Page 18 of Masters of Play

My bare ass met the warm wood of his desk and the hot flesh of his fingers. My sneakers squeaked as they came to rest on the sides of his rolling chair. Or maybe that was Professor Sinead shifting his ass in his tailored suit to get closer to me.

I met him more than halfway, tugging at his tie, winding it around my wrist to get a deeper taste of him. It wasn't until the sound of footsteps and voices in the distance registered that we both pulled away.

Chapter Eleven

My thighs pressed together from the stickiness between them as I bent down and picked up my notes. Professor Sinead was slow to move from his seated position. He took a few extra seconds to rearrange his tie and button his suit jacket before standing to greet the man at the door.

"Another disagreement with one of your students, Chase?"

From my vantage point close to the ground, I spied the big disagreement that I'd just had with Professor Sinead. That little problem was too big for his suit jacket to hide. Hell, the thing rested snug against his thigh, hanging more like a tie than a normal cock. My mouth watered, and I couldn't be sure a droplet didn't splatter onto the black and white notes, turning the markings into a shade of gray.

"You always seem to get the passionate students," said the man in the doorway.

It was Dr. Bryce Santos. The man was a few years older than Professor Sinead. There was gray at his temples, but the streaks were so symmetrical that I wondered if they weren't the product of a high-priced salon to make him look wise. I wouldn't put it past Dr. Santos.

I had never had the man as a teacher. All of his courses were in advanced statistics. Those were elective classes, and few here at the university elected to take them. It was surprising the man was still employed at the university with such low class sizes.

"Ms. Prince solved a statistical problem and became excited at her newfound understanding."

It amazed me that Professor Sinead could say that with a straight face. With a straight, strained face. My gaze dipped to his lips. How could Dr. Santos not see that his colleague's lips were swollen from kissing? How could he not feel the heat of the desire that he'd just walked in on?

I was the most scantily dressed of the three of us, and there was definitely sweat on my brow. My boobs were still on high alert. And I swear there was a trickle of desire running from my core down my upper thigh. If anyone was going to give anything away, it would be me. I had to get out of there and get myself together.

"Thank you for your help, Professor Sinead. I'll be out of your way now." I gathered my notes into one hand and prepared to rise.

"Stay," commanded Professor Sinead.

And just like the little slut submissive that was inside me, I held still. I was still in a crouch, my body bent in prostration. My knees knocked together as though wondering why they weren't on the floor like a good little sub. The rest of my body had gotten the memo.

My head bowed. My shoulders went back. My hands opened, palms up, and let the note pages slide back to the floor. All of me held still in supplication, hoping to get another taste of him. From this vantage point, I could still see that the ardor between his thighs hadn't cooled. Even with the fabric covering it, I saw that the thickness sat unmoved against Professor Sinead's upper thigh.

"I hear you're up for the position of department chair," said Dr. Santos, effectively ignoring me. "I just wanted to come and congratulate you."

"Thank you, Bryce. It's the next logical step in my career. I hear you've put your hat in the ring as well."

"That is correct." The two men eyed one another with faux friendly half-smiles. "Well, may the best man win."

Professor Sinead inclined his head slightly, the half-smile neither retreating nor advancing.

Dr. Santos turned on his heel and walked with steady steps to the door. With another glance over his shoulder, he lowered his brow, taking me in again. That's when I knew he didn't stand a chance. Not when he couldn't so much as manage a brow raise.

It was then that I remembered that I was still crouching on the ground. I realized the absurdity of my stance and brought myself to standing. The door snicked closed, and Professor Sinead and I were alone.

The air was still charged between us. There was silence outside. His classes weren't starting for another twenty minutes. That was enough time to at least pull his pants down, slip my panties to the side, and finish what we’d started.

I stared at the closed door. It was never closed. That was his rule. Professor Sinead took the open-door policy to an extreme, and I understood why.

"You're up for a promotion?" I asked.

"Hmmm," was his response.

"I guess that makes sense. Though logically, I would've thought the next step for a man of your skill in behavioral sciences would be to work in the field, not in the classroom. You could help thousands of regular people a year instead of just a couple dozen students."

Professor Sinead's jaw twisted as he regarded me. I wasn't sure if it was because I challenged his future, or if it was because of what just happened in the not-so-distant past.

"That can not happen again," he said.

"I know," I said, taking a step toward him. "It was pretty close."