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Wanda’s eyes tracked Professor Barnes’ movements through his office as she sat in the oversized leather chair that was in the corner of the room. He looked stressed and irritable over something she was unaware about, and she had never seen him worked up like this before. He was one of the youngest professors at the university, only in his mid-thirties and been on tenure for almost a decade now; he was usually carefree, though stern, and he always seemed to blend in with the young adults that attended the university. But when he approached her after his two o’clock class today, demanding her to meet him in his office at seven that night, she was concerned that maybe she has made a drastic mistake when grading the mid-term papers last week. She had only been his assistant for almost six months, taking the job because she needed the money so she could see her family back in Slovenia the coming summer, but she wanted to get to know Professor Barnes more to fuel the fantasies with her older crush. Now she was second guessing her ability to be professional while harboring her feelings for him.
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he grumbled, his finger sliding over the bookcase next to her, turning to face her as the same hand moved to stroke along his jaw, brows furrowed in vexation.
“I’m sorry Professor, what don’t you know?” Her heart was pounding hard as she wrung her hands in her lap and her left foot began to bounce slightly.
His icy blue eyes met with hers, an emotion burning from him that she couldn’t put her finger on. It was like he was exasperated over this internal battle he was keeping to himself. His hand moved from his chin to card through his dark, thick hair, eyes closing while taking a deep breath.
“YA ne znayu o tebe,” he whispered, turning to walk back to his desk to sit defeatedly in his chair. He spun himself around to face the covered windows, head in his hands as his elbows rested on his knees. He rarely spoke Russian unless it was needed for class, this much she knew, but she didn’t understand it as well as she would have liked. She knew he said something about her for sure.
“Again, I’m sorry Professor--”
“How many times have I told you to call me Bucky,” he groused as he ran his hands over his face, hair, and back to his face again.
Wanda bit her lip, never comfortable calling him by his preferred name. It made it harder to look at him when there was less professionalism between them. It would make it almost too real to fantasize about; it would make her want to act on her feelings instead of keeping them hidden for only her room.
“My Russian isn’t that great to understand everything if it’s not slower. If I have done something wrong on the term papers, I’m sorry. I followed your curve--”
“Wanda,” he interrupted her again but still facing away from her. The pregnant pause had her fingers now messing with the hem of her black sundress she wore. He had never called her by her given name, it was always Miss Maximoff or just Maximoff when he addressed her. “I need you to stop worrying your lip.” His tone was deeper this time when he spoke making him clear his throat before he turned around to look at her. The wrinkles in his forehead were deep while he stared at her, lips parting slightly as she released her bite.
She swore she heard him suck in a breath for the briefest second.
They stared at each other, neither saying a word like there was some fictitious struggle going on between them. Wanda didn’t know what he was thinking (and it bothered her to no end), but her mind wandered over how tantalizing he was while his tongue peeked slightly between his soft pink lips, wetting the supple skin before the muscles in his jaw clenched. She almost missed what he said before he stood before her.
“I’m gonna lose my job,” he muttered, his toes mere inches away from hers. She willed herself to look up at the dapper man eight years her senior, her body heating unwillingly under his gaze.
“How?” she asked in a feeble voice that had a blush cross her cheeks. She sounded like an imbecile in her head and that was far from being attractive or apt.
“Because of this.”
Before she knew it, he was leaning down, his hand moving under her auburn hair to cup her neck as his lips covered hers with a tender innocence. She should have pulled back; should have pushed him away; say no or stop. Essentially, he was her boss, and still her professor for her thesis. Instead, her fingers found their way to the opening of his brown leather jacket as she sighed delicately, her tongue tentative at the seam of his lips.
He had kissed her so why not ask for just a bit more?
To her surprise, his lips parted allowing her to sweep into his mouth, tasting his sweet flavor underlying the coffee and nicotine habit he had. It was decadent, heavenly. She pulled him closer to her as a slight moan emitted from her chest, her legs parting from how intoxicating he was. His other hand fell to the armrest, steadying himself, his tongue responding to each flick of hers until he pulled back with a growl. He ran a hand through his hair, closing his fingers around the strands and she could see him pull slightly in aggravation.
“Damn it, Wanda,” he growled turning away from her again.
She stood, legs shaking slightly at how perfect their kiss felt. He obviously thought it was hot, otherwise he wouldn’t have reacted when she asked for more. She didn’t say anything, just moved forward to take his free hand in both hers. He let out a frustrated breath, turning towards here with defeated look. Clearly he could see she didn’t care about the repercussions. His hand fell from his hair and cupped her cheek, thumb brushing over the curvature before moving to pull down her lower lip releasing it slowly as his eyes took in every bit of her face.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered, voice ragged and deep. “But it’s like you’ve bewitched me, Wanda Maximoff.”
“I’ve wanted you since I took your class four years ago,” she admitted, her cheeks heating. Her hand squeezed his as the other hooked a finger in the waistband of his jeans. “But you’ve never...never did you--”
“It was this dress,” he whispered, stepping closer to her that his breath fanned over her and pressed her to him. “You’ve always worse jeans or slacks. Nothing so...tantalizing. This edgy rocker look is just...eto chertovski zharko.”
Wanda wasn’t sure what he said but the look in his eyes gave her an inkling. She leaned in this time, lips brushing against his lower one. She opened slightly, taking the soft pout between her teeth and pulled back slightly as she whimpered when she felt his hand squeeze her hip.
“I’m not your student,” she rasped after letting his lip go, “I’m sure there’s nothing in the conduct about a TA and professor.”
“It’s ethics...”
“Fuck the ethics.” Her accent slipping through due to the need in her for him.
He looked her over slowly, his thumbs working her jaw and hip in circles that was driving her mad. Before she could state her annoyance, he was kissing her again. Unlike the hesitant and slowness of the first time, this one was heady and full of want as his hands moved to comb through her hair, gripping the dark locks that had her moaning into his mouth.
“Tishe,” he muttered against her lips, “Professor Rogers is still here.” He moved along her jaw and neck, tasting her skin as he went. She could feel his muscles clench against her softness.
“Oh, I can be quite quiet,” she gasped when his hand moved over her back to her ass, pressing her forward to feel him.
“Let’s see, my little koldun'ya,” he growled, lifting Wanda up by her thighs and carried her over to his desk.