THREE WEEKS AGO
Peter had been panicking for weeks.
Advanced Literary Theory was supposed to be an easy A....he was an English major, loved reading, loved analysis. But Professor Damien Cross was notoriously strict, his standards impossibly high, and Peter's grades had been slipping dangerously.
He needed at least a B to graduate. He currently had a D.
So Peter had done what desperate students did....he'd made an appointment for office hours, hoping to negotiate extra credit, maybe get some guidance on the final paper that would make or break his grade.
He knocked on Professor Cross's door at exactly 4 PM on a Thursday.
"Come in."
Peter entered the office and his breath caught. He'd seen Professor Cross in lecture halls, of course, but up close the man was devastating. Thirty-two years old, with dark hair just starting to show silver at the temples, sharp cheekbones, intense gray eyes, and a body that his tailored suits did nothing to hide. Professor Cross clearly worked out....his shoulders strained against his shirt, his presence commanding the small office space.
"Mr. Bennett," Professor Cross said, not looking up from the papers on his desk. "Sit."
Peter sat, suddenly very aware of how young he probably looked. Twenty-two, fresh-faced, nowhere near as polished or sophisticated as the man across from him.
"You're failing my class," Professor Cross said bluntly, finally meeting Peter's eyes. "Care to explain why?"
"I.....I'm trying, Professor. I just don't think I understand what you're looking for in the assignments."
"What I'm looking for is effort. Original thought. Analysis that goes beyond surface-level interpretation." He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving Peter's face. "But that's not why you're really here, is it?"
Peter's face burned. "I need to pass this class to graduate. I was hoping....."
"Extra credit?" Professor Cross's smile was knowing. "Let me guess. You'll do anything to pass. Is that what you're about to say?"
"Yes," Peter admitted quietly.
"Anything?"
"Yes, sir."
Professor Cross stood, moving around his desk with predatory grace. He perched on the edge right in front of Peter, close enough that Peter had to tilt his head back to maintain eye contact.
"Here's the problem, Mr. Bennett. I don't offer extra credit. My standards are my standards. Either you meet them or you don't."
Peter's heart sank. "So there's nothing I can do?"
"I didn't say that." Professor Cross's hand came up, his thumb brushing across Peter's lower lip in a gesture that was absolutely inappropriate and absolutely intentional. "I said I don't offer extra credit. But I do offer... private tutoring. For select students who show... particular promise."
Peter's pulse quickened. The touch, the tone, the way Professor Cross was looking at him.....this wasn't about academics anymore.
"What kind of tutoring?" Peter whispered.
"The kind that requires absolute discretion. The kind that happens after hours, behind locked doors. The kind that would be very problematic if anyone found out." His thumb pressed slightly, and Peter's lips parted automatically. "Are you interested?"
Peter knew this was wrong. Knew he should leave, report this, do anything except what he was about to do.
"Yes," he breathed. "I'm interested."
"Good boy." Professor Cross removed his thumb, but his eyes remained dark with promise. "Come back next Thursday. 8 PM. The building will be empty. And Peter? Wear something easy to remove."