I sat at the back of the class, watching Professor Hutson as he paced back and forth in front of the class, talking about the subconscious or something. I wasn’t really paying attention. How could I, when the world’s hottest man was standing in front of me, spewing knowledge like some sexy Apollo.

And yeah, so he was more than a decade older than I was. But that was what made him so attractive. Not to mention his devilishly good looks. Gray eyes that were so intense it made my mouth water and sandy hair, the man carried himself with pride. I was willing to guess he was ex-military, too, judging by the way he moved and how meticulously he arranged his office.

Which was just fine by me. He could order me around any day.

I was a Teacher’s Assistant to Professor Alec Hutson which meant I was lucky enough to see him a hell of a lot more than all the students taking his classes. He taught New Psychology at Honor’s level. Talk about someone who could fuck your mind. I wished he would fuck my body.

I’d had a thing for him since I’d moved to LA to study full time. I’d done part-time studies until now, staying close to my brother and his MC club, working in their bike parts store. It had been time for a change, though and here I was.

I wasn’t like other students. I didn’t date college guys that got wasted at sorority parties, rotated through the girls like it was a sport and couldn’t tell the difference between compliment and complement. No, thank you. I preferred older guys. Always had. It set me aside from my friends. I guess that was why I was still a virgin. My brother, vice president of the MC back home, was much older than me and I’d spent time around older men my whole life. Maybe that was what had messed me up, gotten me used to men who had already developed brains compared to the guys around here that had very little on their minds other than alcohol and girls.

I watched Professor Hutson pace around, talking about daydreaming and subconscious desires. How apt. I wanted him. I could just imagine him taking me over his desk in his office, or up on the podium, right where he was lecturing now.

“Your dreams are born from your subconscious wants and needs, and they often affect your choices in life,” Professor Hutson said. “Experiencing something in a dream is just as vivid as experiencing it in real life, and we often find meaning in our dreams based on our moral convictions and biases. So, effectively, you are what you dream.”

That concluded the lesson for the day. The class collected their books and bundled together at the door, eager to leave. I stayed behind, sitting at the back of the lecture hall. Professor’s eyes found mine, and he held my gaze for a moment too long to suggest we were just working colleagues or even friends.

Was I reading too much into it? Maybe. But Professor did just say that you were what you dreamed, and I dreamed that I was his choice du jour.

“You were staring again,” he said when the lecturing hall was finally empty, and I made my way down to the podium from the seat in the back.

“You’re a Professor. Your students are all staring at you while you speak.”

“You’re not my student,” he said. He walked through the door into his office that was adjacent to the lecturing hall, and I followed him in.

“Your class is intriguing,” I said. Alec turned around, suddenly very close to me and my breath hitched in my throat. He was tall and broad, his stance intimidating and delicious, his gray eyes like slate when he looked down at me. His body was so close to mine a sigh could push us together, and his head was dipped, mouth close to my ear.

“Are you sure that’s what it was?” he said, and his voice was a raspy whisper, his breath hot against my ear.

I swallowed. I was suddenly unhinged. His face was so close I could see the tiny scar at the corner of his mouth, the freckles that you couldn’t see from a distance. His cologne was thick around us, and it fueled my lust for him. God, I wanted him so badly.

I forced my eyes back up to his. I couldn’t keep staring at his mouth, but when I looked at him, his eyes were on my mouth just before he flicked his gaze back to my eyes. The atmosphere around us was charged. I could already taste his lips on mine, feel the burning desire at my core that came with it. Heat washed through me and pooled between my legs. I wanted him to be the one to take me.

“Professor?” a student called from outside in the lecturing hall, and Alec stepped away.

Dammit!

“In here,” Alec said and turned toward the door, forgetting about me entirely. I took a deep breath and let it out with a shudder.

“I have to get going,” I said, leaving the office. I walked past the student who had come to ruin my day and left him to ask the Professor whatever had been so important that he’d ruined my chances of a hot-as-hell make out session.

I got into my car – an old Mazda that Dustin, my brother, had given to me when I’d left for LA – and drove to the apartment.

Brandi, my roommate, was still out, so it was just me. I was relieved I was alone. I dumped my bag in the corner by the front door, found a soda in the fridge and sipped on it on the way to my bedroom. My head was full of Professor Alec Hutson. His scent was still in my nose, and I was horny.

I wanted him. I wanted him badly. I didn’t make it any easier on myself by staring at him, fantasizing about him during his classes, but what could I say? I imagined I liked it hard.

I put the drink on my nightstand and collapsed on my bed with a sigh. I closed my eyes and imagined Alec again. I knew he had a good body under his clothes. He carried himself like a man that was used to training. I ran my hands over my own body and imagined it was Alec caressing my breasts, not me, working his way down my body, feeling my curves. I undid my pants and pushed my hands between my legs, rubbing my thighs, teasing myself.

I moved on the bed, bucking my hips slowly, sensually. My fingers found my slit, and I was wet. I rubbed my fingers in circles over my clit, gasping and moaning, squirming on the bed. I imagined Alec’s mouth on my pussy, his hands wrapped around my thighs. I imagined him rearing over me, slamming his cock into me. I breathed hard, rubbing myself harder and faster until the orgasm rocked through me. I cried out, riding out the pleasure, wishing it was all real – that my fantasies with Alec were something that would really happen.

When I came down from the orgasm I lay panting and heaving on the bed, my pussy tingling from the orgasm but I was still unsatisfied. This wasn’t the real thing. Having Alec fuck me, having him be the one to bring me to orgasm, was what would really satisfy me.