My Professor's Dirty Little Secret

Sloane POV—I walked across the polished floors of Haleton University, my satchel swinging against my hip, hands clenching and unclenching with each step. I hated office hours. Hated the expectation that I would walk into a small room, alone with a professor, and sit politely while he dished out judgment on my every word. And yet, here I was, appointment confirmed by an impersonal email, with the time blinking mockingly at me from my phone screen.I arrived at the door to Professor Dalton’s office, paused for a second to compose myself, and pushed it open. The room was smaller than I expected, lined with shelves crammed with books, papers neatly stacked, and a leather chair behind an oak desk that looked intimidatingly permanent. And there he was. Dalton Avery, sitting as if the office belonged to him, as if the walls themselves answered to his presence.“Miss Mercer,” he said, standing, voice calm but carrying that precise edge that made me want to stomp my foot and storm out at the

Sloane POV—The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains far later than I was used to, burning into my eyes and dragging my from a deep, dream-filled sleep. I groaned, rolling onto my side and squinting at the alarm clock. Oh God. Late.Lila was already up, tossing clothes across the floor and humming a tune I didn’t recognize. “You alive?” Lila called, glancing toward my bed.I groaned again, shoving the blankets off and swinging my legs to the floor. My head throbbed lightly from the late-night anticipation, and a small, guilty part of me admitted I’d napped poorly after pacing around my room, thinking about the club and the party tonight. Especially the fact that I won’t be able to see the face of the man I picks to have fun with.“Barely,” I muttered. “Why is morning sunlight so aggressive?” I stumbled to the bathroom, my reflection a mix of sleep and faint panic. My hair stuck out in every direction. Normally, I’d pull it into a messy bun and call it a day. But today… Toda

Sloane POV—Cool night air hit my skin like a shock after the heat of the back room. The bass from the club faded behind me, replaced by the hum of city traffic and a cluster of laughing voices near the curb. I blinked against the glow of streetlights, heartbeat still thudding from more than just the alcohol.“Finally!” Lila’s voice cut through the din. She stood near the rideshare pickup, shoes dangling from one hand, mascara slightly smudged, grinning like she owned the sidewalk. “Where did you disappear to, Miss Mystery?”I tried to keep my expression neutral, though I could still feel the flush on my cheeks. “Nowhere,” I said, walking over and trying not to trip on the uneven pavement. “I’ll tell you when we get back.”Lila raised an eyebrow but didn’t press, at least, not yet. Their Uber slid to a stop beside them, headlights flashing. The driver gave a polite nod as they climbed in, I pressed my forehead lightly against the cool window while Lila sank into the seat beside me.T

Dalton’s POV—The echo of the weekend still clung to me like the faintest scent of perfume, impossible to place, impossible to forget. I leaned back in my chair, eyes closed for a brief moment, and willed the memory to fade. It didn’t. It never did. Not since Saturday night.The masquerade had been meant as an escape. A faceless crowd, a drink or two, a room where no one knew my name. I’d told myself the only needed to release the tension that had been building for weeks, between grading, faculty meetings, and one particular student who seemed determined to test my restraint.But the woman at the party… she had undone me completely. The way she had laughed softly against my neck, the way she’d arched into every touch, there had been something almost dangerous about her. Unfamiliar yet strangely grounding. Like fire disguised as silk.My dick began to stir, and my pants began to tent.I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, the morning light spilling across the papers stacked on my desk. It ha

Dalton’s POV—The bar was dimly lit, the low hum of music mixing with the occasional clink of glasses. I eased onto a stool at the far end, careful to keep my posture relaxed yet commanding, the kind of presence that made bartenders pause just slightly when I approached. I ordered my usual, a neat whiskey, the amber liquid catching the glow from the overhead lights.As the glass slid across the counter to me, I traced the rim with my fingers, thoughtful, deliberate. I could feel the tension from the day still coiling in my shoulders, that tight, almost unbearable knot I couldn’t shake. And somehow, it all led back to her, Sloane Mercer.I replayed the moment at class in my head, the faint mutter as I passed the quiz across the desk. Why did I react like that? The thought gnawed at me. I had walked out of the classroom with an unsteady calm, pretending the heat hadn’t crawled up my spine, pretending I hadn’t felt that spark twist deep inside me. But pretending only did so much.She wa