Dominant Professor

By: Mia Luxe

Connor - Thursday, October 30th

She needs to be taught discipline. Her police file is a damn sight thicker than any 18 year old’s has a right to be. Shoplifting. Vandalism. Even arson. She bats her eyes at the judge and the charges disappear.

Now she’s on academic probation, failing four of her five classes.

Problem is, she’s got an A+ in mine.

Willow is a tantalizing, off limits mystery. On the outside, she’s sweet perfection. Flushed pink cheeks and full, pouting lips. Her perfect body, 18 years old and a decade younger than me.

I know the submissive desires she hides.

I lean back in my office chair and thumb through papers until I get to hers. The October rain beats against the window, steadily drumming as my eyes skim over her report.

All I see is her.

She brings out the animal in me.

The side of me that wants to dominate. Own.

I’m going to make her mine. Every time I see her it’s harder to fight back the urge to claim her.

She wants me, needs me so bad she can’t think straight when I lecture. I’ve seen her eyes roam up and down my body. I’ve seen her hunger mirror mine.

I know what she wants. I know what she needs.

In three years of teaching at West Coast University, I’ve never been tempted by a student. Oh, there have been beautiful young women that simper up to me in the hallways. Freshman girls taking my class every year ogle me, and a couple of the bolder ones have tried to seduce me in my office. None of them have been successful.

Willow is different.

It’s like I’ve had a slow burn in me that she’s poured gasoline on.

Every other professor at WCU has a Ph. d. I’m teaching criminal psychology with a Masters. The university made an exception for me based on my “first-hand expertise.”

If I wasn’t an expert, I’d be dead right now.

“First-hand expertise.” Three tidy words summing up my short, brutal career in the police force. Two years living undercover. Two years infiltrating the Maturi crime family, getting them to trust me like a brother.

Two years of living a life where one wrong move meant ending up in a ditch with a bullet in the back of my head.

I took down the Maturi crime family. I broke up their international human smuggling ring, and I barely got out of it with my life. The twin scars on my chest remind me of the night it all ended.

After two years of undercover work, I needed to live a normal life. The police are my brothers, but I left the force at 23. I got my masters and started working for WCU, consulting with the police and FBI on the side.

Consulting and teaching is a good place for me. There’s a barrier between me and the dark violence humanity is capable of. I can research and lecture at the university while offering criminal profiles to law enforcement. Detectives like me better than the eggheads who want to tell them how to do their jobs.

They know I lived the life. I’ve got the scars to prove it.

If you asked me at 28 what I’d be doing, I’d have said busting down doors and knocking heads together.

Not sitting in a university office, grading paper after paper.

These last five years are an empty blur compared to the two years I spent undercover.

I used up all the color in my life to stay alive. Those two years drained it all out of me. Now every day is simple. Routine.

Routine. That’s what I wanted, isn’t it?

Some nights, the memories of those two years boil over in my head and I can’t sleep, or worse, I wake up in cold sweats. Look too deep into the abyss, and the abyss looks back, the darkness reaching out and trying to snatch your soul. If you aren’t willing to bend the rules, hell, sometimes break them, the bad guys walk.

The things I did…

Those days are over. I can’t live in the past forever.

For the first time in five years, I feel a surge of hope. When I’m near Willow, the world is in focus. Crisp and precise.

It’s not technically legal to read your student’s police file. Legality is a grey area when you’ve got connections in the force.

I was impressed by how thick it is, even more impressed by how nothing ever stuck on her. She went up in front of a judge two separate times and walked. Whenever she’s in my office asking me questions about my lectures, all 5 foot nothing and barely a hundred and twenty pounds of distilled sex turning on the charm, I can see how she wriggled her way out of juvy or jail time.

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