Please Harder, Professor

Chapter 37

I stand outside Cassian's office door, my palm sweaty against the brass handle as I rehearse my apology for the third time.

The morning's coffee disaster and pornographic essay incident replay in my mind like a highlight reel of academic humiliation that should probably come with a trigger warning.

"Okay, Sophie," I whisper to the empty hallway. "Just go in there, apologize like a normal human being, thank him for not destroying your academic reputation, and get out before you do anything else catastrophically embarrassing."

I knock softly on the door, and his voice calls out, warm and inviting: "Come in."

I push the door open and step into what used to be Adrian's office, but the words I'd carefully prepared die in my throat.

Cassian stands with his back to me, adjusting his tie in a small mirror mounted beside his bookshelf. The angle gives me a perfect view of his reflection, but more importantly, it gives me an unobstructed look at him from behind.

Jesus.

His dress shirt is pulled taut across broad shoulders that taper to a lean waist in a way that suggests he spends time doing something more physical than grading papers.

The sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that are corded with muscle and traced with veins that speak to actual manual labor rather than just gym memberships.

The sight hits me unexpectedly, a flutter of awareness that feels wrong and right simultaneously.

My pulse quickens before I can stop it, heat pooling low in my belly in a way that reminds me I've been celibate for five months. Five months of nothing but my own hand and memories I'm trying to forget.

But the physical reaction triggers something darker, something I'm not ready to deal with.

Suddenly I'm remembering Adrian's hands, the way his forearms had looked when he'd rolled up his sleeves in that red room, the controlled strength in every movement designed to remind me exactly who was in charge.

Stop it, I command my treacherous brain. This is completely different. Cassian is not Adrian. He makes jokes instead of commands. He saves you from humiliation instead of creating it.

"Sorry," Cassian says, turning with that easy smile that transforms his entire face. "Just trying to look presentable after this morning's coffee baptism."

"That's actually why I'm here…"

I manage, clearing my throat and trying to sound professional instead of like someone who's been mentally undressing her professor.

"To apologize properly. And to thank you for not letting me die of shame in front of thirty students."

"Please, sit." He gestures to one of the chairs in front of his desk, and I'm grateful for something to do with my restless energy.

As I settle into the chair, I can't help but notice how different this office feels now. When it belonged to Adrian, everything had been precisely arranged, intimidating in its perfection.

Now there are small touches of personality—a framed photo of what looks like a hiking trip, a coffee mug with a cartoon cat that says "Purrfessor," actual plants that appear to be thriving rather than dying of neglect.

"You really don't need to apologize."

Cassian says, settling into his own chair with relaxed grace.

"Trust me, I've had much worse first days in new positions. Once I accidentally set off the fire alarm during my very first lecture because I got overenthusiastic with a demonstration involving candles and Romantic poetry."

"You did not."

"I absolutely did. Had to evacuate the entire building, fire trucks and everything. Turned out you're not supposed to bring open flames into lecture halls, even for 'atmospheric effect.'"

His grin is sheepish and completely charming. "So really, a little coffee and some accidentally submitted creative writing is nothing."

Despite my embarrassment, I find myself laughing. "Okay, but in my defense, the creative writing wasn't supposed to be creative. It was supposed to be academic analysis."

"What happened? Did your papers get mixed up?"

"Something like that."

Heat crawls up my neck as I remember exactly how that ridiculous parody had ended up in my bag.

"My roommate and I may have had too much wine one night and decided to write the most ridiculous paranormal romance we could think of. We were making fun of all those Kindle books with the shirtless men and the heaving bosoms and the—"

"Throbbing manhoods?" Cassian supplies helpfully, and I want to sink through the floor.

"Oh God. You read more than just the first paragraph, didn't you?"

"Let's just say I got a very thorough understanding of Seraphina's... romantic journey." His eyes twinkle with amusement. "You and your roommate have quite the imagination."

I bury my face in my hands. "I'm never going to live this down, am I?"

"Hey."

His voice turns gentle, and when I peek through my fingers, he's leaning forward with genuine warmth.

"It was actually pretty entertaining. And well-written, for what it's worth. You clearly understand narrative structure and character development, even when you're applying them to... unconventional scenarios."

"Are you seriously giving me literary critique on accidental vampire erotica?"

"Paranormal romance," he corrects with mock seriousness. "There's a difference. And yes, I am. Consider it part of your education."

I find myself genuinely curious about this man who can turn my most mortifying moment into something almost comfortable.

"What drew you to this position?" I ask, then realize how that might sound. "I mean, to teach here. This university."

Something shifts in his expression—just for a moment, a brief tightening around his eyes that suggests there's more to the story than he's saying.

"I've wanted this job for years," he says carefully, and there's something measured about his tone now. "Applied three times, actually. Finally got it when the previous professor... left under unfortunate circumstances."

The words hang in the air with subtle weight, and my stomach clenches as understanding slowly dawns.

"Sometimes the universe has its own timeline," Cassian adds, but there's something beneath his casual tone that makes me wonder exactly how much he knows about the man he replaced.

"The previous professor," I say carefully, testing the waters. "Did you know him?"

Cassian's expression becomes carefully neutral. "Not personally, no. But I was aware of his work. His reputation."

The pause before 'reputation' tells me everything I need to know. He knows. Maybe not the details, maybe not the full story, but he knows something happened.

"I was actually one of his students," I admit, watching for his reaction. "Before... before whatever happened, happened."

"Were you?" Cassian's voice remains steady, but I catch the flicker of interest in his eyes. "What was he like? As a professor?"

Commanding. Terrifying. Magnetic. Completely fucking intoxicating until he destroyed everything.

"Intense," I say instead. "Very... focused on pushing students to their limits. Academically speaking."

"Mm." Cassian nods thoughtfully. "I've heard he could be quite demanding."

There's something in the way he says it, something that makes me think he might know more than he's letting on. But before I can probe further, he shifts the conversation.

"Well, I hope I can provide a different kind of educational experience. Less intimidation, more collaboration." His smile returns, warm and genuine. "Though I promise to keep the candle incidents to a minimum."

"I appreciate that," I say, standing to leave. "And thank you again. For today, I mean. You could have let me die of embarrassment, and you didn't."

"Sophie." The way he says my name makes me pause at the door. "Everyone deserves a fresh start sometimes. Clean slate, new semester, new possibilities."

The words feel loaded with meaning I can't quite decipher, but they make something warm unfurl in my chest.

"Thank you, Professor Harrison."

As I walk down the hallway, I can't shake the feeling that this conversation was about much more than coffee stains and accidental erotica.