Office Hours

Cherish’s POV


The email arrived at 4:12 p.m.


Subject: Office HoursFrom: Professor Dalton Crowe
Come to my office after your last class. Don’t be late.


No explanation. No soft language. Just an order wrapped in polite academic formatting.


I told myself I wouldn’t go. I lasted exactly eleven minutes before I started packing my bag. My hands were already restless. My body remembered the weight of his palm on my waist from two days ago, the slow stroke of his thumb, the way my skin had lit up like it had been waiting for him.


I hated that he could do that with so little effort.
By the time I reached the faculty building, most of the lights on the upper floors were off. The hallway outside his office was quiet enough that I could hear my own pulse. I knocked once.


“Come in.”


I stepped inside. The second the door clicked shut behind me, he reached past my shoulder and turned the lock. The soft sound felt louder than it should have.


Dalton stood close enough that I had to tilt my chin up to meet his eyes. He was still in the black shirt he’d worn to class, sleeves rolled to his elbows, top button undone. He looked calm. I felt anything but.


“You wanted to see me, Professor?” I kept my voice cool, almost bored.


“Don’t call me that when we’re alone.”


“It’s what you are.”


He stepped forward. I stepped back. My hips bumped the edge of his desk.


“You’re still trying to pretend this is professional,” he said quietly. “It’s almost cute.”


“It is professional. You’re my professor. I’m your student. That night at the club was a mistake.”


“Was it?”


His hands landed on either side of me, caging me against the desk without touching me yet. The heat of his body soaked through my clothes. I could smell his cologne again—something dark and expensive that made my stomach tighten.


“I already told you,” I said. “I don’t do this. Whatever this is.”


“And yet you came.”


I opened my mouth to answer. He kissed me instead.


There was nothing hesitant about it. One of his hands slid into my hair, tilting my head back so he could kiss me deeper. His mouth was hot and controlled and filthy all at once. I made a sound against his lips that I would have been embarrassed about if I could still think straight.

My hands, traitorously, fisted in the front of his shirt.
He kissed me like he already knew how I tasted. Like he’d been thinking about it since the club.


When he finally pulled back just enough to speak, his voice was rougher.


“Still want to call it a mistake?”


I didn’t get the chance to answer. His mouth returned, and this time his hands moved. He gripped my hips and lifted me onto the desk in one smooth motion, stepping between my knees.

Papers slid and fluttered to the floor. Neither of us cared.


His palms slid under my shirt, warm and sure. He pushed the fabric up without asking. I raised my arms like my body had already decided to cooperate. The shirt landed somewhere behind him. Cool air hit my skin for half a second before his hands replaced it.


He didn’t tease this time.


He tugged the cups of my bra down, freeing me, and then his mouth was on me. Hot. Wet. Open.


He sucked one nipple between his lips and used his tongue in slow, deliberate strokes that made my head fall back. A broken sound escaped my throat.

My fingers tangled in his hair, holding him there even while some distant part of me knew I should push him away.


“Dalton—”


He made a low sound against my skin and switched to the other breast, giving it the same focused attention. His hand came up to cup the first one, thumb brushing the wet, sensitive peak he’d just left.

Every pull of his mouth sent another sharp pulse straight between my legs. I was already aching. Already wet. Already losing.


He bit down gently, then soothed the sting with his tongue. My hips shifted forward without permission, seeking friction he wasn’t giving me yet.


“You’re shaking,” he murmured against my skin.


“Shut up.”


He laughed softly, the sound dark and pleased, and went back to work. He was relentless. Every time I thought I was getting used to the sensation, he changed the pressure or the angle or scraped his teeth just enough to make my breath hitch.


My thighs tightened around his hips. I could feel how hard he was through his pants, but he still didn’t grind against me. He just kept using his mouth and hands like my pleasure was the only thing that mattered.


I was so close it was humiliating.


My fingers clenched harder in his hair. My breathing had turned into short, uneven gasps. The tension coiled low and tight, ready to snap—
And then he stopped.


He pulled his mouth away and rested his forehead against mine, both of us breathing hard. His hands stayed on my waist, thumbs stroking the soft skin just below my bra.


My nipples were wet from his mouth, tight and throbbing in the cool air. I felt empty and furious and desperate all at once.


“Look at me,” he said.


I did. His eyes were darker than I’d ever seen them.


“Next time you let another man touch you,” he said quietly, “I won’t stop.”


The words sank in slowly. A warning and a promise at the same time.


He stepped back. The loss of his body heat made me shiver. He reached down, picked up my shirt from the floor, and held it out to me without a word.

I took it with unsteady hands and pulled it on. My bra was still shoved beneath my breasts. I didn’t fix it. I wasn’t sure I could with the way my fingers were trembling.


Dalton walked to the door, unlocked it, and opened it wide. The empty hallway stretched out behind him, fluorescent lights buzzing softly.


He looked at me—flushed, lips swollen, shirt wrinkled, still sitting on his desk like something he’d half-unwrapped and decided to save for later.


“You can go, Miss Langford.”


I slid off the desk on legs that didn’t feel entirely solid. I walked past him without speaking. My shoulder almost brushed his chest. I caught the faint scent of his cologne one last time and kept moving.


I made it three steps into the hallway before I realized my hands were still shaking.


Behind me, the door closed with a quiet, final click.