“But you’re the one grading my assignments. I’d rather know your opinion than a surrogate’s.”

  “I have regular office hours, and I’ll be glad to look over any assignment before it’s due—like I would for any other student.”

  It’s a clear line of demarcation.

  “I see.” She stands, placing her fingers lightly on my wrist. “Thank you for seeing me… Professor Winston.”

  Her full lips say my name as if asking for a kiss, and the heat circulating in my blood rushes straight to my dick. I do not imagine ordering her to get on her knees and open her mouth.

  “Have a nice day, Miss Lorak.” I place my hand on her shoulder and gently, but forcefully move her into the hall, closing the door solidly.

  Anger burns in my throat at my primitive response to this girl. I’m always in control, and that hasn’t changed. Then, my eyes land on the laptop she left on the edge of my desk.

  Shit, I shoved her out the door, and now I have her computer. Last thing I need is her coming back for it.

  Scooping it up, I quickly jerk the door open, stepping out so fast, I nearly collide with her and Evan the Fuckboy talking in the hall.

  I stop short, holding out the tablet for her. “You left this.”

  She smiles up at me like I just saved her life. “Thank you.” Her voice is breathless. “You’ve helped me so much.”

  Evan smirks at me like we’re on the same team, and I want to punch him in the face, which is completely unprofessional. Reanna’s fingers brush mine lightly as she takes the laptop from me, and I pull my hand away.

  “You’re welcome. Next time, please note my office hours.” I return to my office, shutting the door firmly on that nonsense.

  I’m not a player, and I’m not interested in that student.

  I need a drink.

  “How will you finish your thesis if you’re assisting three professors all the time?” I take a sip of draft beer, leaning on the bar at The Husky Den.

  “Somehow I manage.” Sharon sips from her pint glass.

  The Den is a popular collegiate watering hole within walking distance of campus. It’s all-wood and brass and filled with mostly graduate students, a few professors, and some upperclassmen, whom I assume are over twenty-one.

  It didn’t occur to me that any of my students might be adults. I’d anticipated a bunch of immature teenagers, zero interest, zero temptation. I didn’t not anticipate Reanna Lorak.

  Following our meeting in my office, I updated my online class information then headed out in search of a drink, bumping into Sharon on the way here.

  “Here’s to the start of fall semester.” She holds up her glass, and I clink it.

  It’s a good pilsner, slightly bitter but light, and classic rock filters over the low roar of the crowd. I’m pretty sure it’s “Creep” by Radiohead.

  “Something’s on your mind.” Sharon studies my face. “And I don’t think it’s your concern about my workload, which predates you anyway.”

  Exhaling a grin, I place my glass on the polished bar. “I forgot what it’s like to work with professional thinkers.”

  “You’re in college now, Professor Winston.”

  I like it. I like the nature of strong minds challenging me to dig deeper.

  “Okay, I’ve been thinking about our conversation from earlier. Has that type of thing happened at Thornton before?”

  She looks away, into the crowd. “I really shouldn’t have said that about Evan. He’s probably just a regular guy, and I labeled him without giving him a chance to defend himself. It’s the definition of prejudicial behavior.”

  Possibly. At the same time, I’ve met opportunists like him before.

  “Not the Evan thing. I’m talking about the thing with Effington and the student. Is that something that happens a lot?”

  She takes another sip of beer and shrugs. “If it does, nobody talks about it. However, speaking as a Ph.D. candidate in psychoanalysis, it seems inevitable it would happen a lot.”

  “How so?”

  “College women tend to be attracted to highly educated men, and professors are often men who’ve never been particularly attractive to women, present company excluded, of course.”

  “Of course,” I laugh, taking another sip of beer.

  “Suddenly, at a time when many men struggle with mid-life issues, they’re being inundated with interest from young, nubile women.” She hesitates then grins. “Then, of course, some girls simply have daddy issues, and who better to scratch that itch than a bossy, intelligent professor.”

  “Ahh…” The pieces click into place. “That makes sense.”

  Especially if a student, say, lost her father tragically at a young age. Daddy issues.

  “Which part?”

  “All of it, really. You’re very observant, Miss Stead.”

  “Not that it matters. I’m sure you have plenty of admirers on and off campus.” She leans closer. “Answer the burning question on all our female minds… Does the very handsome Professor Winston have a significant other?”

  “No.” I polish off my beer.

  Her lips quirk in a frown. “Why not?”

  “Lots of reasons. I’ve never seen a long-term relationship that worked.” My dad was the worst fucking role model. “And perhaps I made bad choices when I was younger.”

  “What’s your definition of ‘bad choices,’ Professor?”

  She’s imitating my question from earlier, and I huff a laugh. “I’ll tell you something I’ve never told anyone. Ready?”

  “Definitely.” She sets her glass down and squares her shoulders. “Hit me.”

  “I had a serious girlfriend in college, then after graduation, she wanted to settle down and get married. I didn’t.” Sharon does a fake gasp, placing her palm on her chest, and I continue. “I still think I was right. We were too young. I wanted to do things, and being married would’ve held me down. So we broke up. Now she’s married with a couple kids, and I’ve never gotten that close again.”

  Silence falls between us. She studies me with her dark brows furrowed, and I wait to hear her fresh, psychoanalytical, Ph.D.-candidate opinion.

  Finally, she suggests a reason. “So that’s it? You’re done?”

  Fishing cash out of my pocket, I drop a ten on the bar. “I think I missed my chance.”

  “Bullshit. If Sex and the City taught us anything, it’s there’s no such thing as one soul mate. You gave up.”

  “I didn’t give up.” Patting her shoulder, I’m ready to go. “I like my job. I don’t like drama. Relationships always turn into drama.”

  “You’re a grinch.” Sharon is smug, taking out her card to settle her bill. “A little piece of coal where your heart should be.”

  “I’m not a grinch. I’m telling you what I’ve seen and experienced.”

  Although, my brother seems to have broken that rule—or he’s the exception that proves it.

  “You’re much too handsome and virile to be a confirmed old bachelor. I’m betting this time next year, you’ll be settled down, married, and covered in babies. It’s why you came back to college—for a second chance.”

  “Five dollars says you’re wrong.”

  “Done.” She holds out her hand, and I shake it.

  “Goodnight, Sharon.” I grin, heading out into the night, ready to get back to my solo, faculty housing and get some rest.

  6

  Reanna

  I want to fuck Professor Dirk Winston.

  The realization hit me hard when I left his office after my initial contact. I’ve never wanted to sleep with a target, but this purported “computer geek” professor is fucking hot.

  Sleeping with him is not part of my “get close” master plan. I could get what I want from him without spreading my legs…

  But it does make the job more fun.

  When I was in his office, it took all my focus not to place my hand over his, to press my soft body against his hard one. I turned on all the charm, pouting my lips, allowing my hair to fall seductively over my shoulder, and he shut me down. Damn.

  I kind of hoped he’d be easy, but honestly, feeling his anger, his strength when he hit the brakes and turned into Mr. Strictly Business, made him even hotter. He’s a good man with good character, and so fucking hot with those glasses and broad shoulders and large hands.

  The muscle in his square jaw tightened, and I wanted him to catch me by the face and tell me I was being a brat. I wanted him to shove my thin top up and squeeze my bare breasts, lick my hardened nipples, and pull them with his teeth. I wanted him to spank me and then bend me over his desk and fuck me hard from behind.

  Heat races to my core, and alone in my dorm room, I lie back on the bed, closing my eyes as I slip my hand past my underwear and play out my fantasy…

  It starts with him sitting in that leather chair, burning with anger. I walk around his mahogany desk, leaning forward so he can see I’ve forgotten my panties (oops). I bend a little farther and my pussy is right in his face.

  I imagine the muscle in his square jaw flexing, his hazel eyes darkening as he struggles with his animal needs versus our human rules. He’s right on the edge. The muscles in his arms bulge as he grips his chair tighter. He only needs a little nudge…

  “Please,” I moan, feeling my wetness leaking onto my thighs. “I want you so much it hurts, professor.”

  He breaks.

  Strong hands grip me by the waist, and he fumbles, sliding his cock up and down between my legs until he locates my entrance. With a firm thrust, he’s inside, and we both moan so loudly, it’s audible in the hall. It doesn’t stop us.

  Curses fall from his lips as he punishes me. I'm jeopardizing his career. I’m a student, barely twenty-two, but he’s lost all control. He pounds into me feverishly, and my voice is a wailing cry, somewhere between begging and bliss. His cock is so hard, and he’s so desperate.

  My hand circles faster, massaging my clit as orgasm tingles in my legs. I imagine a drop of sweat tracing down his cheek from how hard he’s working. Strong fingers thread in my hair, and he jerks my head back as he drives deeper. He’s taking out his frustration on me, hating himself for wanting me. Hating himself for how much he wants to do it again.

  “Fuck, yes,” I gasp as my orgasm shudders through my core, shaking my thighs and bending my waist. “Oh, fuck…”

  I’m so sensitive, my eyes squeeze shut as I ride it out, as a smile curls my lips.

  God, that felt so good, even if it was just a fantasy. Turning onto my side, I wonder what it will be like when it happens for real. His hard body against mine, surrounding me with his scent, his salty sweat on my tongue.

  He’s so fucking lickable.

  I’ve got to find the crack in his walls.

  “One aspect of criminal psychology that has fallen out of favor is profiling.” The lights in the auditorium are dim, and Dirk stands in front of the screen sliding his hand down each bullet point as he discusses it.

  He’s become simply Dirk in my mind, although it’s hotter to imagine calling him Professor Winston when we’re alone, when he spanks my bare ass for being a bad girl. Pressing my lips together, I fight a smile at the thought.

  Two weeks have passed, and I’m doing my best to take it slow. Maybe today I can try a different approach. My outfit is more conservative, a blue dress with a cardigan. It’s pretty and sweet, not too much to put him on guard.

  Subtlety and patience are the most important parts of my job.

  My eyes travel over his body as he stands in front of the screen, pointing to the traits of a good FBI Profiler. When he lifts his arms, his muscles move under that thin, button-down shirt stretched over his broad shoulders.

  It’s really hot how smart he is, and today he’s wearing his glasses. I imagine him sliding them off when he sees something he likes… perhaps something he might like to kiss?

  “A good profiler can ascertain the level of planning that went into the crime…”

  He uses the word ascertain perfectly in a sentence.

  “…the degree of control used by the offender, if there was an escalation of emotion at the scene…”

  I wonder how controlled he is when he’s fucking. Does he coolly give orders, those intense eyes distant and unreadable? Or do his emotions escalate?

  If I dropped to my knees in front of him, pulling his hard cock between my lips and giving it a firm suck, would he groan with pleasure or pull my hair and hiss words of approval?

  Shifting in my seat, I cross my legs, and his eyes move to mine. Our gaze holds for only a moment, but it’s long enough to flood my stomach with heat.

  His brow lowers as if he’s annoyed, but he doesn’t miss a beat, continuing his lecture. His control makes me thirsty, and I wonder if he could read from my pouty lips, I was dreaming of blowing his mind.

  “Above all, a good profiler must resist racial stereotypes.” No sign he felt anything. “This skill can be useful, but it can also be highly destructive…”

  He slides his glasses higher, and I’m barely listening as he gives our reading assignment for the night. Next class we have a writing project due, and I’m so ready to pay him another visit.

  The first time laid the groundwork and helped him see me as a sympathetic character. I love that he pushed back when I got too close. I love that he isn’t a sleaze, ready to take advantage of a young girl’s apparent willingness to please him.

  Every man is flattered by a woman who obviously wants him, but Dirk is different. It makes me wonder if there could be something more between us. He’s “the enemy,” but only because Natasha is giving the orders.

  Shit, where the fuck did that come from? I’m not looking for something more.

  I have to stay focused if I’m going to complete this mission and find that book. Once I have the truth about my father, I’m leaving these people far behind. I want a new life, something better than what I’ve had so far. He has his life, and I have my plans. He’s a mark, and when I’m finished, I’ll walk away.

  “As always, if you need to see me, no appointment is necessary during office hours.” Still, the low vibration of his voice is a tempting sound. “Have a great weekend.”

  Class ends, and I gather my books. He’ll take his time finishing up, and I need to take my time getting to him. Strolling into the quad to wait, I sit on a bench under a tree watching a couple of guys throwing a frisbee.

  “Hey, you got a break between classes?” Ryan drops to sit beside me on the bench, smiling brightly.

  “Yeah…” I wrap my cardigan tightly around my body as I study his perfect smile, remembering his odd response when I complimented him on it that first night. “You?”

  “Done for the day.” He leans back proudly, and I glance at the clock.

  It’s after lunch on a Thursday, and I have a 90-minute class starting at three, not that it matters. I’m only here for one reason.

  “Clever guy,” I tease, and he gives me another megawatt grin. I can’t resist anymore. “So what’s the long story?”

  “What?” His brow furrows, and he shoves a lock of curly brown hair behind his ear.

  “On Welcome Back night, I complimented you on your smile, and you said it was a long story. What’s the long story?”

  “Oh.” His chin drops, and he studies the laces on his shoe.

  His knee is bent, and I scoot around, bumping his shoulder with mine. “It’s okay, you can tell me. What was it? Car wreck? Teeth never came in like that kid on Stranger Things?”

  “The kid on Stranger Things has cleidocranial dysplasia. It’s not that his teeth never came in, more like they take much longer to develop.”

  “Okay, okay.” Holding up my hands, I nod. “Clearly, you’re destined to be a dentist. What’s your long story?”

  His face flushes, and a prickly heat rises in my neck. I wasn’t trying to embarrass him. He said it was a long story, like he might tell it sometime. Instead, he seems on the verge of tears, which is very uncomfortable.

  I’m ready to shut it down, tell him not to worry about it, when he speaks. “My baby teeth didn’t fall out at the right time, and my mouth was too small for all my permanent teeth coming in and the ones still there…”

  He hesitates, and I’m confused. He’s describing a recipe for disaster, but his smile is perfect.

  “Was that bad?”

  “When I was thirteen, my teeth were shoved together and became severely crooked. Some went sideways, my front teeth protruded… My parents couldn’t afford to have all the dental work done. At school, I became a joke.”

  A pit is in my stomach. “Kids made fun of you?” He nods, and anger simmers hot in my chest. “But it wasn’t your fault.”

  “It wasn’t just kids. The basketball coach called me ‘picket fence.’” He hesitates a beat before huffing a bitter laugh. I think I see a glimmer on his bottom lids.

  He blinks it away, and my fist tightens. “What was that coach’s name?”

  I can find him, and I’ll make that asshole pay…

  “It doesn’t matter. I got older, made some money, and fixed my teeth.” An edge enters his voice. “Nobody will make me feel ashamed like that again.”

  “If you’ll tell me his name, I’ll make sure he never makes anyone feel ashamed ever again.” I’m ready to find that motherfucker and beat his head into the ground.

  Being a kid is hard enough, but there’s a special place in hell for adults who bully children, especially kind ones like Ryan.

  “What are you, some kind of hit girl?” Ryan laughs, and I catch my breath, sitting a little straighter.

  Easing off the revenge, I wrap an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into a side hug, and giving him a few extra squeezes.

  “Wouldn’t that be cool?” I deflect. “If I were a hit girl, I’d find that coach and find a way to humiliate him in front of everyone.”

  “Reanna’s secretly a softy,” he teases.

  Standing, it’s time for me to get back on the job. “Don’t tell anyone. It’d ruin my street cred.”

  “I won’t.” He pats my arm, and I turn, heading back inside the psychology building.