PART TWO

"Here," he said, standing up as well and approaching you. "I'll walk

you to the door."

His sudden change in demeanour made the heat in your face rise.

Well that backfired.

“I would appreciate that.”

Your gaze lingers on him a bit too long, enough to leave the both of
you feeling hot.

He felt that gaze lingering on him.

It made his blood boil a little. Was she thinking about him? No, of
course not. She had said she was busy. She had said it was just an act
to get her grade up.

His hand was already on the doorknob. "No problem," he muttered,

not looking at you as he pushed it open.

"Do you need help with anything else before you go?"

Of course, he wanted you to come back to his office. No, don't think
like that.

You bite your lower lip, an impish grin playing across your features.

“No, I’m fine.”

He wanted to pull you back. He wanted to grab you and p!n you to the
wall. He wanted to k!ss you. He wanted to- he shook his head.

"Alright then. Don't forget to do your homework for Monday," he

said, making it sound like a reminder, but he wanted you to do the
work with him. He couldn't believe how attracted to you he was; he
felt like he was going insane.

“Sir?”

That snaps him out of his daze.

“Yes?”

His eyes roamed over your body like a hungry man. The room
suddenly felt too hot.

“You have class right now, I thought you were supposed to be

punctual and disciplined?”

To his surprise, you start giggling to his face.

“What? I—“ you were giggling enough that it was hard to pull the
words out.

“I am punctual,” he says with some indignation. “I’m disciplined and

strict. Professor König does not slack off.”

Your hand was up covering your mouth now, all long slender fingers
and nails painted in pastel pink.

“You are slacking off!” You accuse through your fingers. Your smile
was so big that he could see it around your hand, and my God, he
wanted to l!ck his way down your stomach and look up to see that
smile while he’s k!ss!ng betw€€n your legs.

“Well then sir, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

He shook his head again, trying to clear his mind of you.

"I have to go back to the lecture hall for class," he said, trying to
sound professional again. His mind was all over the place.

You're supposed to be teaching them, not chasing after some girl.

But why was that thought suddenly so upsetting to him?

He slammed the door behind you. He felt shaky, his hands clenching
in a fist. God, this girl was going to drive him insane.

And his students were waiting for him.

He sighed and headed back to the hall.

Don't think about her, do your damn job.

The lecture hall was quiet. Of course it was, he was supposed to be

teaching them, not thinking about the girl with silky hair and
attractive legs--

Damn it. There it was again. The thought was so persistent, he

couldn't keep it out of his mind. He knew he shouldn't think about it,
shouldn't keep thinking about the way her lips moved, the way she
said "sir", the way she looked up at him.

He needed to get that out of his head.

He cleared his throat and turned to face the students.

He cleared his throat and began his lecture. It wasn't perfect, but he
had to push through. He wanted to forget about her. Forget about her
legs, her cleavage, her smile.

But his mind kept wandering back to her. The way her lips moved.
The way she bit her lip. The way she said "sir".

God, he wanted her so badly, even if he knew he shouldn't.

She's just a student.

Just a student.

Stop it.

You’ll run into her eventually, she’s just a student.

Stop thinking about it.

Class was finally over, the last student leaving the hall. He sat there
alone on the podium, not sure what to do now.

But his thoughts kept drifting back to you.

You're a teacher, remember?

You're not supposed to be thinking about your students like that.

This isn't appropriate. This is a student. You're her older teacher.

But that image of you, biting your lower lip, calling him "sir", kept
playing in his mind.

God, I want her so bad.

He had to get home, had to distract himself with something. The

thought of being alone in his apartment was just too much to think
about at this moment.

He drove home, the radio playing quietly in the background. There

was some kind of party going on tonight, his neighbors were already
celebrating the weekend.

But he wasn't in the mood. He just wanted to cook the damn food and
go back to his studies, and possibly take care of his raging hard-on
since morning he’d tried so desperately to hide with his coat.

What greeted him as he parked his Audi in the building’s garage was
the sight of you perched over the balcony. His mind went blank.

What was she doing here?

"What are you doing up there?"

His heart was racing a little as he waited for you to respond. You
better have a damn good answer, otherwise he was going to have
some choice words for you. This had to end.

“Hm, I live here?”

You point at the door on the third floor. The f*cking door next to his
apartment.
He felt his eyes go wide again as he processed what you were saying.
Oh god, you lived next door? Next door to him?

What did this mean? Was this some kind of prank? Or was this real?
Was there anything he could even do about this?

"You live..."

In an apartment next door to me?

F*ck.

"Are you serious?"

There it was again. That impish grin on your face.

“I just moved in three days ago, I thought you knew, sir.”

He swallowed.

She said sir again.

He tried to think of something, anything to say. But the only phrase

that came to mind was something from a bad romance novel. And he
knew damned well he couldn't say that.

"Huh. I didn't know."

Well, she looked like she would keep up that flirty routine. God, you
looked like such trouble with that tight shirt and those booty shorts.

Think. What to say.

“That’s mean sir, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

She thinks that was mean? He couldn't even look at her without
getting butterflies.

"I know."

He was being a little short. Maybe it was because he was irritated or

maybe it was just because of you.

Oh god, say something else. Say something else--

"Well, I'm going inside. This is a bit much, having someone that lives
next to me."

And especially when they look so goddamned attractive in their t-shirt

and shorts.

“But sir i was wondering if i could-“

He turned so fast, he almost fell over.

"Could what?"

God, he wanted you so bad. You were such trouble. This probably
wasn't even a good idea.
But there was a chance. A small chance that this could be real.

"What did you need from me?"

Please ask me a question about your homework or something. Please.

You bite your lower lip, purposefully letting your eyes linger to his
chest, down..and further down to his lower hip-
Enough teasing for today.

“Nevermind, it’s nothing sir.”

Damn it.

He was disappointed that you hadn't said what you were about to say.
Maybe you wanted something from him.

No. Stop thinking like that. That's not what you are--

But he wanted you, god he wanted you.

"Don't call me sir," he said, hoping to deter you.

Don't call me sir.

"Call me by my name."

Call me by my name, you damn flirt.

“That’s no good. You’re my teacher, remember? Sir it is.”

She's such a damn flirt.

He tried to swallow.

"Fine. 'Sir' then."

He cleared his throat lightly.

"Anyhow, see you tomorrow."

She's just a student that lives next door. She's just a student who lives
next door. He kept repeating to himself as he stumbled inside his
apartment already p€€ling off his suit jacket and reaching for his c*ck.
Just a quick j€rk to take the edge off.

Just a few f@st str*kes to clear his head, he wouldn’t ever think of her
ever again-

That’s a lie,She’s all he can think of.

He drops his coat on the floor and fish out h!s c*ck, as fumbling and
eager as if he were about to actually f*ck h€r, his blood pounding
r@w and h0t and urgent, his own hand shaking with €xc!tement as he
wr@ps it around h!mself.

He shouldn’t be thinking of her like this, he shouldn’t be imagining

it’s her slender fingers wr@pped around him now. He shouldn’t be
g€tting off to the thought of those fingers being nervous and
inexperienced. He shouldn’t be sw€lling and l€@k!ng as he thinks
about her showing him her c*nt.

And after nearly two decades of scr€wing all kinds of women- women
who are paid to f*ck and women who f*ck like it's their job anyway,
he had no idea why it was his student who got him like this.

He tightens his gr!p around h!s c*ck, watching the fat, dark h€@d
pushing through his fingers. Fantasizing about her fingers instead.
About her pretty p*ssy, €xp0sed for him and him alone—

F*ck, gonna c0m€.

He speeds up his str*kes, ready for it, ready, ready—and then there’s a
knock at the door.

For a moment, he considers ignoring it. He’s three strokes away from
sp!lling, and he needed this, he needed it bad, and there’s no way he
could spend the afternoon thinking about you without needing to
c0m€, so he just needed to do it now. For well, his well-being.

But then the knock comes again, and reality clears up the hormone
mist a little. Realistically, it’s probably just a grocery delivery or the
cleaning company coming early.

With a pained grunt, he zipped himself back up into his pants, trying
to arrange himself so that his b0n€r isn’t stupidly obvious (it still is)
and went to open the door without bothering to check who’s on the
other side.

And he opened it to find you standing there in your short dress and
pink flip-flops, a nervous smile on your face.