The Professor Novels & Stories

Slowly, he pulled back, straightening himself with an air of annoyance, as if nothing had just happened. “Sit down,” he commanded, his voice low but sharp. I dropped into the chair like a scolded child, trying to calm the storm inside me, trying to look composed when I was anything but. The professor smoothed out his shirt, reached for a folder on his desk, and began flipping pages with calculated ease. His face became a mask of authority. He didn’t even glance at me as his deep voice carried across the room. “Come in.” The doorknob twisted. My stomach sank.

Every other thing would fade into nothingness whenever she was in the room. I distracted myself with my phone, and I scrolled aimlessly through TikTok. I soon got engrossed, and I didn't notice when the class quietened down until a deep voice that commanded attention said: “Good morning, 2025 Freshmen, welcome to ***** College. I'm Professor Stephan King, your lecturer for IHS 101: History of the unknown world.” I looked up, and my world tilted over in the most horrible way possible. Because standing on the podium and introducing himself as the lecturer of the most important course in our 100 level was the man I hooked up with yesterday, the one I rode with reckless abandon.

She nodded and went in. He went in a few seconds after her. Cora was waving her hand at Diana, letting her know she saved her seat for her. Diana smiled at her and went to set down her things. The students went quiet once they saw the middle-aged man come in and stayed in the middle, setting his things on the table. “Is that the Professor? I expected him to be an old guy.” Although a lot of professors nowadays are young, it would still be common to see older people as professors. Usually, doctors who have retired from working at the hospital would accept teaching jobs or work at the clinics. But there are others who work at the hospital and teach students as w

neutral. Safe. For a second, I wonder what pack he belongs to. Then I remember I don't care. He doesn't look up when I stop at the empty seat beside him. "This seat free?" I ask cautiously. "Was." His tone isn't rude, just factual. Like he's narrating the weather. I guess that's close enough to a yes. The professor starts talking about choreography as emotional expression, or something else that sounds really deep but mostly just makes my brain hurt this early.

, Dae asked panting, standing at the door. The professor was writing something on the board. " You can stay out. I don't entertain late comers in my class.", he said without turning his head. He was concentrated in the problem he was writing on the board. Dae thought the Professor had a bit weird accent. Maybe because he is actually a Korean.

There he was. Professor Thiago walked through the entrance wearing a simple black and white jersey top tucked into dark jeans, one hand resting casually in his pocket. He wasn't doing anything special. He wasn't trying to draw attention to himself. Yet, every pair of eyes seemed to find him anyway. Girls whispered among themselves, openly staring. A few shamelessly nudged their friends. He didn't react to any of it. Before he could get very far, the coach walked over with a warm smile and shook his hand. Another professor joined them a moment later, and the three of them exchanged a few words before heading toward the reserved faculty seats together.

Surely I was seeing things. Was his cocky attitude haunting me now? I shook my head hard but it didn't erase the fact that Art Wilson was one of my professors? How on earth was he professor? He was only 28. His eyes lingered on me for a second longer before he continued his lecture. His words mumbled into gibberish as all I could scream in my head was no...no...no. I collected my things, and sprinted out of that class, not caring about the murmurs it stirred. I was probably deaf until I drove out of the campus.

Emma snickered as the professor glanced at us and shook his head, his lips twitching. "I'm your professor for this class and I hope we can get along well. Now, I'd love if we could drop the formalities as long as you're in my room, because all I do is teach royal history, and not how you should be chewing using your mouth." Several girls giggle.

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?”