The Professor’s Holiday Surprise (Cam Show Crush #1)

7. Noah

Chapter 7

Noah

When I hear my brothers moving through the house for morning chores on Monday, I join them, since I was just staring at the ceiling, anyway.

I still feel conflicted about cancelling last night’s stream, so it’ll be good to lose myself in some hard, physical work before I had to the college.

Where Drew is all gruff and serious, our youngest brother Zane has never met a good time he didn’t like.

He winks at me as I stride into the kitchen. “Good morning, professor.”

I fill a travel mug with coffee, and then cream and sugar, because five in the morning is not the time to deprive oneself. “Morning.”

“But it’s not a good one?”

“That remains to be seen.”

Drew stomps into the kitchen. “What remains to be seen?”

Zane answers for me. “Whether today is going to be good for Noah.”

Drew grunts.

“What do you have on deck after chores?” Zane asks.

“Office hours at the college.”

“All day?”

Not all day. I have a ninety-minute window for the rest of the class, and six and a half hours around that I’m holding open for Paisley. “I like to be available for my students.”

“Man, that school is lucky to have you.” Zane claps me on the shoulder. “All right, I’m heading out to the barn.”

“I’m right behind you. I’ll take care of the horses, because I want to get a ride in before I go to work.”

Zane nods, then heads outside as I fill up a travel mug for Drew.

“Thanks,” he mutters.

“Always.” I raise my coffee in a toast to him.

This is what I need to focus on.

The only constant in my entire life has been my brothers. Our father bred his way across Wyoming, making four sons with four different women. But as soon as Trick made the majors, he bought this ranch for us, so we’d always have a family home.

I will not be led by my dick.

As tempting as it is to try to move on from my fixation on Paisley to GoodGardenGirl or just my OnlySantas audience as a whole, it’s all a symptom of the same problem. Sexual desire is a trap.

And not one I’m going to fall into again.

I stalk out into the darkness. Zane’s already turned on the lights in the cattle barn. Past that is the horse barn, and as I draw near, I hear Inez’s husband Raul murmuring to one of the mares in Spanish.

“Sweet talking one of the girls?” I ask him when I slip inside.

“Always.” He laughs. “Nice to see you today.”

“I know. It’s been a while. But I’m almost done for the term, and then you’ll have my lazy ass helping every morning.”

He gives me a high five. “Many hands make light work. Let’s go.”

It’s warmer in here, but it’s still November in Wyoming. I take a long, fortifying sip of coffee before getting down to the morning tasks.

And it’s true what they say about many hands. We get done faster than I expect, so I still have lots of time when I saddle up Morrill, my black quarter horse named for the nineteenth century congressional act that created land-grants for colleges to ensure agricultural higher education was supported across the country—and eventually led to my second chance at a career.

I’m never not a nerd.

Zane razzed me for it, accusing me of naming my horse after mushrooms in a text message that I have saved to this day as a screensaver.

Noah: That’s morel, dumb ass.

Zane: So what’s a Morrill?

Noah: Historic congressman. There’s a town named after the guy on the Nebraska border.

Zane: Never noticed.

Noah: You’re just being a dick on purpose, aren’t you?

Zane: Bet you’re explaining Morel’s name for his entire life.

Joke is on my brother, though. I’ve never needed to introduce Morrill to anyone outside the family.

Immediately, I picture bringing Paisley with me to saddle up horses and head out into the back pastures. Not gonna happen, so it’s a bittersweet fantasy.

Shaking my head, I pat Morrill. “You want to go for a quick, hard run, boy? I need to feel the cold wind on my face. And then a nice walk for you, too.”

He bumps his head against mine, already looking forward to the cool down, where he can stretch his muscles and feel like a champion.

“That’s my trusty steed. You’re the best. I’ll give you a good brush after, too. I’ve got time this morning, and it’s all yours.”

I lead him out through the paddock, then mount up and urge him forward.

This is what matters most.

I can’t lose sight of my priorities today.

The second Paisley knocks on my open office door, my cock is half-hard for her. So much for willpower.

This is the first time she’s come to my office. We’ve been alone together before every class, but that’s in a room where other people are expected at any moment.

It’s a solid two hours before my posted office hours are to begin. And I am the only faculty member with an office on this floor who is in right now.

This is as alone as we could possibly be.

She’s wearing her standard outfit of jeans and a sweatshirt, and today she has an unzipped puffy vest on over that. The denim stretches across her hips and curves around her thighs. The sweatshirt—this one a plain black hoodie—does an annoyingly efficient job of disguising her shape.

But instead of dampening my attraction to her, the don’t-look-at-me fashion choice just highlights what I can see. Her pale, delicate neck. Soft, rioting curls spilling out of a ponytail. A flash of freckles across her nose and a little mole just above her right eyebrow.

A perfect, full mouth, unadorned and innocent.

Her hazel gaze is hidden, though.

“Is this a good time?” she asks, not quite making eye contact.

“Yes, of course, come in.” I could use a distraction from imagining her on her knees between my thighs, stretching those lips wide around Dr. Lowry’s cock. “You had your practical lab last week?”

She steps inside and lifts her head so now she’s staring at the ceiling. “I did.”

“How is your report coming?”

Her cheeks turn pink. “It’s finished.” She pats her backpack. “But I, um, actually wanted to ask your opinion about which classes I should take next year.”

I gesture for her to sit across from me. “Happy to help with that.”

She pulls a folder from her backpack and lays it on the desk between us. “This term, I took a variety of classes to dip my toes back into learning. Of those, I’ve enjoyed your class and Dr. Mohammed’s Technical Report Writing for Agriculture the best. And that surprised me, so I’m thinking of adding a couple of business classes next year. Given that I want to maintain a horticulture focus, which of these would you recommend?”

“The most practical courses, other than the hands on stuff, are things like Mathematics of Farming.”

She makes a face, that full mouth pulling down in disappointment. “I was afraid you would say that.”

I grin at her. “Not what you wanted to hear?”

“A stats course is what made me drop out of college the first time.” And even though that was a decade ago, she says it in such a way that I know it’s still a wound she carries.

I lean forward. We’re not very far apart, even though a desk separates our bodies. “Can I tell you a secret I vary rarely get to share with my students?”

Her gaze flicks up for just a second. A flash of interested hazel. “Of course.”

Finally, I have her attention. It fills me with an electric charge.

I smile and wink at her. “I couldn’t have handled a stats class at eighteen or twenty-one. But when I took Mathematics of Farming at twenty-five, it was a walk in the park.”

“That makes me feel better.” She tilts her head to the side. “Why can’t you tell other students that?”

“Because most of them will graduate before they turn twenty-five. Tragically, they don’t have your advantage of age. You’ll be fine. You’re fucking smart. And your brain is finally fully developed.”

She bursts into laughter. “Okay.”

“Don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“Our secret, for sure.” Her fingers play with the edge of the papers and her gaze drops again.

“What’s wrong?”

She jerks her head up. “Nothing.”

“Really?” I stand up and circle my desk. This won’t do, either, because I’m looming over her, but I need her to see me not as a professor for a second, but rather as someone who has walked in her footsteps.

I crouch down beside her chair. “Something happened. You were full of confidence all term, and now I can see that something is on your mind. You can trust me, Paisley.”

She sucks in a breath.

I soften my tone. “Remember, I was once a mature student myself. It can be isolating. Are you having trouble with a classmate?”

“No.” She twists in her chair, looking right at me. “It’s nothing to do with school.”

“You sure?”

She nods. “I promise.”

“Good. That’s good.” I tap her detailed plan for the following year. “Can I add some suggestions to this?”

“Yes, please.” She watches closely as I grab a pen from the Horticulture Prof (noun): A person who is outstanding in their field mug on my desk.

I list three electives she hadn’t considered. “You’ll only be able to take one of these next year, but if you can make a summer class work, I know the instructor for this one is excellent.”

“I can probably do that.”

I look sideways at her. “It’s worth the extra investment.”

She worries her bottom lip in a way that sends heat slamming through my belly. “I hope so.”

“Are you working at all right now?”

“No. But I was going to try to find a job next summer.”

My first instinct is to promise her I’ll take care of her, but I can’t say shit like that out loud. I glance back at the sheets in front of us. “A lot of ranches will hire people on while they’re still in the program. You don’t need to graduate first.”

I sketch out another program path, where instead of summer school, she adds an extra year of study.

“And these classes…” I underline the ones she needs to remember. “Those all are recognized as credits by the University of Wyoming, if you’re thinking of continuing your studies.”

This time when I look sideways, she’s leaned in, and suddenly there’s no space at all between us.

“You’re a smart girl, Paisley,” I repeat, hearing my voice from a distance.

She nods slowly, her gaze locked on my mouth. Her eyelashes brush her cheeks in a low, sweeping flutter, and then she inhales sharply and swallows.

I can’t look away.

She’s trembling now, like a bird about to take flight, and I know in my heart that I’m never going to have another moment like this with her.

I’m never going to get to kiss her.

Never know what she looks like when she comes.

Our paths were only meant to cross like this, teacher and student, and I need to let her go. But I can’t, because I’ll also never be able to teach her again, not in good conscience, and acknowledging that feels like tearing out a vital organ.

I slowly force myself to stand. But that puts her gaze at the same level as my denim-clad dick, which has been thicker than usual since she sat down across from me, and hardened to an inconveniently un-hide-able state as I crouched beside her, breathing in her sweet innocence.

She doesn’t look away. Her cheeks turn pink and her lips press together, in much the same way they do when she knows the right answer in class but doesn’t want to be the first person to thrust her hand in the air again.

Paisley likes looking at my erection. Fucking hell. And I, God help me, am frozen in place because under her careful scrutiny, the bulge grows even bigger.

Then her eyes flick down, just a little, and I belatedly realize it wasn’t my erection that had caught her attention, but my belt buckle.

It’s one I haven’t worn to school yet this term. I’ve only worn it for a couple of my livestreams. I was going to wear it last night, but then I hung it up by my bedroom door when I changed my mind.

The big, shiny buckle caught her attention. That’s it.

And now I’m a teacher, looming beside his student, showing off his cock.

I spin around at the same moment she pushes out of her chair, going the other direction.

“I just remembered I have another—” she says at the same time as I say, “That was deeply inappropriate of me. The school has a code of conduct and you have a right to feel safe at all times.”

And then silence descends.

You could hear a pin drop in my office.

My pulse is a jackhammer in my neck.

“You didn’t— I mean, that was fine, but—” From behind me, Paisley stammers through two partial sentences, then moves to the door. Every sound is a condemnation. But then, right after she turns the handle and the hinges squeak, she adds, “If anyone is being inappropriate here, it’s me. I recognized your…belt buckle.”