Office Hours.

The hallway outside Professor Scott Jones’s office was quiet, dimly lit by the low hum of recessed lighting along the ceiling. Most students had already cleared out for the evening, leaving behind the lingering scent of coffee and printed paper, a comforting academic silence that Scott had come to enjoy over the years.

Inside his office, the lamplight cast a soft amber glow across the room. Books lined with one-wall titles on psychology, human sexuality, and philosophy stacked neatly, some marked with tabs and notes.

A subtle hint of sandalwood from a reed diffuser lingered in the air. His desk, worn at the edges but always tidy, bore a few student papers, his favorite pen, and a steaming mug of black coffee.

Scott sat in a leather chair. Glasses perched low on his nose as he read through a particularly well-written analysis of Kinsey’s research. He didn’t notice the gentle knock at the door at first until it came again, just a touch louder.

“Come in,” he said, adjusting his glasses and looking up.

The door opened slowly, and Sunshine stepped inside, her presence almost too luminous for the warm, bookish atmosphere.  

Her long brunette hair tumbled over her shoulders, catching the light as she moved. She wore a fitted sweater and jeans that hugged her small but curvaceous frame, the kind of casual look that somehow seemed intentional.

“Hi, Professor Jones,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. “You said I could stop by about the assignment?”

Scott stood briefly, offering a polite nod. “Of course, Sunshine. Please, have a seat.”

She slid into the chair across from him, crossing her legs slowly, a motion he couldn’t help but notice. Scott cleared his throat and reached for her assignment folder.

“So,” he said, trying to stay focused. “You were struggling with the comparative essay on erotic archetypes?”

Sunshine leaned forward just a little, her elbows resting on her knees. “I just... I’m having a hard time understanding how to tie theory to real-life experience. Maybe I need more hands-on explanation.”

Scott raised a brow, unsure whether he heard teasing in her voice or simply his own exhaustion getting the best of him. Either way, the office suddenly felt a few degrees warmer.

Scott flipped through the first page of Sunshine’s assignment, glancing as she shifted in her seat. Her perfume was subtle—vanilla and something floral. Not overpowering, but enough to make him notice. He forced his eyes back to the paper.

“Well,” he began, “your introduction is strong. You’ve identified the main archetypes clearly. But I think where you’re getting tripped up is in application—how those patterns show up in real relationships. Not just theory.”

Sunshine nodded; her eyes locked on his. “That’s what I’m struggling with. I understand the idea of seduction, power, vulnerability... but I’m not sure I’ve ever really experienced those things, not in the way the readings describe.”

Scott’s brows lifted slightly. “Most people don’t. That’s why it’s academic study. It lets us step outside ourselves.”

“Maybe,” she said, her voice softer now. “But I wonder... maybe we don’t step outside ourselves. Maybe we bring parts of us into it without even realizing it. I mean, how can we separate our own desires from what we’re analyzing?”

Scott hesitated. Her gaze was steady—curious, but something more. He’d had hundreds of conversations with students in this very office, yet somehow, this one felt different. Charged.

“You’re not wrong,” he said. “There’s always a level of projection. Even in research. That’s why the best scholars stay aware of their bias.”

Sunshine leaned back slightly, her fingers playing lightly with the edge of her notebook. “So then, when you teach this, you must have to think about your own experiences. What does seduction mean to you?”

Scott blinked, caught off guard by the question’s intimacy. He adjusted in his chair, feeling the tension press gently against his composure. “I try to keep things academic. But yes... I suppose those experiences inform how I present the material.”

A smile played on her lips. “I’d be curious to know what those experiences are.”

“Sunshine,” he said carefully, “there’s a boundary between faculty and student that I take seriously.”

“I know,” she said quickly. “I’m not crossing it. I’m just trying to understand the subject better.”

There was a pause long enough to let the air between them thicken. Scott looked back at her paper, suddenly aware that he’d read the same sentence twice.

“Why don’t you revise the third section,” he said finally, his voice more composed, “and we’ll meet again next week to go over it.”

She stood slowly, gathering her notebook, her fingers brushing the edge of his desk. “Thank you, Professor Jones.”

Her eyes lingered just a moment longer than necessary before she turned and opened the door.

“See you soon.”

The door clicked softly shut behind her.

Scott exhaled, only now realizing how tightly he’d been gripping his pen.

The Coffee Shop

Saturday morning crept into the city with an early chill, the kind that made people linger longer in bed or tuck into cozy spaces with warm drinks.

Scott Jones, dressed in a worn leather jacket and jeans, pushed open the door of Hearth & Bean, a quiet café tucked just off campus. It was one of his weekend rituals a book, a cappuccino, and a corner seat by the window where no one knew him as Professor or so he thought.

The familiar hiss of the espresso machine greeted him, and the rich scent of roasted beans wrapped around his senses like a blanket. He stepped into line, already flipping through the book tucked under his arm an older edition of The Erotic Mind, something he liked to revisit now and then.

“Professor Jones?” He turned, startled. There she was.

Sunshine stood a few feet behind him, wrapped in a soft gray sweater that slid off one shoulder, black leggings, and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, tendrils framing her face. She smiled not the overly sweet smile she wore in class, but something quieter.   

Sunshine,” he said, composing himself. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Same,” she said. “But I’m glad I did.”

He gestured to the counter. “Let me get your drink. It’s the least I can do after making you rewrite that paper.”

She laughed. “Deal.”

They ended up tucked in a back corner of the café, a small round table between them, both hands wrapped around warm mugs. The conversation began innocently with class topics, her thoughts on the readings, and the paper she was revising.

But slowly, the conversation shifted. “What made you choose human sexuality?” she asked at one point, her fingers tracing the rim of her mug.

He chuckled softly. “I’ve always been drawn to what people don’t talk about. The things that happen beneath the surface. The stories behind desire, relationships, and vulnerability. It’s a complicated subject. Messy. Human.”

She nodded. “That’s what I like about it. It's not black and white. It’s more like energy. Pulls and boundaries and tension.”

Their eyes met again longer this time. No desks. No office walls. Just two people sharing a moment in the soft clink of ceramic and the hum of conversations around them.

Scott cleared his throat, glancing down at his watch. “I should probably head out. Papers don’t grade themselves.”

Sunshine stood with him; her voice was light. “Maybe we’ll bump into each other again. Or maybe I’ll need help with the next assignment too.”

Scott gave her a polite smile, but as she turned to go, he watched her for a second too long.

She didn’t look back.

But she didn’t have to.

The Invitation

The message came late Sunday evening; just as Scott had set his phone on the nightstand and was about to turn in, the buzz of his phone startled him. At first, he thought it was his wife checking in. But then he was surprised to see it was Sunshine.

"From Sunshine D.

Hi Professor Jones, I hope I’m not bothering you. I’ve been working on the revisions for the essay and had a few questions. Would it be okay to meet and talk through them sometime this week?"

Scott stared at the screen for a few seconds longer, contemplating how to respond.

His wife had left that morning for a conference in Denver, gone for the week. The house was quiet, still. Too quiet. He’d spent the afternoon grading, then tried and failed to get lost in a movie. But nothing had pulled him out of his own head.

He tapped back.

"To Sunshine D.

Not a bother at all. I’m around this week and happy to help. Would tomorrow work? I’ll be working from home most of the day, but I could meet via Zoom or, if you're nearby, we could go over it here. Up to you."

It only took her a minute for Sunshine to reply. 

"From Sunshine D.

I don’t live far away, and it’s easier for me to focus in person if that’s okay. I can bring the latest version and some snacks. Brain food."

Scott stared at the message. There was nothing overt. Nothing inappropriate. And yet, something about the casual offer - her comfort, her familiarity - settled into him like a slow, spreading warmth.

"To Sunshine D.

In-person is fine. Just text me when you’re on the way, and I’ll give you the gate code. I’m off Fairview Lane, tucked back from the road a bit. You’ll see a red Toyota in the driveway."

He hesitated, then hit send.

Monday, 4:07 p.m.

The doorbell rang.

Scott wiped his hands on a kitchen towel, his heart ticking a little faster than he expected. He walked to the door, pausing for just a second before pulling it open. Sunshine stood there, hair slightly tousled from the wind, her bag over one shoulder, and a brown paper bag in her hands.

“Hi, Professor Jones,” she said, giving him that quiet, confident smile.

“Hi, Sunshine. Come in.”

She stepped past him, taking in the space. The house was warm and a mix of classic and modern, with bookshelves lining the walls, a worn leather sofa sitting under large windows, and soft jazz played from a speaker somewhere unseen.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said, setting the bag on the counter. “I brought almond croissants and strawberries.”

Scott smiled despite being himself. “Dangerously generous of you.”

She laughed, then turned and met his eyes. “I appreciate you letting me come by. I know it’s not typical.”

“It’s fine,” Scott said, guiding her toward the kitchen island. “Let’s take a look at your paper.”

They spent the first twenty minutes with her laptop open between them, focused on revisions and phrasing.  

But slowly, inevitably the conversation drifted. About the readings. About the coffee shop. About what drew her to the course in the first place.

“I think what fascinates me,” Sunshine said, her voice low, “is how attraction plays out in places we don’t expect. Like in silence. In subtle looks. In timing.”

Scott nodded, suddenly aware of the space between them. Close, but not touching. “Attraction is often more about restraint than action.”

“Exactly,” she said, leaning just slightly toward him. “The tension is the most powerful part.”

His eyes lingered on hers. The air between them felt charged again, like that moment in the office, only now without walls, rules, or anyone else to see.

Sunshine smiled, but this time it was quieter. She stood, walked to the window, looking out the backyard, and then turned back toward him.

“You have a beautiful home, Professor.”

“Scott,” he said before he could stop himself.

She looked at him for a long time. “Scott,” she repeated, her voice softer now. “Thank you.”

And with that, the moment held. No crossing of lines. No hurried moves.

Just two people, caught in a pause that was almost more intimate than anything else.

Section 5: The Threshold

Scott wasn’t sure when the mood had shifted. Maybe it was when she called him Scott. Maybe it was the silence that followed, full of something unspoken but undeniably there.  

The paper they had been editing had been forgotten on the island now, the screen dimmed. The jazz still played, low and slow.

Sunshine had moved to the couch, curled into the corner, sipping the tea he’d offered her. Scott stayed in the kitchen a moment longer than necessary, pretending to be busy with mugs that were already clean.

He didn’t want to make the first move. But he also didn’t want to ignore what was clearly in the air between them.

When he finally joined her in the living room, he sat a respectable distance away. Not next to her. Not too far. 

But close enough. She turned toward him, one leg tucked under her. Her expression was unreadable, but her gaze was steady.

“Can I ask you something personal?” she said softly.

Scott nodded, cautious. “Sure.”

“Do you ever feel like you spend so much time teaching about intimacy, desire, connection that you forget what it actually feels like to want someone?”

The question hit him like a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. He looked at her, really looked at the openness in her posture, the vulnerability in her voice, and the boldness it took to ask something so direct without making it a come-on.

“All the time,” he admitted. “It’s easier to intellectualize it than live it. Especially when the lines in your life don’t allow for certain feelings.”

Sunshine’s voice dropped a note. “And what if those feelings happen anyway?”

Scott’s chest tightened.

She wasn’t flirting. Not really. She was asking. And something in her voice said she already knew the answer.

He leaned back slightly, exhaling. “Then I think you try to be honest. With yourself. With the another person. And you move slowly.”

She set her tea down and shifted closer—just a few inches, but enough that her knee brushed his.

“I don’t want to rush anything,” she said. “But I don’t want to pretend either. I like being around you, and not just as a student.”

He turned to face her. Her eyes were wide, searching for his.

“Sunshine,” he began. But she leaned in slowly, deliberately pausing just before her lips would meet his.

She was giving him the choice.

The final inch was his.

He closed it.

Their lips touched, soft and uncertain at first, more about acknowledgment than hunger. But it was real. And when they pulled back, there was no apology. Just breath. And silence. And the quiet hum of what had been set in motion.

Scott let his hand rest gently on her knee. “We have to be careful.”

Sunshine smiled, her voice whispered. “I know. But I don’t want to stop.”

Neither did he.

Discovery

The silence between them pulled with the gravity of what had just happened. Scott’s hand remained on Sunshine’s knee, not possessive, but grounding his fingers lightly curled as if afraid to break the spell. Sunshine’s lips were still parted slightly, her breath soft, her eyes locked on him like she was memorizing the moment.

When she leaned in again, it was slower, deeper, not a question this time, but a continuation.

Their lips met, warm and patient. Scott responded gently, cupping her jaw with one hand, his thumb brushing just beneath her cheekbone. Sunshine’s hand slid up to his chest, not hurried but curious, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath the soft cotton of his shirt.

This kiss was different. It was not just an attraction; it was exploration. Their mouths moved in rhythm, lips parting to taste, to test, to learn.

Scott pulled her closer, not urgently, but with deliberate care. His other arm wrapped behind her, guiding her until she was straddling his lap, knees on either side of him, the space between them gone.

Sunshine exhaled against his mouth, her hands finding the nape of his neck, fingers holding him close. The way she moved wasn’t aggressive, but confident like she’d been waiting for this, not just physically, but emotionally, and she didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Scott’s hands traced her back slowly, feeling the curve of her waist and the softness beneath her sweater.   

When his fingers brushed beneath the hem, meeting warm skin, she sighed into his mouth and pressed herself against him, her body warm and lithe.

“Is this, okay?” he asked, his voice husky, barely above a whisper.

Sunshine nodded, her forehead resting against him. “Yes, but only if you want this too.”

He smiled softly, his hand resting on the small of her back. “I want this. But more than that I want you.”

They kissed again, longer this time, mouths parting just enough for breath to mingle and tongues to meet. It was unhurried, exploratory and an act of attention.  

Scott traced the shape of her hips as she shifted against him, and she responded by sliding her sweater off in one slow, fluid motion.

His breath caught.

Her skin was warm and smooth, and as his fingers trailed up her spine, he felt the shiver that moved through her body. Sunshine let him explore her like a map, his fingertips learning the lines and contours of her waist, her ribs the graceful arc of her shoulder.

She kissed him again – deeper now, more urgent but still tender, reverent. And when he pulled back just enough to look at her, her cheeks flushed and eyes glassy, she smiled and whispered, “Don’t stop.”

He didn’t.

Not yet. And not for a long, long time.