’d never have.

  “What do you think about Professor Goode?” I looked over at Sherry, who was busy grinning at a guy currently seated at the next table over. I shouldn’t be asking her anything about this, shouldn’t call attention to my curiosity where he was concerned. “Sherry?”

  She glanced at me, the expression on her face telling me she hadn’t heard. “What?”

  I could tell her never mind, not bring this up again. She’d never know the difference. But I found myself licking my lips and saying, “Professor Goode. What do you think about him?”

  I saw her brows knit, her expression curious as to why I was asking. I became flustered as I looked down at the plastic-wrapped sandwich in front of me. I felt her gaze on me, as if she were analyzing me, trying to read more into the question.

  And there was more in the question, so much more, but I’d never tell her. I couldn’t. It felt wrong to even think it.

  “I was just curious about what you thought about him … as a teacher.”

  “Mm-hmm,” she said, unconvinced. “You mean Professor Make Me Feel Goode?”

  I snapped my head up, feeling my eyes widen. “What? Oh my God, Sherry.” I felt my face heat as I looked around, wondering if anyone had heard. She was laughing beside me.

  “He’s seriously hot, and I know a shitload of girls want to bang him in one of the empty classrooms.”

  “God, you’re really going there.”

  She chuckled. “You’re such a virgin.” She laughed harder when I looked at her, my expression probably showing how mortified I was.

  “Sherry, good Lord.” I looked around again. “Could you say that any louder?” I felt my cheeks heat. I had no doubt I was red, my embarrassment a visual beacon for everyone in the library to see.

  “Wait, why are you asking about Professor Goode?”

  I glanced down and started putting my books away, regretting even bringing this up. “It’s nothing. Never mind.” She didn’t answer, but I felt her watching me. When I had my books in my backpack, I looked up, telling myself to act like I wasn’t completely mortified. She watched me with this curious expression on her face. “What?”

  Her eyes widened and her mouth opened in a small O.

  “Oh my fucking God. Gracie, you’ve totally got the hots for the professor.”

  Lord, my cheeks felt like they were on fire. “No. I don’t. You’re insane.” I was rambling, stuttering.

  “You’re a horrible liar, by the way.”

  I gave an awkward chuckle, which just made this situation even worse.

  “I don’t know why you’re embarrassed.” She shrugged and leaned back in the chair, looking back at the table, giving the guy who sat there a come-fuck-me smile. “You know how many guys I find hot at this school.” And looked at me and chuckled. “Your face is so red.”

  I grew even more frustrated.

  “You know how many guys probably think you’re hot?”

  I scoffed and rolled my eyes. Compared to Sherry I was a poor example of what could be considered hot. Her Lebanese genetics gave her a beautiful olive-toned skin and a gorgeous head of d
ark hair. Not to mention her body was rocking, with curves that I could only dream about.

  There was no doubt men looked at her constantly.

  “That’s easy for you to say,” I grumbled, feeling sorry for myself.

  “You’re insane if you don’t think you’re hot.”

  I gave her a get-the-fuck-out-of-here look.

  “What?” She genuinely looked shocked that I didn’t believe her. “You are gorgeous, Gracie. You’ve got that pretty alabaster, flawless skin, and incredible hair with red highlights. And your eyes—” She made a disgruntled noise. “You have the bluest, prettiest fucking eyes I’ve ever seen.” She rolled her eyes. “You’re ridiculously hot in that innocent-schoolgirl way, and it’s annoying.”

  I laughed at how upset she looked. That was all fine and nice that she said that, but it didn’t mean I believed her. Would she still see me the same way if she knew I hadn’t so much as let a guy feel me up? If she knew I was a virgin, so inexperienced it was laughable, she’d probably think there was something wrong with me.

  “So, about Professor Goode.” She wagged her eyebrows.

  “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “Come on,” she said and grinned. “Don’t be embarrassed.”

  As I looked at Sherry, seeing the way she was so confident, how she knew what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go after it just put me in a bad mood.

  “I’m not embarrassed,” I finally said and shoved my books in my bag. “But I am going to be late for work.” I gave her a smile and saw on her face that she wanted to argue, maybe ask more, question why I’d brought this up like an idiot.