Hi
I’m twenty. Junior year. English lit major. And I’m failing my senior seminar because Dr. Caleb Kane is impossible.
He’s thirty-eight, married, tenured, and looks like he stepped out of a black-and-white film—dark hair just long enough to curl at the collar, wire-rimmed glasses, always in tailored blazers and open-collar shirts that show the hollow of his throat when he swallows.
I’ve always hated how quiet the English building gets after 8 p.m. The hallway lights dim to save energy, and the only sound is the hum of the vending machine down the corridor. Most students are gone by then. Most professors too. Except Dr. Caleb Kane.
He never leaves early.
I knocked on his office door at 8:17, laptop under my arm, pretending this was just about the thesis chapter I’d been dodging for three weeks. The truth was messier. I’d been thinking about the way he looked at me during seminar; longer than necessary, eyes flicking to my mouth when I argued about Woolf. I told myself it was in my head and just imagine things
Everyone on campus knows he’s untouchable. No scandals. No favorites. No extensions. His syllabus literally says, in bold: “Office hours are for academic discussion only.”
I needed an extension.
So here I am, 8:17 p.m., knocking on his office door after the building has mostly emptied. The hallway lights are on motion sensors; they flicker every few minutes like they’re tired too.
“Come in.”
His voice is low and calm, the same tone he uses to dissect Austen or Woolf.
I step inside. The office smells like old books, coffee, and his cologne, probably. Desk lamp on, overhead off. He’s marking papers, sleeves rolled to the elbow, forearms corded with muscle I’ve never noticed before.
“Riley,” he says without looking up. “You’re late.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” I close the door behind me.
He finally glances up. Glasses catch the light. “You have three minutes before I leave for dinner with my wife.”
My stomach flips, not from nerves but from something worse.
I walk closer. Set my laptop on the edge of his desk. “I need an extension on the thesis chapter. Just one week. I’ve been—”
“No.”
The word came instant and sharp
I blink. “Dr. Kan-”
“Rules are rules Riley” He leans back in the chair, arms crossed. “You had the entire semester.”
“I know. But I’m asking for help. I’m drowning please”
He studies me. His gaze slides down, over my cropped hoodie, the jeans that hug my hips, then to the middle of my inner thigh
I open wider a little, I didn't know why I opened wider.
Then back up to my face.
“You’re not drowning,” he says quietly. “You’re procrastinating. There’s a difference.”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” He stands, slowly. Taller than I'd remembered.. “You’ve had months. You chose parties. You chose your phone. You chose everything except the work.”
I open my mouth to argue.
He cuts me off. “And now you’re here, after hours, alone. Hoping I’ll bend the rules because you’re pretty and desperate.”
My breath catches. “That’s not-”
“Isn’t it?” He steps around the desk. “Tell me I’m wrong.”
I couldn't speak
He stops inches away. Close enough I could see the faint stubble on his jaw, the pulse in his throat, the way his wedding band glints under the lamp.
“Say it,” he murmurs. “Tell me you’re here for the extension. Only the extension.”
My mouth is dry. “I… I need the extension.”
He smiles. “Liar.”
Then he reaches past me; slow and deliberate, then locks the door behind me
Click.
The sound echoes in my soul
He doesn’t step back nor forward. Just stays there, towering, waiting...
My heart slams against my ribs as he began getting close.
Just inches away now. I didn't know when I tilt my head up.
Then our eyes lock, and I whisper, “Please.”
One word, useless now
His hand lifts, and his fingers brush my jaw, light, testing, but I don’t pull away.
Then he grips my chin firm. Tilting my face exactly how he wants it.
“You have no idea what you’re asking for,” he says, voice rougher now.
“I do.”
He exhales through his nose; almost a laugh.
Then he kisses me.
Hard and rough
Open-mouthed. Hungry, like he’s been starving for this longer than I'd
I moan into his mouth, it came soft and involuntary. His other hand slides to my waist, pulls me hard against him.
Then was when i felt him-thick, hard, pressing into my stomach through his slacks.
He breaks the kiss. Forehead against mine breathing ragged.
“Last chance,” he rasps. “Walk out now. I’ll give you the extension. No questions, no consequences.”
My hands are already under his blazer, tugging his shirt free.
“I’m not leaving.”
The impression in his eyes change as he lifts me onto the desk—papers scattering everywhere, pen rolls to the floor. My legs wrap around his waist on instinct. He grinds against me once, slow n deliberate, letting me feel every inch until he was thrusting faster and unforgivable
“Office hours are over,” he says against my throat. “But you’re staying.”
His mouth finds mine again. Hungrier, his teeth, tongue. Hands under my hoodie, grabbing my breasts through the thin bra, his thumbs circling my nipples until I feel them aching
I arch into him. I was already wet.
Already desperate for more
He pulls back just enough to look at me; eyes blown black, jaw tight.
“Say it again,” he orders. “Tell me you want this.”
I don’t hesitate.
“I want it.”
" Louder!"
"I want this!"
He smiles slowly
“Good girl.”
Then he drops to his knees.
And office hours really begin.