Tempting Professor Jeff (2)

Anna POV 

Signing up for, extra reading session had been the easiest decision I have made all week.

Most students avoided them. More work, more discussion, more time stuck in a classroom after everyone else had gone home.

But for me?

It was the perfect excuse?

Because extra reading meant one thing, more time around Professor Jeff.

I leaned against the edge of my desk while the last few students gathered their things and left the classroom, the quiet shuffle of backpacks and chairs scraping against the floor slowly fading.

One by one, they disappeared through the door.

Until finally… it was just the two of us.

My heart did a small, excited flip.

Professor Jeff stood at the front desk, flipping through the pages of a thick poetry book, completely unaware of the chaos running through my mind.

Or maybe he was aware.

Maybe he just refused to acknowledge it.

Either way, I wasn’t leaving.

He finally looked up.

His eyes paused briefly when he noticed I was still sitting there.

“Miss Anna,” he said calmly. “You signed up for the extra reading session?”

I nodded, resting my chin on my hand.

“Of course, Professor.”

His gaze lingered for a moment before he gestured toward the book in front of him.

“Today we’re discussing metaphor and emotional tension in poetry.”

I almost laughed.

Emotional tension?

If only he knew. 

He began explaining the poem slowly, his voice steady and composed as always.

But If I was being honest?

I wasn’t really listening.

My eyes kept drifting. 

To his hands.

To the way his fingers moved across the pages.

To the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.

God.

My imagination betrayed me instantly of him spanking my butt so hard that all I would be hearing is the echo of my moan filling the room.

“Who’s Daddy’s fucking pet?” He voiced out while his nails crept deep into my skin.

“Ah… Daddy, just you and only you. This feels so damn good.” While he kept spanking me harder “Please.. don’t stop daddy. Harder.”

“Miss Anna?”

I blinked.

“Oh— sorry,” I said quickly, straightening in my seat.

His expression remained neutral, but there was something in his eyes now. Something sharper.

“Focus,” he said. “Understanding the deeper meaning requires attention.”

“I’m paying attention,” I replied sweetly.

Maybe a little too sweetly.

He continued explaining the poem, walking slowly between the desks while speaking.

“Poetry often explores restraint,” he said. “The tension between what someone wants… and what they allow themselves to act on.”

My lips curved slightly.

Restraint.

Interesting choice of word.

Because if there was one thing I wanted to test… it was exactly that.

Could he really resist me?

Or was that calm, controlled professor act just a fragile mask?

I tilted my head, raising my hand slightly.

“Yes?” Jeff said.

“I have a question about the poem.”

“Go ahead.”

I leaned forward a little.

“When writers talk about longing,” I said slowly, “is it about emotional connection… or physical desire?”

Jeff paused.

Just slightly.

Then he answered carefully.

“It can be interpreted both ways.”

I hummed softly, pretending to think.

“And what about forbidden attraction?”

His eyes lifted from the page.

“Forbidden?” he repeated.

“Yes,” I said innocently. “Like when someone wants something they know they probably shouldn’t.”

The silence stretched for a moment then Jeff closed the book gently.

“That interpretation,” he said slowly, “would depend on context.”

My heart fluttered.

Oh yes.

This was fun.

I let my gaze drift across the room before returning to him.

“But what if the tension is the point?” I asked.

“What if the writer wants the reader to feel how hard it is to resist?”

His jaw tightened slightly.

“Anna.”

Just hearing him say my name like that sent another rush through me with the thought of him praising my body while stroking his bulge. 

“You’re drifting away from the poem,” he said firmly.

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

I smiled faintly.

Oops.

I tapped my pen lightly against my notebook, pretending to read the lines in front of me.

But my mind?

Still wandering.

Imagining him standing closer.

Imagining what would happen if that calm expression cracked even a little as my cunt kept dripping.

“Gosh, how can a man be so hot and yet stubborn… just take me already, professor.”

“Try focusing on the actual text,” Jeff said again.

“Right,” I murmured.

I flipped the page of my notebook, leaning down to grab my textbook from the door beside my chair.

And that’s when the idea struck.

Slowly, deliberately, I let the book slip from my fingers.

It hit the floor with a soft thud.

“Oh—"

I bent down immediately to pick it up and the classroom suddenly felt very quiet.

Very still.

I didn’t rush.

Instead, I took my time reaching for the book, my skirt shifting slightly as I moved.

A risky move.

A deliberate move.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Then—

Jeff cleared his throat sharply.

“Miss Anna.”

His voice was tighter now.

I straightened slowly, holding the book against my chest like nothing unusual had happened.

“Yes, Professor?”

His eyes moved away quickly, fixing firmly on the desk instead.

“Please… sit properly.”

Oh.

Interesting.

My lips curled slightly.

So he had noticed.

I sat down again, crossing my legs slowly.

“Sorry,” I said innocently.

Jeff picked up the poetry book again, though he didn’t immediately start speaking.

For the first time since I’d met him…

He looked unsettled.

And that tiny crack in his composure?

It sent a thrill straight through me.

Maybe breaking Professor Jeff’s perfect discipline wouldn’t be as impossible as everyone thought.

Maybe all it took…

Was a little patience and the right kind of temptation.

I leaned back in my chair, pretending to read while secretly watching him from the corner of my eye.

Yes.

This was definitely getting interesting.

Step two: temptation planted