153 days I

Layla’s pov

~•~

I’d wanted my professor for exactly one hundred and fifty-three days.

I’d wanted him since the first day he walked into class. Wanting his attention, I deliberately sat in front of the class each day, wearing shorter skirts, and crossing and uncrossing my legs whenever he was looking anywhere near me.

I aced all his tests, passed his exam, and got an A+, but the man still didn’t pay attention to me.

It was infuriating.

So I started failing instead. It was crazy of me, but it seemed like it was working. He was always making me stay after class to ask if there was something I didn’t understand that made me fail his assignments. He always ended up explaining something I completely understood, but I still couldn’t make my move because there was always someone lingering after class. Someone who wasn’t ready to move to their next class or didn’t have any more.

I was playing a very dangerous game, but it was just one course. Retaking it wouldn’t be so bad as long as I got to get what I wanted. I could always go to his office whenever I wanted to, but I wanted him to personally invite me.

Professor Martins’ jaw clenched as he looked down at the essay I’d submitted. This time, I didn’t even bother writing. I’d submitted a blank paper. He let out a breath.

“Miss Turner?” He called out.

“Yes, Professor?” I answered with a sweet smile even if others were looking at me.

“See me in my office after your last class.”

I almost let out a sound of victory but I held back. Instead, I said, “Yes, sir.”

The rest of my classes dragged on for too long. When my last class finally ended at six, I spent fifteen more minutes in the restroom, touching myself up.

I raised my skirt higher and undid the first two buttons of my shirt. My button-down sweater was left open and I took my time walking over to his office.

When I was in front of it, I took a deep breath. I was about to risk my education this evening, but I’d caught him staring at my legs before. I’d seen his gaze lingering on my ass when I turned around. I was pretty confident he wanted me, but just couldn’t initiate it.

That was okay. I would help him.

My fingers rapped against the mahogany door twice.

“Come in,” his deep voice sounded from inside.

I smoothed invisible wrinkles on my skirt and pushed open the door. When I closed it behind me, I didn’t forget to turn the lock before facing him.

He was more relaxed than he’d been earlier. His glasses were set on the table, his sleeves rolled up his arm and his collar undone. He looked even sexier.

He stared at his wristwatch. “No class runs past six o’clock.”

“My class ended at six.”

“It’s six-thirty.”

“I know, sir. I just took extra time deciding whether or not to do this.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Do what?”

Instead of replying, I set my bag on his table, rounded it, and straddled him.

He blinked in surprise, but made no move to push me off. “What are you doing, Miss Turner?”

“My name is Layla,” I leaned in to whisper, rolling my hips against his. “And you know exactly what I’m doing, Professor.”

I stared at him, waiting for him to scold me, throw me off his lap, or threaten to report me, but none of that came. Instead, this man laughed. Before I could process it, his hand grabbed the back of my neck and smashed my lips to his.

I gasped against his lips.

He slid his tongue inside my mouth, clashing with mine as he claimed it like it was his. His grip around my neck tightened, no doubt leaving marks. He groaned into my mouth, his free hand finding my hips and gripping them just as tightly.

When he finally pulled back, I was panting. He was staring at me with hunger, like he’d been waiting for this moment all his life. He dragged his thumb across my lip, cleaning off the lip gloss I’d spent so long on. “I always wondered when you’d finally snap,” he murmured. “You’re quite impatient, aren’t you? It’s only been five months, hasn’t it?”

My mouth fell open. “You knew?”

He took that opportunity to slide his thumb inside my mouth. I closed my mouth around it and sucked, holding his gaze.

“It’s quite impossible not to know, Miss Turner. You’ve got an extra sway in your hips whenever you think I’m watching. You open your legs for me in class all the time. Isn’t that because you want me between them?”

I was in disbelief. I had speculated that he wanted me, but I wouldn’t have thought he was waiting for me to act on it.

“It was fun,” his free hand came up to tuck my hair behind my ear, “watching you lose your patience each day.”

“You’re crazy,” I breathed out but my words came out intelligible because of his thumb in my mouth.

“You’re pathetic.” He responded. “You’re so eager for your professor’s cock that you had to fail to get his attention.”

Instead of getting turned off by his words, I could feel my panties getting wetter. I didn’t get to respond before he pulled his thumb out, placed both hands on my hips, and lifted me, setting me on his desk in front of him.

His hand reached under my skirt and took off my panties. He stared at the middle spot that was soaked and chuckled to himself, shaking his head. “Spread your legs for me.”

I didn’t even hesitate.

I spread my legs as wide as I could, giving him a show of my bare pussy.

“Now be a good little slut and touch yourself. Show me how you get yourself off when you think about your professor’s cock.”