“Oh,” Greg sits taller, glancing toward me before he speaks, “I guess I just examined, like… the whole idea of true love and, I mean, it’s what drives our lives, so it must be real.”
Professor Wilder kneads his forehead with his fingertips as though he’s frustrated. “That’s not the question, Greg. The question is, ‘what makes love real?’If we’re going to debate its existence, we need to know what makes it real.”
He narrows his gaze as though he’s not quite following the train of thought. “Love is about impulse and sex. It’s about procreation. It grows from there. It’s all biology.”
Well, that’s not romantic in the slightest.
“Greg,” Professor Wilder clears his throat and stares up at the twenty-four-year-old university wrestler that brought us a championship last year, “you’re right. The urge to have sex is almost always hormonal.” He glances toward me. “One could even say the urges turn you into something you no longer recognize.” His gaze draws back toward Greg. “Physical driveis one of the oldest impulses we have. What you do with that impulse is what creates chemistry.” He pauses and looks toward me with wide eyes, as though I’m supposed to respond.
My heart hammers and a bead of sweat forms as though I’ve missed something. Did he ask me a question? Have I been daydreaming again?
I glance away from his stare, then back again.
“What do you think, Ms. Carmichael?”
“About what?” I swallow hard as butterflies assault my stomach.
“Aboutchemistry.” He emphasizes the word, and suddenly I’m back in his bedroom with his massive frame bent over me as he dishes out my punishments for showing up like a little tease.
Oh Lord!
My clit throbs and my panties dampen as I stare toward him like a deer in headlights, wondering if I should obey his command. All of me wants to play along because it’s fun and hot, and I want to be the professor’s little pet, but he canceled us. He decided it was too much. That we’d be better off ignoring our impulses, forgetting thechemistry.
I have no idea how long I’ve been quiet, but it’s long enough that half the class has turned their heads to stare at me.
“Ms. Carmichael, are you still with us?” Professor Wilder grins. “I’m asking you a question aboutchemistry.”
“I think chemistry is a void topic unless both people are fully invested.” My comment makes no sense, and it’s one hundred percent meant for him. If he wants to punish me, he’s going to have to come up here, bend me over, and spank my ass in front of the whole class.
“Really?” He tilts his head to the side, and a suppressed smile flickers across his face as the class turns back toward him, finally taking the heat off of me. “Is it not the point ofchemistryto be undeniable? Even if someone is trying to fight it, the attraction remains. That’s the point. It’s meant to keep drawing people together until they succumb to the chemistry.” He waits again with a locked stare that sends signal after primal signal straight to my core, and suddenly without thought, I’m scrubbing my thumb over my nipple like a horny, little simp.
He grins wide, tucking himself and his growing cock behind the podium.
I’m soaked. I’m soaked knowing what I do to him, what he does to me, what we’re doing in front of the entire class. Our secret language, my little punishment, the pull toward him despite our efforts to stop it.
“That feeling, that jolt of power,” the professor continues, “lowers defenses, creates trust, and encourages closeness. Chemistry,” he pauses again and waits as though I’m his filthy little puppet, “some believe that it’s instinctive pull creates a bond that develops into love.” My pussy pulses and I scrub my thumb over my nipple again, resituating in my chair as he stares up at me from the front of the class.
He’s smiling again, and I feel like the dirtiest little girl that ever existed.
I love it.
Greg passes another note to me.
‘Shit, this guy is droning today.’
‘He’s not that bad.’I scratch back a note to Greg and stare at Professor Wilder, who watches my note slide with a clenched fist.
“Anyone else have a theory they’d like to share?” the professor continues through a heavy exhale.
Tiffany’s hand shoots up.
Professor Wilder nods toward her, and suddenly I feel a shot of jealousy rise in my stomach like bile. I hate the way shelooks at him. The way her hair glistens. The way she sounds when she talks, like she’s tryingso hard.
“Well, I did a lot of research externally and internally on love. I found that chemistry can be built on physical attraction, mental attraction, and emotional attraction. It depends on what type of person you are.” Tiffany flips her hair back and twists it around her finger. “Like, me… I likeoldermen. They make me feel safe and protected.”
I roll my eyes, lean back in my chair, and cross my arms over my chest in disgust at her little display of nonsense.
Professor Wilder nods slowly. “That’s an interesting take, Tiffany. Thank you for sharing. Many philosophers have concluded that at the end of the day, attraction is primarily aboutenergy.” He glances toward me with the same locked-jaw stare he had earlier. The one that made me touch my nipples.
