Educating Thalia, Chapter 4
Collaboration by @devikafernando & @avenger-nerd-mom
Word count 2056
Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, thoughts of sexual situations, flirtations
Click here for the story page to read all the chapters in the novella,Educating Thalia
Images for cover found on Pinterest
Summary: Professor Tom is a little distracted during his lecture in the presence of his favorite student, Thalia
Thalia sits in Tom’s lecture, smiling brightly as if nothing is wrong.
But it is. So wrong that he wants to rave and rant and not play the role of the British gentleman who’s rumored to love only literature.
After their mind-blowing first night together, Tom managed to sneak in other encounters. He’s had her in his office during his lunch break, where he’s muffled her moans with his huge hand and taken her while she lay spread out on his desk like a buffet to devour.
That was more than a week ago. Although she’s given him obvious please-fuck-me-six-ways-into-the-wind looks during lectures and – whenever they have accidentally or not so accidentally met – licked her plump lips and batted her long lashes at him, Tom has tried to stay away from her.
And it has been hell.
It’s never enough, he needs more of her, even if her taste is still on his tongue and he has nail marks on his biceps where she’s clawed at him during her climax.
She really is his drug, and his attempts at denying her powerful hold on him are laughable. Not only does he take way too many cold showers these days, he’s also thinking of her during the most inappropriate moments.
Like three days ago when they were in the library to research his project and a colleague walked in to use one of the free tables. He was forced to make small talk and ignore the heat of her body on the chair next to his, forget about the lingering orchid smell of her skin, block out the caressing brush of her hair against his cheek when she turned once to show him something.
For the better part of an hour, Tom tried his best to ignore his hard-on and talk in sensible sentences while he wanted nothing more than to run his hand up her thigh and caress her through her jeans. It was torture knowing that she’d be damp and hot between her legs, and that if he rubbed just right, he might coax her into climaxing right there in the library, forced to choke on those moans that were like music to his ears.
He doesn’t know how the hell he’s supposed to deal with this.
Before their first sexual encounter, it was difficult enough, but it was only about subtle signs, wishful thinking and careful innuendos. Now, she seems to be craving more so much that she can’t really control herself around him anymore. She blushes so prettily that he wants to see whether her ass cheeks will look the same inviting shade of red if he brings his palm down on them while he takes her from behind and makes her scream her heart out. She stands a little too close to him, fidgets in her chair when he speaks, as though she remembers what they’ve done and needs to alleviate the longing somehow.
So, Tom does the only thing he can do.
He tries to ignore the special connection between them.
Against his better judgment, he’s given her research to do on her own and not called her into his office again. Where he used to watch her those days, sometimes openly and sometimes without anyone noticing, he focuses on his work or on other students, though they aren’t half as brilliant as she. He forces himself to reply with curt sentences and the polished, polite, typically English way he’s known for, and it breaks his foolish heart in two when he sees that she’s hurt by his cold behavior.
But he can’t help it. Someone in this twisted relationship – if it even is a relationship – needs to keep a cool head, or they’ll risk getting caught.
But fuck, if it isn’t the hardest thing he’s ever needed to do to keep his hands off her and to go to bed alone instead of giving in to the wish to call her and get her off with the sound of his voice whispering dirty things to her.
And over the past few days, he’s watched her withdraw, lose a little of the confidence she’d always radiated. Now, when he catches her looking at him, she seems unsure of herself, and it’s a physical pain low in his gut to see her like this. Does she think he lied to her? That she was merely a good fuck and now he’s tired of her because she isn’t exactly the most experienced woman he’s had?
Tom wants nothing more than to talk to her—okay, okay, he wants to fuck her senseless even more than that, but he truly wishes he could reassure her she’s so much more than what she thinks. Yet it’s better for them to let things cool down a little.
But today, talking is the last thing on his mind. Because she seems to have decided to let him see what he’s missing out on.
Muttering a curse, he asks his students to flip to page 122 and familiarize themselves with the role of women in Shakespeare’s Macbeth—while he can think only of one woman.
A woman who is wearing a red and black Tartan plaid skirt which is even shorter than the one that was his ruin days ago. His throat as dry as the Sahara and his cock as hard as a rock, he watches her cross and uncross those luscious legs. They’re covered in black stockings and look even sexier than he’s seen them before, if that’s even possible.
As if that’s not alluring enough, Thalia is wearing heels today. Nothing over the top that would convey the wrong message, but it’s a change from her usual flats or boots, and it screams “fuck me now, Professor” at him across the auditorium. She’s the living wet dream of every man who ever attended boarding school as a young lad.
Suppressing a groan and entirely unable to concentrate on his notes, he observes her playing with her hair while she’s reading. She glides her fingers through the long, dark tresses, and his hands itch to do the same, to bury inside their silky, scented sweetness while she takes him as deep as she can. Of course, she finishes reading much faster than anybody else, and when she nibbles on her pen before taking notes, he feels like a hormonal teenager who’s going to blow his load over a scandalous image in the Playboy.
Tom jumps up from his chair and turns towards the blackboard so nobody can see the bulge in his pants. Marching to and fro and reciting his notes under his breath, he struggles to get a grip on himself.
When rustling and whispering indicate that most students have finished reading, he turns back—only to gape and stare like a lunatic when he sees her braiding her hair loosely.
How can such a seemingly simple, innocent move make him so bloody hard?
She shifts in her chair and he catches a co-ed ogling her across the corridor, elbowing his neighbor and motioning to her stocking-clad legs in their fantasy-inducing heels.
What the hell?
Keep your cool, Hiddleston, he reminds himself, but he realizes his hands are clenched into fists and he’s fighting the urge to punch the leering dickhead.
Does Thalia know? Is this a show for his benefit, her way of taking revenge for ignoring her when he should’ve been doing the opposite?
At this exact moment, she looks at him and their gazes clash. Slowly, her tongue glides over her lower lip, and his cock twitches enthusiastically, wanting that tongue all over it.
Fucking hell, he’s not going to survive today.
Just imagining her spending the rest of the day attending lectures in her skimpy skirt with the messy braid that exposes her long neck, makes him furious.
Tom adjusts his glasses, knowing that he’s scowling and grinding his teeth but not able to stop himself from reacting so strongly.
“Right, can anyone tell me which woman played the most important role in Macbeth?” he asks, his voice a stern bark that raises a few eyebrows. He’s usually known for his calm authority, for his easy kindness and for his impeccable manners, but he couldn’t care less today.
It’s useless lecturing those frat boys about the importance of women; they don’t have a bloody idea what to do with that knowledge. And the girls? None of them hold any interest for him, although some are intelligent enough to warrant good grades.
He wants only Thalia, and he wants her now, dammit.
Taking his glasses off, he turns them this way and that, blows on them and rubs them against his black jacket in a pretense of normalcy. But his grip is so tight and his control so frail that he’s not too sure he won’t break them. Shoving them back on he turns to the blackboard and writes in an angry rush, the chalk racing over the surface because he’s itching to bend her over his desk and punish her for tempting him like this.
The lecture drags on, and somehow, he manages not to look at Thalia again and keep his shit together. The students groan at the difficult assignment he gives them.
Jaw clenched, he stuffs his notes into his scuffed, brown leather satchel, debating with himself whether he should meet her today or not.
His head jerks up when he hears a girl call Thalia’s name.
“Hey, a bunch of us were planning to watch the latest Avengers movie tonight and then hang out at the new dance club on Madison Avenue. Ya wanna come?”
He watches her consider the proposal, tugging at the end of her braid.
“Yeah, why don’t you ditch all that boring research and live a little? We could teach you how to have a good time,” one of the boys adds and winks at her.
Tom feels himself go rigid, the grip on his satchel white-knuckled.
Thalia’s gaze flicks to him, and something in her face changes. She stands a little taller, pushing her shoulders back so her tits are on prominent display, the black V-neck sweater stretching over their fullness.
“Sure, why not?”
She smiles at the idiot who can’t drag his eyes up from her boobs to make eye contact.
Tom reacts on autopilot. Before he knows it, he’s crossed the distance and is holding Thalia’s elbow in a possessive grip.
While a tiny voice inside his head asks him what the hell he thinks he’s doing and why he’s gripping her rather too firmly, he hears himself say, “Sorry for interrupting, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
He bares his teeth in what is more of a snarl than a polite smile. “Thalia, have you forgotten that we have a meeting concerning another archeological dig tonight?”
Eyes wide, she shoots him a beseeching look that does nothing to make him calm down.
“But Professor, couldn’t that wait until tomorrow? I’m quite a fan of the Avengers, you know? All those hunky heroes? And that villain…”
She lifts an eyebrow saucily while the girl next to her giggles, and he can’t help tugging her closer until he feels her shudder with awareness.
“Sorry,” he says, not sounding the least bit regretful, “it’s a rather urgent matter. Finances, that sort of thing, you know.”
The group of students roll their eyes and lose interest fast, dispersing and muttering among themselves.
Tom pulls Thalia around to face him, noticing her bite her lip.
“My office in ten minutes. If you don’t turn up, I swear to God you’ll regret it,” he growls so lowly that nobody can hear them.
He sees the pulse at her throat leap at his words. She pulls her arm free and smooths a nervous hand down that damn skirt.
Before she turns away, he catches the hint of a smile tugging on her mouth, and he wonders briefly whether this is exactly the reaction she’d been hoping for.
To hell with decorum and taking things slow, he wants to blow all caution to the wind and keep her with him for the rest of the day and all of the night.
Her ass sways when she walks away, the heels making her calves tighten in a way that should be illegal.
Tom knows the next ten minutes will be brutal…
Click here to read Chapter 5, Naughty Girl
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