Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55626 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Before she could figure out what to say or do next, Mr. Furious was already turning away, and her last glimpse of his hard, handsome face was the way his lips had compressed together in icy contempt.
Seeing this hurt, but she was at a loss to explain why. Masculine beauty wasn't something she was unfamiliar with. One could say she had become immune to it even, with her own brother Damen often likened to a Greek god, as were all of his friends.
And yet...
Mr. Furious was different.
No.
Mr. Furious was the one.
No.
Mr. Furious was an encounter, Diana told herself determinedly, one she wasn't even certain she would add to her diary, and that was all. She absently righted the strap of her bag over her shoulder as she turned back towards the school—-
Oh my God.
School!
A gasp of dismay escaped her when she saw the time. She was more than ten minutes late now, and if there had been the slightest chance earlier of slipping into the classroom unnoticed, well, not anymore.
Just the thought of having everyone's heads turning towards her was enough to make Diana flinch, and she knew it could get even worse, easily. She could be made to stand in front of the whole class, made to talk and explain herself...
Diana shuddered in fear.
No, never.
She would just call in sick this time. It was only once anyway. It shouldn't be a problem. Right?
Him
The professor was about to masturbate.
His eyes squeezed shut as his hand gripped his dick in a familiar manner.
Damn her.
Goddamn her.
Goddamn her for making him want her so fucking bad he had to do this.
Matthijs was an intensely sexual man, the kind that could go long for hours, and while this served his reputation well, it also had its downside. Or an upside rather, with his dick, upon making its presence felt, requiring immediate action. Once it saw, it wanted, and it wanted and stayed hard. Hence a detour to the nearest fucking restroom, just to get his damnable erection out of the way.
The professor jerked himself off in a predetermined number of strokes, his fingers conscientiously angled to induce an orgasm in the shortest amount of time.
In the normal course of things, the professor's sexual relief should have earned him a modicum (pun intended) of calmness and clarity. But when he stepped out of the cubicle, agitation still had him in its grip, his every movement stiff and aggressive. His inner equilibrium, normally formidable and imperturbable, was shot to pieces.
To make up for his late arrival, Matthijs assigned his students double the amount of their usual workload, and he heard not a word of dissent even as their collective faces contorted in inaudible grimaces.
At precisely 09:30 in the morning, the university's public announcement system played Symphony No. 40 in G Minor, and the professor dismissed his students with a curt nod.
Helder Meer prided itself for doing away with the more uncouth applications of long-standing tradition, and the clip of classical music playing in the background was one such change, with the typical, unappealingly shrill school buzzers replaced by Mozart for Mondays, Tchaikovsky for Tuesdays, Wagner for Wednesdays, and so forth.
Of course, not all such changes were of minor or aesthetic consequences. Ad Altiora Tendo, the university's motto, translated to 'I strive to higher things,' and this manifested itself in Helder Meer's approach to education, which some praised for being groundbreaking (the professor, for instance, taught Applied Psychology with Respect to the Christian Faith) while others criticized it for being unnecessarily radical (e.g. the permitted use of recreational substances within specific areas on campus).
Radical or not, the professor didn't really give a damn about public perception of the university. What he did feel strongly, however, was the university board's continued refusal to grant professors leeway in kicking students out. Instead, the old fucks were still stuck in the past, with their ludicrous insistence that students had to miss three classes consecutively before professors could permanently cross them out of their lists.
In the professor's experience, students who missed his first class were and would always be a complete waste of his time. More often than not, they turned out to be egoistic, self-entitled animals, like leopards that hadn't even the self-awareness to realize they had spots to begin with, much less appreciate the need to change said spots.
The one student he had to mark Absent on the attendance sheet earlier would undoubtedly be the same, and the professor's lip curled when he thought of what was likely to happen afterwards. Helder Meer's students had a remarkable affinity for histrionics regardless of gender, and it was always unpleasant business when the professor dropped the ball and the truth of their ineluctable dismissal from his class stared at them in the face.
Young people today had it too easy, and they didn't even know it. The nature of his thoughts made for hideous company, and the professor's mood was succinctly reflected on his strikingly handsome features.