Office Hours Chapter 3

Thursday came slower than it should have.

I spent the two days between office hours wet. Not the usual easy wetness that came when some boy stared too long at my tits in the library. This was different. Constant. Low and mean. Every time I shifted in my seat during class I felt the bare lips of my pussy slide against each other. No panties again. I wanted the reminder.

Kane taught like nothing had happened. Same low voice. Same precise hands when he wrote on the board. He never looked at me longer than anyone else. But I watched the way his jaw tightened once when I crossed my legs and the short skirt rode higher. I saw it. He felt it too.

At 3:55 I was already outside his office.

This time I didn’t knock. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it soft behind me.

He was standing at the window, back to me, looking out over the quad. The late light cut across his shoulders.

“Miss Hale,” he said without turning. “I thought I made myself clear.”

“You touched me,” I answered. “That’s clearer than anything you said.”

He turned then. Face still calm, but his eyes were darker.

I walked straight to his desk and sat on the edge of it, facing him. Legs slightly apart. The skirt was so short he would only need one more inch to see everything.

“I came back,” I said. “Like I told you I would.”

“You need to leave.”

“Make me.”

He stayed by the window. Didn’t move closer. Didn’t move away.

I reached down, hooked my fingers under the hem of the skirt, and slowly pulled it up until it sat around my waist. Completely bare. Shaved smooth. Already glistening.

“This is what you felt the other day,” I said. “It’s been like this since. Every time I think about how you walked past me in that locker room like I was nothing.”

His gaze dropped. Just for a second. Long enough.

I slid two fingers through my folds, slow, opening myself so he could see how wet I was. The soft, filthy sound filled the quiet office.

“You’re still pretending,” I whispered. “But your eyes just told on you.”

Kane crossed the room in three strides. He didn’t touch me. He stopped close enough that I could smell his cologne and the faint scent of paper and ink. Close enough that if I leaned forward my nipples would brush his shirt.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, voice low.

“I’m not playing.” I kept my fingers moving, circling my clit while I held his eyes. “I want you to fuck me. I want you to stop being careful and just take it. Right here. On this desk. I want to feel you lose that control you wear like armor.”

His hand came up. For a second I thought he would grab my wrist and stop me. Instead his fingers closed around my jaw, tilting my face up. The grip was firm. Not painful. Just certain.

“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he said.

“Then show me.”

Something cracked.

He kissed me hard. No warning. No softness. Just heat and control and the taste of something he’d been holding back. His tongue pushed into my mouth the same way I wanted his cock to push into me. I moaned into it, fingers still working between my legs, hips rolling against my own hand.

He broke the kiss first. Breathing harder now. Forehead almost against mine.

“This stops now,” he said, but his voice had lost the clean edge.

I smiled against his mouth.

“Then stop touching me.”

His hand was still on my jaw. His other hand had somehow found my bare thigh, fingers digging in hard enough to leave marks.

He didn’t stop.

I reached for his belt.

That was the moment the office door handle turned.

Kane moved faster than I expected. He stepped back, pulled my skirt down in one rough motion, and was on the other side of the desk before the door fully opened.

A student stood there..some nervous freshman with a paper in his hands.

“Professor Kane? I had a question about the…”

“Office hours are over,” Kane said, voice perfectly even again. “Come back tomorrow.”

The kid left fast.

The door clicked shut.

Silence settled heavy between us.

Kane looked at me. Really looked. The calm mask was back, but thinner now. Cracked at the edges.

“Get out,” he said quietly.

I stood, smoothed the skirt down, and walked to the door. My legs felt unsteady. My cunt was throbbing so hard it hurt.

At the door I paused and looked back.

“You’re going to break,” I said. Soft. Certain. “And when you do, I’m going to be right here. Wet. Ready. Waiting for you to stop pretending.”

I left before he could answer.

In the stairwell I had to stop again. Hand under the skirt. Fingers sliding through the mess he’d left me in. I came fast and quiet against the wall, biting my lip until it almost bled, his name a broken sound in my throat.

When I finally walked out into the late afternoon light, my thighs were still trembling.

He had kissed me.

He had touched me like he meant it.

And he still hadn’t reported me.

Thursday had been good.

The next time would be better.

I could already feel it.