The Mistress' Revenge

Jane

When you say something like 'Did we kiss?', what's you even expect for an answer? Yes? No? Fuck hell, you wish we did? Gross, you delusional freak? And no matter the lack of correct answers, there's just no right way to respond to something like that.

"Did we kiss, Professor?" I said it all over again, just to be sure he heard me. I was pretty sure he heard me.

He doesn't respond, and now I am just standing there in the middle of the day in a cabin asking my professor if we had funny business like I had an insane amount of crack up my nose.

"How about you take a seat, Jane," he tells me. Are you fucking kidding me dude?

"Professor..."

"You heard me. Sit down," he presses his lips together in a line.

"Do you know how inappropriate it is for you to ask me something like that?" He adds, and I bite the inside of my cheek.

"I am aware," I say. Very strongly so. I just wanted a moment of clarity to know what the fuck is wrong with me. Is it too late to make that phone call?

"Then you must be aware how hard it is for me to not do that. With you," he says, and I lift up my head a bit too fast. It's only then do I realise he is too close.

He stands on the edge of his desk, and tips his chin, and I watch the soft light fall on his jawline. The light hits his dark eyes, illuminating them with something that looks more than just amusement.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you not remember then, Jane?" He inches closer. I found the faint wetness growing between my thighs.

"Perhaps, you'll need something to put your thoughts to rest, then," he leans over me, as our forehead touch. If I tilt my head, our lips will come to kiss.

"At first I thought you'd do it for the grades, but your... Body... Says otherwise," he whispers softly. I know I should have jerked backwards. I should have done something. But I don't.

The strange thing about Professor Hank was, as much as I wanted to be away from him... I couldn't help but feel it strange to.

"If word gets around, one would think I have tempted you. Lured you in," I feel his warm breath kissed my cheek. His lips slip to my ear, nibbling gently.

"Professor Hank-" I gasped.

His fingers curled around my throat, as he jerked my face forward. "Jane, you don't have to resort to petty flirting. If you want me, all you need to do is ask," he sinks lower into my neck and I moaned. My lips parted without caution and I squeezed my thighs together.

"Professor, you are drunk. You are not thinking straight," I tell him.

"I am not thinking straight? I have been spending nights worrying about your sake, and you say I am not thinking straight?" He says.

What does be mean by that? Is he such a sloppy drunk?

"Professor-" His arms wrap around me. "If it's about the grade, I'll give you what you want. Please leave me alone," he begged.

My chair is pushed backward, dragged by his weight. It rests against the desk as I stay captivated in it between the table and him. Are all literature professors this dramatic when drunk?

"Professor..."

"God, you are too monotone for a dream. Even for a dream. Jane...mhm..."

He slowly caresses the nape of my neck. Despite wearing all possible layers of clothing, under his gaze, I felt vulnerable. "I want you to no longer torment me, okay? Stay away," he caresses my cheek. Whatever it was, he was saying one thing and doing another...

"Professor, why'd you kiss me? I thought you hate me," I said. Whatever it was, it was past the point where one thinks of reason. He was just so close.

"Hate you? God, I hate you good. I hate you too much. I want to kill you," he sneers, and then hugs me close. "You were never fair to me. Not once. Not ever," I felt his nose digging into my neck. His warm breath making my pulse flutter.

"I have no idea..." Oh God. I couldn't stay unmoved. This was too much. Too sensual. Too unexpectant.

"I wonder, if there could be a time when you could be mine and we both don't live in respite," his lips kiss me softly on my neck and I find the urge to arc my back.

He gains access, lowering himself onto me. His mouth leaving kisses in his trail under my shirt's collar.

"Ahh-" I tugged hard on his shirt. My legs widen to accomodate him as his body presses onto mine. This is wrong. He is not sober. What if he is talking about someone else? That's it. I have to stop him.

"Professor, you cannot do this," I tell him as his fingers reach for my shirt's button.

"No-" I call onto him, and he stops immediately. Our eyes meet. This time more solemnly. He lifts me off the chair in his arms. His tell stature appearing as intimidating as he always is.

"Jane..." He says so softly, I almost believe it's real. I fight the urge to throw a fit, scream or tackle him to the ground. Perhaps Professor Hank needs therapy too. He seems like the person to have too many unresolved issues.

"Can you please put me down?" I say meekly. Which wasn't very brave on my part, but how could I? He seemed like the most perfect knight. Something about him seemed like home. Was something wrong with both of us?

"I want to kiss you, Jane," he tells me. "And I am not drunk. No amount of alcohol can ease what you have inflicted upon me," he says, and for a moment I feel like I am breaking on the inside. "You always make me so sober."