Professor Novels & Stories

He’s close now, he looks at me as if he’s studying me. “Higher, stretch.” His hand moving near my ribcage but not touching. “I need to see how the muscles look.” I stretch higher. His eyes track the movement of my body like he’s memorizing equations. “Turn slowly.” He takes a deep breath. “Something wrong, Professor?” “Your posture.” His voice sounds strained. “Your back curves here.” His finger runs down my back, the first time he’s touched me since I stripped. “Do you feel that?”

A perk for being a good teacher, I guess. Outside the mafia world, I am Professor Quinn. I use my middle name and there are bickering that I am Matteo Scarpelli, or a doppelganger. No one has ever dared ask me openly because they fear I might cut them into pieces and through their dismembered parts away where they will never be found. Well, my only requirement to the school before accepting this job is that my professional life be kept aside from my several businesses. Stanbury accepted my terms and that's how I became a History Professor in their establishment, this year being my fifth year with them.

"I'm not signing anything until I know what it is." "It's your life raft," one of the men in suits said. He didn't smile. "I'm Mr. Miller. I handle the Professor's legal affairs. These papers state that you are a Junior Fellow for the Blackwood Archive Initiative." "A Junior Fellow?" I looked at Caspian. "I'm a student. I don't even have my degree yet."

I smiled at Kenji who was at his ends wit. “Don't even think about sleeping,” he glared at me. The man—Professor Neven Karlsson—reached the lectern and opened a folder. "Good morning," he said. That deep, smooth lilt made my skin feel prickly. "I am Professor Neven Karlsson. I’ve spent the morning reviewing the roster for this department. Let’s see who we have." He started calling names. He seemed detached, bored even, until he reached a specific line on the paper.

"Or should I say Noah? The perfect little student who can't look me in the eye during class, but here you are fingering yourself like a desperate slut, asking strangers to watch.” My face was on fire. How did he know? The heat in my stomach made me panic. I tried to turn away, but he held me down harder, and his erection pushed against my butt crack through his trousers. It was thick and hard—oh my god, it felt huge. "Professor, please—" "Shut your mouth." Three of his veined fingers pushed into mine, stretching my lips wide.

Jack pats her shoulder, his face twisted in fake concern. I should feel something sympathy, worry but all I can think is: Now who’s going to tell me my art is empty? The dean gestures to the stranger beside her. "This is Mr. Laurent. He’ll be your substitute instructor for the remainder of the semester." And that’s when I finally look at him. Jerome Laurent is not what I expected. Young too young to be a professor, maybe late twenties with tousled dark hair and a sharp jaw shadowed by stubble. He’s dressed in all black: fitted slacks, a rolled sleeve button down, boots that look like they’ve seen more than just a classroom.

"Thank God one of my loyal men was on this team, keeping an eye on you. He informed me; otherwise, I doubt you'd have told me." Benjamin's eyes blazed with anger. "Do you have any idea what would happen if something happened to you? How would I face Dad?" Benjamin's gaze snapped to Sebastian. "And who are you?" Sebastian stood tall. "I'm Sebastian, Adeline's professor. She's assisting me with my research." Benjamin's expression turned incredulous. "You're the one who insisted she come here?" Benjamin's voice dripped with venom. Sebastian nodded. "I needed her expertise."

Ava Sterling couldn't breathe. Not because the classroom was warm — the AC was humming softly. Not because the students were loud — they were stunned silent. But because he was standing ten feet in front of her. Dr. William Reid. Same cutting jawline. Same intense eyes. Same smug, unreadable expression. Only now he wasn’t some random man in a dark club. He was her professor. Ava sank lower in her seat, heart hammering against her ribs. Camille nudged her under the desk.

2 XAVIER I thank whatever fucking god that all of these idiots are finally done with this class. I have taught English literature for three years now. Each year has been a different experience for me. The first year was by far the best. I was a new professor. Twenty three years old. I was so excited for my first real year teaching. I was excited to prove to the world that I didn't get the job just because my father is the dean. At the start of my first year of teaching, I was the shiny new toy. All of my students loved me, and seemed to love my teachings.