Chapter Six

Ava

The walk home felt endless and by the time I pushed through the front door, the house was warm and alive with the smell of dinner cooking-roast beef, potatoes, a little gravy, just the way my dad liked it. Normally, the scent would make my mouth water.

Tonight, it made my stomach twist.

I kicked off my shoes quietly, dropped my bag by the stairs, and wandered into the dining room. My dad was already sitting there, plates set, waiting for me.

He looked up immediately, smiling gently. "Hey, kiddo. How was school?"

I hesitated, forcing myself to sit across from him. The fork felt heavy in my hand as I toyed with my food without realizing it.

It didn't take long for him to notice.

The way his smile dimmed.

The way he watched me, his brow creasing just slightly with concern.

"You're awfully quiet tonight, Ava," he said softly.

His voice had that careful tone, the one he used when he didn't want to push but couldn't help worrying.

I pressed my lips together, the words threatening to choke me.

Finally, I set my fork down, staring at the untouched food on my plate.

"I got a D-," I said. My voice was small.

There was a beat of silence.

My father didn't react the way I feared-there was no anger, no heavy sigh of disappointment.

Just patience.

"And it's not even the first time," I added with a bitter little laugh. "Professor Wolfe gave me a chance to redo the essay. And I still blew it."

Dad's mouth tightened slightly, but he didn't say anything harsh.

He just set down his own fork, folding his hands together.

"You always push yourself so hard," he said after a moment. "Maybe you're just tired."

I shook my head, a knot building in my throat.

"No... I was stupid. I didn't try hard enough."

The lie tasted sour in my mouth.

I hadn't tried. Not really.

I thought that if I fucked it up on purpose, I'd get him. And now, it was coming back to haunt me.

He watched me closely, the way only a father could, his eyes full of love and softness.

"I'll talk to Professor Wolfe if you want," he offered gently. "See if there's anything that can be done-"

"No," I said quickly, forcing a shaky smile. "It's fine. Really. He actually gave me another chance."

Dad raised an eyebrow slightly, still looking doubtful.

"I just... need to focus. Tonight," I added as I pushed back my chair, standing. "I'm gonna skip dinner. I want to get started on it."

He nodded slowly, accepting it without argument.

"Alright, sweetheart. Just... don't be too hard on yourself, okay?"

I gave him a soft smile-one that felt like it might break if I wasn't careful-and left the room without another word.

---

I stood in the center of my room for a long moment, staring at my bag. I pulled out my notebooks and all my reference books and set them carefully around me. I created a list, organized all my arguments, and planned each paragraph before I started writing.

Hours blurred together.

I wrote and rewrote my work carefully. I checked each quote and made sure they were accurate.

By the time I finished, the sky outside my window was a deep navy blue, stars pricking through the darkness like tiny silver knives.

I leaned back, exhausted but... proud.

This was good.

I printed the essay, smoothing the warm pages with my hands.

Then I set it carefully into my bag like it was something fragile and precious.

Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant I'd be submitting it on Monday. I collapsed onto the bed, for once allowing myself to relax. I must've drifted off, because the next thing I knew, I heard my father's voice calling from downstairs.

"Ava! Come down here for a second!"

Groggy and confused, I stumbled out of bed and down the steps.

And froze halfway.

There, standing casually in our living room like he belonged there, was Professor Wolfe.

He wore a simple white button-down and black dress pants, his sleeves rolled to the elbows, a watch gleaming against his tan skin.

His dark hair was slightly mussed like he'd raked a hand through it on the way over.

Devastatingly good.

Unfairly good

His eyes found mine immediately.

And the way he looked at me-cool and amused-sent a jolt through my chest. For a split second, I forgot how to breathe.

My father was speaking, but for a moment, I couldn't hear a thing. Everything narrowed down to Wolfe-his smirk, the way his mouth tilted just barely at the corners. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to me.

"...so we talked," my dad was saying.

"He's agreed to help. You'll get some private tutoring here at the house. Just until you get your grades up."

Private.

Tutoring.

At home.

With him.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to nod like it was no big deal.

"Professor Wolfe will be coming by a few evenings a week," Dad continued cheerfully. "You'll work together here in the study. I think it'll help a lot."

Beside him, Wolfe's smirk deepened the tiniest fraction.

Almost invisible.

But I saw it.

And my traitorous body responded with a rush of heat low in my belly.

Tomorrow evening.

Tomorrow, it would begin.

Wolfe shifted his stance, his tone light, almost casual, "If you don't mind," he said, "I'd actually prefer to get started this evening."

Dad blinked, surprised. "Tonight? You're sure? I thought we agreed you'd start tomorrow-"

Wolfe smiled - that slow, easy smile that made it sound like he was offering a favor, not asking for one.

"I don't mind staying a while," Wolfe interrupted smoothly, a small, almost imperceptible smile curving his mouth. "Honestly, I'd prefer it. Getting an early read on where Ava is struggling will help me tailor the lessons more effectively. If we start now, it'll take some of the pressure off. Let her ease into it before Monday hits full force."

He spoke directly to my father, his words calm, reasonable, full of concern - but every so often, his eyes flicked to me.

Quick, subtle.

It was like he was making sure I was listening, too.

Wolfe's voice dropped just a little - reassuring, persuasive. "I'll keep it light tonight," he promised. "Just a conversation. No stress."

Dad hesitated, glancing at me.

Professor Wolfe must have sensed the hesitation, because he spoke again, his voice easy but deliberate.

"I understand if you're feeling a little hesitant," he said, addressing my father directly. "A grown man, spending hours tutoring your daughter, that too, at night-it's natural to be protective."

Dad shifted slightly, his smile faltering, and Wolfe pressed on, calm and unbothered.

"I want you to know," he said, "I've never crossed that line. Not once. Not with any student, and I never will."

I almost scoffed. If I hadn't taken his cock in so deep inside of me the other day, I would've almost been deceived by his false pretense. He should be an actor instead of a lecturer cause he is really good at it.

What a liar!

"And to keep things comfortable for everyone," Professor Wolfe added, "I suggest we work here at the dining table."

He nodded toward the wide oak table tucked just beside the living room, fully visible from the kitchen and couches.

"That way," he said smoothly, "you can see us at any time. Nothing behind closed doors. Total transparency."

Dad's tension visibly eased at that, his mouth tugging back into a smile. He clapped Professor Wolfe lightly on the shoulder, laughing a little, "Sounds good to me," Dad said warmly. "I really appreciate you going out of your way like this."

Professor Wolfe smiled back, polite and professional - but when his eyes slid to mine,

there was nothing polite about the way he looked at me.

Professor Wolfe and I walked to the dining table and took our seats. He sat across from me, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a pen balanced lazily between his fingers as he tapped lightly on the dining table.

"Your essay," he said, voice low but expectant.

Startled, I shot up from my seat, remembering. I rushed upstairs, heart pounding in my chest, grabbed the carefully prepared pages from my desk, and hurried back down.

I placed the essay in front of him, my fingers brushing the wood of the table briefly before pulling back like I had touched something too hot.

Wolfe picked up the pages, his brows furrowing slightly as he read. His foot, still resting against mine, flexed lazily under the table.

Minutes stretched long and tight as his eyes scanned each paragraph. He occasionally made a low sound of approval, almost a hum that vibrated down my spine.

Finally, he set the pages down, tapping the top sheet thoughtfully with two fingers, "An A+," he said, voice a little rougher now. "You passed."

My heart squeezed.

He leaned forward just slightly, his gaze locking with mine.

Heat raced up my neck.

"I told you to ace your essay," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "And soon you're going to get your fucking reward."

I swallowed hard, my thighs pressing together instinctively. Wolfe smiled slowly, lazily, like a wolf who had finally baited his prey.

The dining table felt too large, too exposed, even though my father had propped himself comfortably in the living room, the TV playing some muted news broadcast in the background.

He pointed at the open literature book between us.

"Let's start with analyzing the themes in Chapter Three," he said, his voice smooth and steady. Perfectly professional.

I nodded, swallowing hard, trying to focus on the words.

His foot brushed mine under the table. Accidental? Maybe.

Then it brushed again.

Slowly.

My pulse jumped.

I glanced up at him, but Wolfe's expression was perfectly composed, his eyes dropping to the book like he hadn't just traced a slow line up my calf with the tip of his shoe.

"Go on," he murmured, voice low. "I'm listening."

I cleared my throat and forced myself to read aloud.

"The-the author explores themes of forbidden-"

His foot slid higher.

-desire and moral-"

Higher. Up the inside of my thigh now, the pressure feather-light but deliberate.

My voice wavered, the words tangling together. I shifted in my seat, pretending to adjust myself, but his foot stayed, steady and patient against the thin fabric of my skirt.

"Relax," Wolfe said quietly, so softly only I could hear.

Across the room, Dad chuckled at something on the news, completely oblivious.

Wolfe's hand moved next, reaching under the table like he was retrieving a pen that had dropped. Instead, his fingers ghosted up my inner thigh, sending a hot jolt straight to my core.

I gripped the edge of the table hard.

"Keep reading, Ava," Wolfe said, tilting his head innocently.

I could hardly breathe.

His fingers slid higher, finding the edge of my panties, teasing the fabric, not yet daring to slip underneath but close. So close.

My cheeks burned. I stammered over another line of text, the letters blurring on the page.

"Good girl," Wolfe murmured, a wicked glint in his eyes.

His touch retreated slowly, leaving me aching, gasping for air I couldn't quite seem to catch.

I nodded shakily, barely hearing Dad call from the couch, "Everything going alright, honey?"

"Yeah," I croaked. "Fine."

More than fine.

Tomorrow, it would only get worse.

And better.

Cause my dad would be leaving for a business meeting outside the country tomorrow and I couldn't be more excited.