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The chatter in the auditorium slowly died down the moment the first person heard the click of heels on the corridor leading towards it and fell silent. The closer the sound came, the more the room hushed - and when Professor Dimitrescu ducked her head to move through the doorway and enter the hall, it was dead quiet in there. As it was every day when you had it.
The Professor taught art history to you since the first year of college, and she’d commanded the very same attention every day, ever since she’d first walked through that door. Not only because she was incredibly tall - easily 6’9 or possibly even more - but also because she had an aura that instantly commanded attention and respect. You would never forget the first day when she’d introduced herself to you - when she didn’t even need to call for attention before starting the lecture.
”Welcome to art history. My name is Alcina Dimitrescu, Professor Dimitrescu for you. If you have trouble pronouncing it, learn it. So far, everyone figured it out. My pronouns are she/her -”
At that moment, she’d interrupted herself, glaring at a student who’d snorted.
“And I expect YOU to visit my office right after this lecture. I will not tolerate any form of bigotry in my classes, and yes, I will notice.”
She made a break until the room was silent again, but you’d already felt a smile tug at your mouth and noticed the happy expression on the face of the student next to you, the one with a Trans Pride pin on their bag.
“Now, where were we? I teach art history, jazz and an optional course in Latin for everyone who’s interested or who needs it. I’d recommend it for anyone fascinated by more ancient aspects of art. I expect punctuality, diligence and good behavior of all of you. If anything prevents you from attending or handing assignments in, write me an email and we will work things out together. If you would prefer to take oral tests instead of written ones or a different assignment altogether, tell me a week in advance - the dates for my tests will be given to you on the first lesson of each semester. You all deserve equal chances.”
She’d looked over the room, seemingly meeting the eyes of every student in attendance.
“Now for the introductions - I expect all of you to introduce yourselves with your preferred name, age, pronouns, the art form you’re currently interested in and finally, your favorite color. Example: My name is Alcina Dimitrescu, she/her, I am 44 years old, the art that currently interests me is how to prevent my three daughters from abducting and wrapping a bowtie around my friend’s crush for her birthday and my favorite color is claret.”
The very first had been the day where she’d started to command the attention and admiration of probably anyone in her class, and she-
A sharp jab into your side ripped your attention back to the present, where Professor D, as the students called her when she wasn’t present, was just finishing on setting up her materials for today’s lecture. You looked over to Finn on your right - the very same boy with the trans pride pin who you now sat next to in every class you had together - and scrunched up your eyebrows. He leaned over to you, his voice barely a whisper.
“She’s almost done and already looked over twice.”
Oh. That would explain everything - Professor Dimitrescu always knew when someone zoned out. It was as if she smelled it, or whatever. Sometimes, this woman seemed downright inhuman. Your reply was just as hushed.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
As if on cue, the Professor stood up straight and faced the class, clearing her throat and looking each of you in the eye. Even the tiniest conversation died down… from what you saw, at least. Professor D had a different opinion.
“Good morning, students, and welcome. I know it’s Monday, but I’m sure we’ll manage just fine. Rosemary, since you’re so keen on talking, would you sum up last Thursday’s lecture?”
While the girl in question stumbled on her words at first, she managed to eventually deliver a satisfactory answer to the question asked of her, recapping not only Thursday, but also last Monday, the two days you’d spent on that last artist, to which the Professor nodded.
“There you go. Very well - as you might have noticed, that would conclude our classes on him. Coming up next is one of my personal favorite artists of all time -”
You knew the name before she’d even said it. Over the course of the two years you were at this College already, Professor Dimitrescu had often mentioned her in passing, used her art as an introduction into entire genres - you bet she’d waited long for this very moment to come.
“- Frida Kahlo. Is anyone of you familiar with the name?”
A row more to the front, Sofia chuckled and raised her hand.
“Yes?”
“Professor, I’m sure all of us are. You’ve talked about her quite extensively.”
A pleased expression settled on the tall woman’s face.
“Oh, have I?”
She smirked.
“With due reason, if I might. Now, what have you kept in mind from those “extensive mentions”, I wonder?”
You raised your hand, a chuckle on your lips as well.
“Rabiah.”
As every time when she said your name, you felt a shiver run over your back, the expression in her eyes almost making you doubt the slightly humorous note of the words you were about to say, but yet again, she seemed amused.
“That she’s a queer icon like you, Professor.”
The short laugh it ripped from her throat was worth the slight clicking of her tongue.
“I see my students’ attempts at flattery are ever-persistent.”
“Rabiah’s right tho. Evals say it every year.”
The entire class seemed to chuckle for a moment, even her, even though Evelyn had spoken without permission.
She was right, of course. Every year, the students anonymously evaluated all Professors on a scale from one to ten, with additional roles like
“Hottest Prof”
“Most Likely To Wake Me At 3AM For A Random Test”
“Cinnamon Roll”
“Could Be President If They Weren’t A Prof”
“Most Likely To Break Me In Half”
Plus many more, as the one you were currently talking about, “Queer Icon”. Which was almost always Professor D - the legends from the one year she hadn’t been still made the rounds. Rumor said she glittered the entire room of the Prof who’d beat her and brought Iced Coffee for all her classes. Rumor was likely wrong, but it was a funny story to tell.
And she shook her head, the smile on her face still present.
“Looking past the fact you spoke without waiting, Evelyn, Rabiah’s words are only half true - first of all, she herself is not a queer icon, she’s become an icon of the LGBTQ-movement through her art, and secondly, I have nowhere near the influence on the community she has.”
She glared into the room, even though her eyes were still amused, and made eye contact with you, inclining her head and almost making your heart stop.
At least to Finn, it was an open secret how hard you were crushing on her. Even if it was crazy and it’d never come true (unless you wanted her to be at risk of a lawsuit), there was no denying the magnetism that woman had on you. The way even the slightest tilt to her red-painted lips made your breath fail for a moment. It had been arguably worse in the past - in the first half of the first year, when you were as struck by her as if she was lightning, barely able to form a coherent sentence. Which had made its impact on your participation in class, the main reason why you’d worked on it and hey, now you were able to crack a joke. Progress.
“Mh. That aside, as you’d better know, she was an artist of the surrealist, naïve and magic realism movement, whose works explore questions of identity, postcolonialism, gender, class, and race in Mexican society, who’s regarded as an icon for Chicanos, feminism and LGBTQ+.”
Finn shared a look with you - it was all too evident why she liked the artist so much. The presentation on the huge screen, today, covered mostly her personal life, as was usual in the first class about an artist, and even if the students weren’t the most calm today and she interrupted herself for a quick glare every now and then, the Prof seemed to manage just fine, her passion audible in her voice, captivating you to the topic at hand.
“Now, in the 1940’s, she had some trouble making money from her art, just like Mackenzie will have trouble with me if she doesn’t keep her voice to herself anytime soon.”
Girl in question immediately pulled back and looked away in embarrassment, while the professor sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose while she glanced at the clock - there was still a good half hour left to fill.
"I've had a rather stressful weekend, my daughter's birthday is coming up, Professor Heisenberg is being even more of a pain in my ass than usual and ON TOP OF IT ALL, my vibrator broke last night. In your place, I'd take LOTS of care whose class I decide to chitchat in. Is that clear?"
“Yes, Professor. I’m sorry.”
Mackenzie mumbled, earning a strained nod from the woman at the front of the class.
“Now I’ve lost the thread… where was I?”
“At- at Kahlo having trouble making money with her art in the 40s.”
“Mh, many thanks, Rabiah.”
She continued with her class as if nothing had happened, with absolutely MUCH more well-behaved students… and at the end of the lecture, she sighed and looked at the wall again, clearing her throat.
“Her ashes are displayed in La Casa Azul, which opened as a museum in 1958. Although she only gained more recognition posthumously, in a sense - but more on that on Thursday. We’ll make a stop here for today. Anyone who still has questions, please send me an email, I’m in rather much of a hurry.”
She quickly packed up her things and left, while most of you were still occupied with doing the same - and just a moment after the door shut behind her, Sofia sprang up from her place and shouted.
“ATTENTION!”
Everyone stopped and looked at her. She had a knack for mischief, but ultimately was a good person - whatever plan had been festering in her mind would likely be a good one.
“Can I get a dollar from everyone?”
“And why?”
“I’m gonna go to the adult store and buy her a gift card.”
Some of the students left. The remaining fifty or so were dead silent, looking at Sofia with a mixture of shock and amusement. The speaker looked throughout the auditorium and sighed, waving her hands around.
“Peeps. This woman has lost her VIBRATOR. If there’s anyone that deserves an orgasm, it’s her.”
… agreed. That was definitely agreed. You tried to ignore Finn poking your side and waggling his eyebrows. But you were the first one to pull out a dollar from your wallet and hand it to her - you knew she would keep her word and not run off. She’d done these kinds of things a few times - like the one time Professor Beneviento’s workbench broke and she collected some money from everyone to help her get a new one. Not that the Profs likely needed it - it was just a gift of appreciation. Even if, in this case, a slightly more adult gift of appreciation.
“Thanks for your service, Rabiah.”
“Of course. As you said - that woman deserves an orgasm.”
After you’d given over the money, some others came forward - it was a dollar, and for most of them, possible to spend. Some just gave half, but that was alright too - in the end, Sofia had enough money for a 40 dollar gift card that she put in a bag in her backpack.
“There we go. I’ll send some various designs they have to the gc and y’all can vote which one to pick, yeah?”
“Sure.”
In the end, the choice fell on a card reading “Good Vibes Coming Your Way” that was anonymously placed in the middle of her desk in the lecture hall on Thursday because even Sofia didn’t dare hand it over to her in person. The empty slots had been filled by you yesterday, since most had agreed you had one of the nicest handwritings in class and the others who’d been considered were all too scared to be recognized. As were you, but Finn’s smirk had given you enough resolve to at least attempt. It had turned out alright, for what it was worth.
When Professor Dimitrescu entered the room on that fateful day, she seemed in a slightly better mood than she had been in on Monday, humming as she set down her bag and - noticed the card. Her eyebrows furrowed as she took it and read out the words.
“To Professor Dimitrescu. From Several Anonymous Benefactors. A gift card for…”
She fell quiet for a moment, inclining her head to the side, seemingly impressed. Finn shared a look with you and grinned.
“Oh my, what an unexpected gesture. Nevertheless… highly appreciated. Thank you.”
With a gentle smirk on her face, she looked around, and her eyes met yours, the expression seemingly widening a bit.
… she knew, didn’t she?
She’d realized this was your writing.
Or?
Maybe?
Could you know?
Fuck.
But as soon as it had come, her glance had vanished, and she put the card away in her bag, shaking her head and chuckling a little.
“Well well, way to put me in a good mood. I might show myself more lenient in the next test in exchange. For now, though… Frida Kahlo. Who can sum up Monday’s class? Rabiah, perhaps?”
Oh dear.
She definitely knew.
About a week later, you were in the very store the gift card had been from yourself, almost having forgotten the incident altogether. Not that you particularly NEEDED anything… but who knows? Maybe they had nice new lingerie, or a set of pretty restraints, or even a toy that looked fun. The store in itself was a clean and tastefully furnitured space with a smaller basement under the main floor that sold the… kinkier things.
You were just in the middle of taking out a pair of sheer stockings that looked nice when a large hand stopped yours.
“Don’t buy those, the quality is pathetic.”
When you whipped around to the familiar voice and found Professor Dimitrescu standing right behind you, a kind, yet amused smile on her face.
“They ripped when I so much as tried them on. A waste of money.”
With that, she gently took the item and hung it back where it was, while you stood there dumbfounded, your mind already filling your head with images of her thighs covered in sheer black fabric and lace. You’d see the shape of them when she’d worn a leather pencil skirt in summer, or any day she’d worn a pair of tight pants, images forever burned in your mind (and fantasies).
“Rabiah, close your mouth, it’s improper.”
“I- I- what are you doing here, Professor?”
A soft smirk made its way on face while she chuckled with a slightly husky tone in her voice.
“Oh, you see, some of my students were so incredibly kind to endow me a gift card for this shop after my vibrator broke. I’m sure you’ve heard of it?”
“... I was present in class that day, Professor.”
And you really hoped she didn’t notice how much you tried to keep your breathing under control.
“I know.”
She simply murmured, smirk widening a little.
“I also know it was your handwriting on the card, so don’t play dumb with me, darling.”
Oh god. Her voice alone, right now, would be reason enough to touch yourself later. Add in the look in her eyes and her words… you felt like the world was spinning.
“I- Professor…”
“Why the embarrassment? You made a kind gift, Rabiah. Stand up for it.”
“Yes.”
You whispered, beet red while the tall woman turned her attention back to the stockings on display, humming once before taking a pair similar to the one she’d put back what felt like hours ago and handing them to you.
“Here. Those will last you longer… and would look quite charming.”
Was she… was she flirting with you? She couldn’t be, right? No. No, you were only imagining it. She was just behaving in her usual charismatic, slightly eccentric way. Nothing to see here.
“Thank you, Professor.”
“No problem at all. Now, if you would excuse me - I didn’t come here to chat, as charming as it was.”
“Of course. It was… nice meeting you.”
“The pleasure was all mine. And will be, given the establishment we’re in.”
If there was one thing your mind didn’t need, then the image of one Alcina Dimitrescu touching herself. While you were in public, at least. To distract yourself, even if that was a little hard, you made your way towards the stairs to the basement, slowly descending towards the part of the store that always drew you in most. Cuffs. Clamps. Candles. Rope. Spreader bars. Whips, paddles, crops and floggers of any and all kinds.
Equipment that could’ve only gotten you more excited if you were led here by another who looked for the things she were to use on you.
Sighing slightly, you went towards the candles first - at least those were easy to use when you were alone, and the stock you had was almost empty. A nice golden wax could look all too pretty on your skin… but then your eyes fell over to the wine-colored ones right next to them, and your mind hit you with another tiny fantasy.
Pale hands holding it above you as the wax dripped onto your skin. Squirming softly in your silken bonds, closing your eyes and biting your lip to not let her hear the whimper. And then, her voice.
“Good girl.”
A sudden cracking sound ripped you out of the daydream and back into a reality full of images that weren’t much tamer. Across from you, at the aisle with the tools for impact play, stood the very same woman your daydream was about, hanging a riding crop back with a dissatisfied expression before she took another one, carefully examining it’s length and then slapping it against her palm.
This time, the noise was loud enough for you to imagine it had hit somewhere else. You flinched slightly, though not in fear, causing the amber eyes of your Professor to snap to you, her llook almost apologetic when she let the crop fall into her own basket, next to a high-quality vibrator that definitely wasn’t there before.
“Apologies. Did I scare you?”
“N-no.”
For a moment, something entirely else flashed over her expression, something you didn’t dare name, for you thought about it all too often. Or was it just imagination again?
But then, a good-humored laugh came from her lips as she turned back to the aisle in front of her, humming.
“My daughters thought it funny to “water my crop” for April Fools’ this year.”
You snorted.
“I assume you didn’t share their humor?”
“I grounded them all for the next three days. A good leather crop is expensive, and they’ve ruined it. I’ve never found another I quite liked.”
“Until now?”
You asked, casually trying to get the claret candles into your basket without her noticing, unable to tell if she did as she took the crop from her own for a moment to look at it again.
“Until now.”
She put it back, and you used the opportunity to move past her towards the stairs - with how active your mind was already, you did NOT have to spend more time down there, with a woman who derailed your thoughts every five seconds from what it felt like. You shook your head as you came upon the flight, in your hurry not noticing the first step until it was too late - and hit your foot against it, cursing as you tried to regain your balance and failed, toppling over.
You were already bracing yourself for impact when a warm, strong arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you backwards a little, against a warm, soft and yet firm body.
“My my, dear. Take care.”
You had no chance to suppress it. With her voice, so directly over your ear, her body so close, feeling all the things you’d dreamed of pressing against you - breasts, hips, thigh - not even a second after she caught you, you whimpered. And it definitely wasn’t a sound of surprise. No. It was one of more than genuine arousal.
And it made you pull away in shock, clutching your basket while you looked at her bewildered expression, swallowing against the fluster and embarrassment.
“Thank you. I- I gotta go.”
You mumbled more than spoke, rushing up the stairs and quickly paying for all the things in your basket, not even bothering to let the cashier give you the change (wasn’t much anyway, less than a dollar, more than worth getting out of here) before you ran out of the shop, praying you just imagined the “Rabiah, wait!” as you ran down the street towards your apartment.
When you arrived, you ignored the looks of your roommates to lock yourself in your room instead, dumping the bag on the floor and planting head first onto the bed, groaning loudly. How, how were you supposed to go to her class tomorrow? How were you supposed to face the very woman because of whom you’d just fucking WHIMPERED?!
You… weren’t gonna go. Nope. Not at all.
Quickly, you pulled out your phone, already thinking of the best way to word this, then sent an email to the Professor - that was easier.
---------------
Dear Professor Dimitrescu,
Unfortunately I twisted my ankle on the way back home from town today.
I don’t know whether I can make it to class tomorrow.
Best wishes,
Rabiah Ahmadi
---------------
Having sent it, you tossed your phone aside and buried your head in your pillows again, trying to hide from what had happened an hour ago. Trying to work up the courage to be able to step into her lecture hall on Monday.
And on that dreaded day, you wore a scarf over your shirt that was so large your body practically vanished in it. Finn was admittedly confused as to why, even if it still did look good. You hid a little behind the person in front of you, but it was to no avail whatsoever - as soon as the Professor entered the room, her eyes seemed glued to the back of your head from what it felt like. She walked down the main row, seemingly unbothered the moment you saw her, wearing that very leather skirt together with half sheer tights and a form-fitting, white blouse. When she turned around, you noticed the top button was undone, revealing more cleavage than was good for your senses, but that was not the main thing drawing your gaze.
No.
Her eyes were on you, and the look in them seemed both of a cool rage and slight amusement. The stack of paper she’d been carrying swayed a little when she leaned against her table, clearing her throat effortlessly to silence the class.
“I’ve graded your tests.”
FUCK.
Last week’s Thursday had been a test. A scheduled one, even. Mostly about Frida Kahlo, likely.
And you’d missed it without giving her an alternative. You’d missed it without the week’s notice and without properly discussing an alternative with her.
You likely had two to four emails from her in your inbox. And you’d ignored them.
You were in so much trouble.
“I’m rather impressed by all your results. You seem to either share my passion for Kahlo or you’re very good at pretending so. Either way, good work, all of you. Except Rabiah… my office please, after class.”
So. Much. Trouble.
Finn scribbled your gravestone on a corner of his sheet. You only nodded.
After class, the Professor at least was so kind to wait for you in the hallway leading to the auditorium, her eyes locked on you the moment you slinked out of the room and came over. Wordlessly, she made you follow her, up a flight of stairs - and even though your mind was filled with nervousness, part of you couldn’t help the tiny glance you stole - only to find out she wasn’t wearing tights, but stockings, the hint of lace on top almost teasing your senses. You looked away as fast as you could.
Not a single syllable left her mouth until the door to her office closed behind you and her back remained turned, a sigh spilling past her painted lips.
“Why did you not respond to my emails? I know you got them.”
“I… I forgot to check.”
“Don’t lie to me.”
Her voice cut through the air, followed by her eyes that fixed you again.
“Your ankle was never sprained either.”
Your silence was answer enough. The tall woman sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose as she leaned against her table, shaking her head.
“See, I understand you being embarrassed by meeting me in an adult toy store, and yet I would very much expect you to be more mature about it.”
You swallowed, meeting her eyes for a moment and then looking away.
“It wasn’t that and you know it, Professor.”
She merely hummed in reply.
“Look at me.”
You did.
“Why did you run away? I called after you to at least talk about it. I’m very much aware of how hormones can be at your age, and believe me when I say it’s not the first time a student has had these types of… fantasies towards me.”
“I- I…”
“However…”
She whispered then, glancing towards the door before pushing herself away from the desk, closing the distance between you until her body was just at the edge of your personal space, her hand breaking that boundary to capture your chin and tilt it upwards.
“It’s the first time I’ve found myself so captivated.”
W-what?! You stared up at her like a deer caught in the headlights, your lips parted, your breath quickening ever so slightly.
“Your pretty little whimper hasn’t left my head. And I found myself wondering what other noises you can make far too often for my liking since then.”
Was this really happening?
The look in her eyes was sincere. Her lips looked so soft. Was she leaning in?
Even if, she seemed to pull back for a moment, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, though she did not let go of you.
“You have two options, Rabiah. First, you leave and we pretend this never happened. You write me a 5-page analysis on a Kahlo painting of your choice by Friday and we’re done with this…”
“Or?”
You whispered, her eyes widening slightly.
“Or you stay and pick a safeword. Substitution to be decided later.”
Fuck, this WAS happening.
You would never tell anyone about this. Couldn’t.
But you weren’t gonna let the opportunity pass.
“Red.”
Your reply was as simple as the one before, and made her eyes narrow again, to a darker, more pleased look while she wrapped her other arm around you, hand on your lower back, and pulled you flush against her body.
“Greedy little thing.”
Was the only words you heard before she kissed you deeply, her mouth crashing into yours and making you gasp in surprise. You wrapped your arms around her neck and pulled yourself closer, feeling her turn the both of you around until you were the one leaning against her desk, held in place by the pressure of her hips, one arm caging you in, the other tangling in your hair to pull your head back with slight force that only made you whimper again.
“Quiet.”
She hissed, moving her lips to your ear while you held on even tighter and bit your lip, a slight nip of her teeth on your neck.
“I thought you wanted to hear me?”
You gave back, only to earn a hard grab of your thigh that only made your core heat up further.
“I’d much prefer not getting caught while I make a student come all over my fingers in my very own office.”
Alone the thoughts her words instilled had you clamp a hand over your mouth to muffle a needy whine.
“Hmmm. Better.”
She whispered then, pulling the scarf off of you and almost immediately letting her hand wander under your shirt, upwards until she could slide beneath your bra as well, cupping your breast while you hushed yourself as best as you could.
“I’ve seen the candles you bought, by the way.”
She whispered then, flicking her thumb over your nipple while you squirmed slightly, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter for her.
“Such a pretty color… were you thinking of me when you bought them?”
“... yes, Mistress.”
You murmured back, biting your lip against the groan that left her mouth and vibrated into your neck.
“Such a good girl.”
… that made you clench. Quite literally. Around nothing. And you needed it. Needed her even more than before, even though it hadn’t been long. The urgency of knowing you didn’t have much time only made both of you more ravenous, only made you wrap one leg around her leather-clad thighs and try to press yourself against her, looking for any type of friction at all. And she ground her hips into you - so hard that you almost screamed, yet were pressed back into the table, bereft of her once more.
“Beg.”
Her order was short, simple, a husky whisper against her ear. And you were unable to make yourself wait any longer. Unable to resist the pull. Unable to not give in.
“Please touch me.”
“Please touch me, what?”
“Please, Mistress.”
She had the button of your pants opened in what felt less than a second. Just a moment later, her fingers slid into your panties, not even bothering to wait before she entered you with two of them, pressing the base of her palm against your swollen clit. You felt yourself claw into the expensive fabric of her blouse with one hand while the other clamped down on your mouth tightly, your cry still more than audible between the two of you.
“What a pretty voice you have, all muffled.”
Her whisper was nothing but hot air and even hotter words against your ear, finding you through the hazy fog she pulled your mind under when she started to move her hand. Fingers thrusting and curling inside you, palm rubbing tight circles on your clit. She didn’t bother with slow for too long, not in the slightest. You felt her urgency in every touch, every kiss and nip of her lips to your neck. Your hips bucked into her when you found her rhythm, feeling her even deeper and throwing your head back in bliss. You couldn’t moan, but your mouth was wide open, hand still clamped down - that was, until her other hand grabbed it and then caged you in once more, your wrist held tight between her fingers.
And she kissed you again. Deeply. tasting, swallowing every sound she pulled from your body. You were arched as close against her as you possibly could be, the entire length of your body submitted to her will. You had made her want you. You were the reason she’d gone so berserk. And you angled your head away for a moment, breaking the kiss to beg once more, looking at her through half-lidded eyes.
“Please let me come, Mommy.”
For a moment, she only stared at you. Then, her expression changed to one of almost mad, uncontained lust. A third finger slid inside you without resistance. And she made you see the stars in a whole new way. You came with a cry that got stuck in your throat while she bit it, almost hard enough to leave a bruise and yet not quite, forcing your orgasm out as long as she could, until you slumped against the desk and she wrapped her arm around you to keep you upright, softly kissing your brow as you panted, her fingers still inside you.
“That’s a good girl.”
Professor Dimitrescu murmured, slowly pulling her hand back, sliding out of you with a soft, wet noise. She licked them clean and sighed, then took you into both of her arms, hugging you close and peppering your face in kisses.
“You did so well.”
You were only able to nod. Eventually pulling back and leaning against the desk with a slight smirk on your face.
“Were you able to… sate… your curiosity?”
For a moment, she seemed to wonder what you were referring to, but finally she chuckled and smiled, shaking her head a tiny bit.
“Not quite, I'm afraid.”
“I’d be… up for…”
“Shhh. I’ll keep it in mind. For now, breathe.”
Wordlessly, you nodded. When steps sounded on the corridor you pulled away from each other quickly, and you took a step towards the mirror in her office, putting your hair back in place and sliding the scarf back around yourself before zipping your pants up. Luckily, whoever it was went past the office, prompting a sigh of relief not only from you.
“I trust this will stay between us?”
The Professor asked, running a hand through her hair while she took a piece of paper, nonchalantly seeming as if nothing had happened at all. Her lipstick wasn’t even smudged, not a trace of it on your skin.
“Of course, Professor.”
“Good.”
You shared another look, then she nodded, effectively dismissing you. Turning to the door and opening it, you took a deep breath as if you’d just gotten in trouble, yet ultimately helped.
And when her voice rang out behind you, there was a hint of humor in it.
“Oral exam on Kahlo, Rabiah. This Thursday. You better prepare thoroughly.”