Decisions, Decisions.

Part 1

I decided today was the day.

I definitely wanted to fuck him today, on that desk (which is probably the cleanest today that it will ever be), within the next twenty minutes. At least.

The bell rang signalling class to end. I, of course, stayed after to talk to Mr. Carlile. He was tall, with luscious brown locks that did whatever they pleased, usually. Today he was dressed in a white t-shirt, a dark navy blue blazer, and a pair of tight dark red skinnies that had my mind wandering.

Usually I was very attentive in class, but today we were just copying notes while he explained the varying translations if Rimbaud's Season In Hell, so I could go over it later.

Everyone got up to leave and I stood up too, walking slowly to the large desk at the front and center of the classroom. "Quinn." He teased with a smile on his face.

"Sir." I gave him a cheeky grin.

"What can I help you with today?" Oh I can think of a few things.

"Ah, just wanted some of your professional expertise on life." I joked.

He crossed one leg over another and leaned back in his swivel chair, he steepled his fingers over his nose. "And what is that?" He pretended to be serious.

"Well, I wanted to know more about Rimbaud's relationship with his mentor, Verlaine. What's your take on it and relationships like it?" I bit my lip and looked up at him through lashes.

He laughed and stuttered a moment, "What?"

"Yeah," I took a breath before continuing on, "I read that Rimbaud and Verlaine, besides being academic partners, were kind of fucking." I grinned. He didn't care if I used this language with him. We've spent many afternoons together just hanging out. At this point he insisted on a first name basis...but I wanted to keep the formality of it all because in all honesty it turned me on.

"You know this isn't a requirement for the class, right?" He was humoring me, smiling, with his eyebrows raised.

"Of course," I said sitting on his desk right in front of him.

"Okay, well. They were definitely involved with each other. They had a romantic, uh, sexual, and academic, relationship." He shrugged.

"And what do you think of those types of relationships?" I asked and slid my hands along the inside of my thighs.

My tactic worked because a second later his eyes slipped down to them and he swallowed before continuing. "Uh, well. In some cases it is entirely unprofessional, and in, ahem, others I think as long as the work and the, uh, relationship can be kept separate and the romantic relationship is appropriate in terms of age and uhm stuff, its okay. Why?"

"Just curious. You seem nervous, are you alright?"

I asked, slipping back into my innocent role.

He took off his glasses and rubbed his face before leaning forward to set them next to my leg on his desk. "Yeah," he chuckled a little. "I'm okay, thanks."

"Would you ever consider that type of relationship with a student?" I said softly.

"What?" He was baffled. "No. Absolutely not." At first I was hurt, he's bluffing. When he lies his eyes shift to the right. "If that's why you're here, I think you should leave." He stood, which turned out to be an action in my favor because he was definitely closer now. My legs were spread slightly so he was forced to stand in between them unless he wanted to be pressed against the wall behind him.