The Alpha's College Mate

Chapter 08

Clara’s POV

Two hours later I stood outside Professor Vance’s office door with my stomach in knots and The Red Hammer pressed tight against my chest. Earlier I had lied to Professor Vance. I had not had class; I had gone straight back to my dorm, showered, shaved, and maybe… tried to invent some excuse for having sat in his office with the door closed.

I did not think he believed I had only been there to talk.

Office hours were meant for exactly that, and for some reason I had chosen to arrive about two minutes before they were scheduled to end. I told myself I simply did not know what to say and wanted the meeting to be short.

But the real reason I showed up right before Lucan Vance finished his hours was that I did not want him focused on anyone else while I was there. I wanted his attention. I wanted him more than I should admit.

Deciding I would never invent a perfect excuse, I stepped into his office. A girl from my class sat at his desk, brows furrowed, our textbook open in front of her. Vance stood behind her with one large hand braced on the desk and the other pointing at a line of text.

The moment I entered, Professor Vance looked up and drew in a breath, his hazel eyes flashing gold for an instant. I offered a tight smile, unsure what else to do, and lingered near his desk, not liking how close he stood to her.

It was nothing s****l or flirtatiousjust a professor helping a student yet it made me angrier than it should have. I had never felt this way about anyone, not even in high school.

The girl glanced over her shoulder, then up at Professor Vance. Some silent exchange passed between them; she stood and hurried out of the room.

“Clara.” Professor Vance cleared his throat and moved around the desk to his chair. “Close the door.”

My breath caught. I shut the door after the student left. With my back still to him I told myself this meant nothing, that I was only here to discuss The Red Hammer, that a freshman who loved classics meant nothing special to him, and that I should not get my hopes up.

When I finally found the courage to turn, I sat in the chair across from him and crossed my legs to ease the ache between them. My thoughts drifted to Jasmine, who had casually said that if I did not flirt with Professor Vance then she would. I did not want to picture Vance between anyone else’s thighs but mine.

Though I could never actually do something like that. Openly flirting with a professor, asking him to go down on me, to f**k me… those things happened in porn, never to the shy girl who still got nervous every time she spoke to her professor. Jasmine was the type to sleep with the professor. Not me.

“I did not think you would show up,” Vance said, pulling me from my thoughts.

“Sorry if I am late. I know your office hours end right about now.”

“I have all night,” Professor Vance answered quickly.

“I wanted to return this book to you.” I handed him the volume he had given me that morning.

Vance took it, brows drawn together. “You do not want to read it?”

“I have already finished.”

He stared at me with wide hazel eyes. “It has only been a couple of hours, and the book is nearly three hundred pages. You finished it?”

“Yes,” I said, finally relaxing under his intense gaze. “I really enjoyed it.”

For the next three hours we talked about The Red Hammer, the characters, what they meant to classics scholars, what they meant to him, and finally what they meant to me the hardest part of all. Scholars analyzed the way Hera despised her son Hephaestus until she needed something from him, but that was not what I had taken from the book.

I had felt the heartbreak Hephaestus endured every day, the pain of never fitting in, of being hated by the people who were supposed to love him. No scholarly analysis could make you feel that unless you had lived it yourself.

“Your parents…” Vance began after I finished speaking.

“Are assholes,” I finished, looking down at my lap. I hated talking about them, hated thinking about them, hated being near them. Every time I imagined going home again I wanted to disappear.

After a few silent, awkward moments I realized I had told him far more than I should have. He was my classics professor, not a therapist, not someone who truly cared about me. I pulled out my phone.

The screen read 6:45 p.m. My eyes widened. I did not want to leave, yet I also did not want to keep him any longer. He probably had a girlfriend or a family or someone far more important waiting for him. The thought made my chest tighten.

“I should probably go. I do not want to keep you.”

Just as I started to rise, Professor Vance caught my wrist. “Stay. I do not have anyone else to see tonight. I cleared my schedule for you.” He drew his phone from the desk drawer. “And I ordered a pizza for us at seven.”

My eyes went even wider. Breath caught in my throat and heat bloomed between my legs. “For me?” I whispered. My heart pounded; my p***y clenched.

Professor Vance paused. “Unless you have something else to do tonight.”

“No.” I settled back into the chair and pressed my thighs together harder. “Just you.” Realizing what I had said, I clapped a hand over my mouth, cheeks burning. “I did not mean it like that. I, uh…”

“Sure you did not,” Professor Vance said.

I cursed under my breath and pressed my thighs together even tighter.

Professor Vance was flirting with me. Me.

So I stayed. We ate dinner together and I moved behind his desk while he showed me a few other books he thought I would like. He never brought up my family again.

At the end of the evening, when I finally decided I really should leave, we stood outside his office door, only inches apart.

I did not want to go, but it was late and night classes would end soon. Students would fill the halls and might see us standing this close. Someone might think it looked like more than it was.

Still I lingered, searching for one more thing to say. He was closer than I expected, his intense gaze fixed on me, drawing me in. The heat between my legs intensified and I shifted from foot to foot, already knowing I would touch myself later thinking about tonight.

“What is wrong?” he asked at last, glancing down at my thighs and inhaling sharply.

“Nothing,” I breathed. “I am just… so uncomfortable.”

A few beats of silence passed, then he said, “What if I ate your cunt?”

Heat flooded my core. “Wh-what?”

He swallowed, hazel eyes widening slightly. “Did I just”

“Yes,” I said before he could finish. My p***y throbbed at the thought of Professor Vance between my legs, hungrily devouring me until I was a dripping mess on his desk. Unable to stop myself I grabbed his hand and pressed my back against the heavy wooden door. “Please.”

I reached behind me, twisted the knob, and pushed the door open so we could slip inside once more. My heart raced; my breath stuttered. For a brief second I wondered if I had misheard him.

Then something shifted in his eyesa flash of gold, of hunger, of pure lust.

With his heel he kicked the door shut, wrapped his strong hands around my waist, lifted me onto his desk, and yanked my panties down to my knees. “f**k, Clara, I have been waiting to taste you for days.”

Before I could say another word he spread my legs and buried his face between my thighs, his scruff brushing my folds. He inhaled deeply, a low rumble rising from his chest, then pressed his soft lips against my c**t.

“Professor,” I whispered.

We were really doing this with students just outside. “The door… it is… so thin.” I could hear footsteps and voices in the hall.

“Then you had better keep quiet, Clara,” he murmured against me, pulling my folds apart with his fingers. Once he had better access he flicked his tongue over the sensitive skin and sent a wave of pleasure racing through my entire body.

After that first taste he lost all control, sucking and licking and burying his face deep between my legs. My juices glistened on his thick dark scruff; his eyes flickered from hazel to gold.

He was like a hungry wolf.