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were covered with bookcases lined with dusty volumes interspersed with the kind of clever nostalgic knick knacks you find in a Pottery Barn catalog. An enormous grandfather clock stood behind me, its pendulum swinging a lazy path, while the pièce de résistance, a large tarnished antique mirror, stood opposite it, on the other side of the room, perpendicular to the desk. Framed by hand-carved gilt wood, it stood on the floor in a location that, I couldn't help but notice, thanks to my dirty mind, was in fact, the perfect spot for some naughty voyeurism. I could just imagine it, me bent over the desk, the Professor fucking me from behind, watching his face in the mirror as he came inside me.
    Was it suddenly hot in here?
    "So who was on the phone?" I asked again. I needed to keep him talking, keep him looking, keep him interested.
    "None of your business," he grumped. His tone was all business but, he stopped digging for a moment to shrug out of his suit jacket and throw it, without looking, onto the desk chair.
     "Fair enough," I said casually, although I noted the action with triumph and definitely counted it as a mark in my favor.
    Ha! He's hot and bothered too! 
    He stopped digging through the files for a moment, and rolled up his sleeves, never turning around. For the first time since the pool I could see his arm tattoos, and I remembered how much they'd intrigued me.
    "Your tattoos are so unusual," I said. "Any special significance?"
    "Not that I'm inclined to share," he snapped.
    A tiny trickle of sweat slid down the back of my neck under my hair. I pulled at my dress, trying to create a breeze down the front to cool me off. It worked, too well, the moisture on my skin instantly chilling and pebbling my nipples into hard aching buds.
    "How did you decorate your office so quickly?" I asked, changing the subject.
    "I didn't," he said slamming the filing cabinet shut. He returned to the desk with a folder in his hand. "This is Professor Sullivan's office. I'm using it while he's on sabbatical."
    "Ah. I'm glad this overwrought disaster didn't happen at your hand. Although I do like that mirror." I popped up off the desk and leaned over the surface, ass in the air. "It's placement in the room is very Feng Shui." I wiggled my bottom, hoping the same visual that had been dominating my imagination, might leap into his own. "Don't you think?"
    "Stop it."
    "Nope," I said casually, popping the p. "What are you doing?"
    "Checking to see if you're actually enrolled in this class," he said, running his finger down a sheet of paper.
    "I am. I wouldn't lie," I replied just as his finger stopped. He'd found my name on the page.
    "Damn."
    "Ouch. Hurtful." I grimaced and sat on the edge of the desk again.
    "I'm sorry," he said. Sighing heavily he set the paper down, next to my thigh.
    "Oh, there's the polite Dr. Grayson again. I was kind of hoping we'd gotten past that last night."
    "We got past too much last night. At least I did. And that can't happen again."
    "What?" I was stunned.
    No, no, no, this is NOT how I wanted this to go!
    "Nothing really happened," I protested.
    "Something almost did," he said, hands in pockets he gazed at me stoically.
    "No, we made plans for something. But nothing's actually going on now, not yet..."
    "Then what's this?" he said, gesturing to my cleavage.
    I looked down and realized that the ornate open design of my dress had caught one of my nipples. There it was, a delicious pink button, peeking through a hole in the knit, just begging to be poked. My tongue flicked to the corner of my mouth and I bit down, trying to stifle my laughter. It was no use. I shot him a sheepish grin, pressed my breasts together with my shoulders and bounced playfully.
    "Titties?" I said, arching my eyebrows. "I just thought, I'd keep things interesting. While we wait for my graduation."
    "There won't be a graduation. I mean..." he shook his head. "That's not what I mean, of course you'll graduate. I just mean this," he waved