Extra Credit

Was she?

A light knock on her door told her she was about to find out.

Chapter Three

"Hold on!" Miranda called out, then rose from the desk and walked to the door.

She'd locked it after her last appointment before Tristan so no one else would come in and be there when he arrived. Taking things further she'd then left a note on the door to only come in if you had an appointment.

People would assume she was wrapping things up for the year or packing up her personal belongings as she wouldn't be coming back after tomorrow. Part of Miranda claimed that was true, the other part continued to cover her ass in case things went her way.

Which way was that? Right or wrong seemed to be the only options. On the side of wrong, she'd also locked it as an excuse to meet Tristan at the door and let him get a look at her before she went back to her desk.

"Hello, Tristan," she greeted him as she opened the door and stepped to the side so he could come in.

"Professor Willow," he replied as he walked past her. "Thank you for seeing me."

"No worries, I always try to be here for my students."

Miranda thumbed the lock on the door and walked towards her desk.

"Did you just lock the door?" Tristan stopped on his way to her desk.

Not the start she was looking for in either direction.

"You saw the note, I want to make sure I give everyone the time they deserve." Miranda had stopped, trying to put him at ease so he would focus on her, and nothing else. God, she was pathetic. "I've had people popping in all day, and you're my last appointment so I don't want any distractions."

"Bet you can't wait to get out," he nodded. "Last real day for teachers too, tomorrow this place will be pretty empty."

"Yes, getting a little anxious." That was an understatement

She walked past him as she spoke, drifting a little closer than she normally would and hoping he'd catch the scent of her Coco Chanel perfume and so she'd have to cross in front of him to get to her desk.

"Wow, you look different," he said to her back as she made her way around the desk.

"What do you mean?" She tried not to let the childish wave of giddiness that his remark caused affect her tone.

"Your hair. I've never seen it all the way down like that."

"Figured its my last couple of days so I could relax and literally let my hair down, no?"

"You have a lot of hair," he commented as he walked over. "Big hair. Reminds me of the pictures of my mom from high school."

Jesus, sixty seconds in and she already felt like a fool.

"I know, very eighties," she left out the addition of porn star Susan's husband had added to those words to describe her. "Guess I'm a throwback."

"I like it," he sent her mercurial feelings sailing the other way. "Kind of wild."

"Don't know about wild," she spoke slowly to keep her voice under control. She remained next to the desk and unbuttoned her blazer, slipping it off. "Maybe Fun."

"Definitely fun," he agreed, his voice reflecting some of the surprise on his face as his eyes moved immediately to her impressive breasts encased in the bra which clearly showed through the shirt.

Her heart fluttered when his gaze dropped, starting at her feet, slowly roaming up her long legs, and lingering on the lower portion of her thighs hugged by the tight hem of the skirt.

His attention went back to her chest, and either he was so caught off guard he wasn't aware he was blatantly staring, or he didn't care if she saw him looking. Bad Miranda, as she was beginning to see herself, would take either.

Miranda made herself move, draping the blazer over the back of her chair, so it wouldn't be a case of her staring at him staring.

"Yeah, you think I look like fun?" Easy, she warned herself. She didn't want to be flirty right away, in fact she hoped she could refrain from it at all...or did she?"

"Seriously fun," he nodded. "You look a lot younger, and kind of, I don't know," he trailed off and gave her a rueful grin. "Sorry, I didn't mean young like you usually look old or anything like that."

His comment drove home the difference in their age. She was a woman, a predatory one in the moment, and he was a boy.

"A woman my age will always take the word young as a compliment." She took him off the hook.

"Age is a number," he smiled. "Only as old as you feel, right?" He gave her a smile she swore was flirty but knew that she'd want it to be, so wasn't sure it was real or her imagination.

"And today I thought I'd feel young," she dropped the double entendre casually, wondering if he'd pick it up. "Its good to feel young sometimes, even playful."

"That's the word," he snapped his fingers. "Playful!"

"You like playful?" Jesus she was already going too far too soon. "The look I mean?"

"I like the look on you." He pointed downward. "Those shoes don't say playful though."

"My shoes?" she looked down, feigning confusion. "What do they say?"

"Hardcore," he told her, those are some serious club shoes," he told her, then added with a knowing smile "I see what's going on."

"You do?" Her stomach tightened.

"I'm not dumb," he shook his head. "You're going out after work, aren't you? Little end of semester celebration?"

She relaxed somewhat; he'd given her an excuse for her outfit if she needed one.

"Got me," she gave him a smile she felt turned out to be more inviting than wry, but emboldened by the pass he'd unwittingly given her, she didn't care. "I'm thinking about having a good time after we talk."

"Then I don't want to keep you from that," he surprised her with a wink. "Work hard play hard, right?"

"Sometimes you can manage both if you're lucky." She returned the wink; and was instantly unnerved by how easily she was slipping into this game.

She gestured to the one chair remaining in front of her desk. Before he sat, she returned the favor, giving him a once over of her own. Damn, he was gorgeous. High cheek bones, coupled with a rugged jaw.

Those piercing green eyes, and the scruff of a couple of days growth around that perfect and bright smile. His shock of thick curly black hair that sometimes was gelled without so much as a hair out of place, other times a tousled mess, she knew was deliberate.

He wore a plain black URI T-shirt that hugged his well-developed upper arms and stretched across both his chest and broad shoulders. As always, he wore jeans, today a faded blue pair with the presold rips that kids paid extra for.

Miranda swore the jeans, like the t-shirt were bought small on purpose, because they hugged his ass, and called attention to that ever present bulge. She knew his cock would be as magnificent as it had been in her dream.

However big it was, Miranda would make use of all of it. Back in her wild high school and college days, she was quite popular due to the combination of her looks, amazing tits, and the fact she wasn't exactly hard to get.

Not just that, but she'd garnered a well earned reputation among the boys for giving amazing head. Miranda loved to suck cock and learning early on she had no gag reflex; there wasn't a cock she couldn't deep throat.

Now, all these years later, she could add experience to her unfortunately long unused skills and knew she could suck Tristan's dick far better than any of the little tarts he'd been with.

"You okay, Professor?"

"Oh, sorry" Miranda blinked. She'd been having a damn moment right in front of him, her mind once again making it clear which direction she wanted this to go. "I've been working late."

She continued as she sat down across from him, leaning back in the chair so he'd still have a good view of her chest.

"I wanted the class to have their exams early. That way if anyone has any questions or concerns, we have some time to discuss it."

"Perfect," he gave her a nervous smile. "Because I'd like to discuss mine."

This would be exactly what the depraved part of her had hoped would be the case. Tristan had been hovering around a high C all semester and needed to score in the mid-eighties on the final to get a B one for his final grade.

Unfortunately, his grade came out to 78, but she bumped him three points to an 81 so he could have a B for the test. He did seem to work hard and try; English just wasn't his thing as from what she heard from other professors he was a solid B occasional A student.

He was never late, never a problem in class except for the occasional texting which they all did, and always polite and respectful to her and the other students. Miranda was impressed by that, in her experience the good looking frat kid athlete tended to be an arrogant jerk.

It also made her recall Susan's remark that the fact he wasn't an asshole made her want him even more. However, regardless of all that, and him being her waking fantasy, she'd graded fairly, given him a slight bump, but she couldn't justify anything higher.

"I recall I gave you a low B so I don't know what the issue is," she replied.

"Right, thing is I'm on a scholarship."

"Athletic?"

"Yes, but because URI doesn't have a great baseball program the scholarship does focus heavy on my grades because its not like a lot of scouts come running here, and honestly I know I'm not good enough to play ball for a living."

"It should always be that way. These big money schools that give scholarships to kids for sports then let them half ass their classes and have people take their tests aren't helping these kids. Sports is no guarantee for a life skill."

"I agree," he nodded. "I have to maintain a 3.5 and I only managed a C in one of my majors, so I need an A in this class to make up for it."

"Tristan, I'm sure you know that even an A on this test would only give you a B for the semester," Miranda pointed out.

"I know, but I did the math and figured it would be a high B, and then maybe if you could kind of," he rolled his hand. "Round it up, I'd get an A."

"So, you're asking me to give you an A on the test and on top of that still bump your semester average up a few points for an A for a final grade?"

"I know it's a lot, but could you?"

"I've already helped you out, Tristan. Your score was lower, but I think you're a good young man and have always conducted yourself properly and respectfully in the classroom. So, I gave you a few more points on your essay to get you that B."

"I didn't know that," he admitted. "And I really appreciate that, and the nice things you just said, but Professor Willow, I really need that A. My parents split a couple of years ago.

"My father's a damn deadbeat who doesn't pay towards my school or anything else, and my mom already works two jobs just to keep the house up and food on the table."

"I'm sorry to hear that, I really am, but..."

"If I lose the scholarship, I can't pay for next year and I have to quit a handful of credits short of a degree. I'm not going to get a good job without one, and my mom's killing herself for me and she deserves me to be able to make her life easier."

'I'm sure she does, and you're an amazing young man for thinking that way." God, sexy, sweet, and cares about his mom? Tristan was doing what she thought was impossible and making her want him even more.

"But I can't do that," she continued. Hear that? You can't, so stop this sick game, right now. "You're asking me to jump you two grades."

"I was close to a B, and you gave me that. I figure that's half a grade, so the A makes it more like a grade and a half." He snapped his fingers. "Or just ten or so points. That's a better way to look at it."

"How is that fair to other students, Tristan?" Another good point to take the high road.

"It's not." He lowered his head. "And I know that, but I'm desperate. The C was in Professor Richards class and he's...well, you know."

"A pretentious petty asshole." Miranda nodded, then grinned at the look on his face. "I'm a short timer, I can say that now."

"He is, and you're leaving? Like for good?"

"Yes, I accepted an offer at Florida University. Time for a change."

"Oh, well good luck," he extended his hand, and she took it.

His hand was hard and calloused, and even though he barely squeezed her much smaller hand, she could feel the restrained strength in his grip, and it sent an unwanted thrill through her as she imagined him grabbing her hard, squeezing her, pinning her down.

"Some rough hands," she joked and opening her top drawer which she hadn't cleaned out yet removed the small bottle of lotion she kept there and handed it to him. "Feel free."

"It's lavender." He frowned. "Kind of girlie."

"Hey, no judgment." She laughed. "Besides, girls like soft hands."

"Some girls like rough hands too." He noted, then his eyes widened. "I'm sorry, that didn't sound right."

"It's okay," Miranda told him, thinking she'd pretty much just proved that with her previous thought. "I don't mind them myself." Okay, it was her turn to regret saying it, but of course she didn't.

"Well, hopefully your husband has them," he pushed on the top of the bottle squirting some in his palm.

"I'm divorced. That's why I'm moving, need a change of scenery."

"Damn, what fool would divorce a woman like you?" He rubbed the lotion between his hands.

"I'm sorry?"

"My bad. I'm kind of nervous and saying dumb things. I just mean you're pretty and you have a good job, and you seem really nice."

"Tristan, girls your age are pretty. I'm in my mid-forties, I'm sure I'm your mom's age."

"She's only 40."

"You need to work on knowing what to say to women, don't you?" she rolled her eyes.

"Guess so. I date girls not women, so talking to you is making me look like an idiot," he shrugged. "Guess I see why you're looking so playful, going out and making up for some lost time?"

"It would take a lot more than a night to make up for how much I've lost out on," she grunted, sounding more bitter than she'd meant to. "But speaking of girl's lavender is an aphrodisiac. Can't hurt to smell like it."

"Wow," he blinked. "I didn't know that."

"Learn something new every day." Why was she messing with this kid? Even as she thought it, she added. "But I doubt you have trouble with girls."

"I do okay, I guess." He looked at his hands, then sniffed them, first a quick sniff, then he inhaled deeply. "Must not work, I'm not in the mood."

He completely deadpanned the line, and Miranda burst out laughing.

"That was good!" She clapped. "Point for you."

"Can I get a few more and an A?"

"I can't, hon, and I'm sorry. You do seem like a good kid, but it's not right."

"Know why my hands feel this way?" He didn't wait for an answer. "Because I got a job working 6 to midnight five nights a week at Fed Ex loading and unloading trucks to help my mom with the mortgage because we were going to lose the house."

"Again, you're a good man, Tristan."

"I don't have as much time to study as I used to. Look at my grades before this semester, I have close to a 4.0. This and assholes class are the only C's I've gotten since goddamn middle school, and even then, they're almost B's. I just couldn't put as much time in."

"I'm sorry life is hard for you and your mom; it shouldn't have to be that way. Your father sounds like my ex, he stuck me with a lot of bills, almost lost my house from under me."

"But you have a good job, my mom works as a waitress and at Wal-Mart, all she wants is to see me do better, and I can! I just need to get through this year. Senior year I have less courses. I can work and have enough time for them."

Miranda thought about it. She was leaving after this class, anyway. Why not do a good deed on the way out the door? No, it wasn't fair. How many other kids had lost scholarships for not keeping up their grades?

"Please?" Tristan put his hands out. "There has to be something I can do. Extra credit?"

"Extra credit? Tristan the semester is over tomorrow there's no time." Sure, there was, no one would bother her until everyone had to be out by seven.

"But you still have tomorrow, and you haven't put my grade in yet."

"Maybe," she cautioned him with her finger. "I could talk to the Dean's office. Sometimes they can put in a word with the people who gave you the scholarship. You can claim a hardship maybe with your mom's financial situation and you having to work." Good Miranda was back as years of being a professional kicked in, trying to handle this the right way.

"They don't care, I'm just a number to them. You seem like you care that's why I'm asking, no," he corrected himself as he rose to his feet, clasping his hands together "I'm begging you, please help me with this."

"There's nothing I can do."

"You can do it," he snapped his fingers. "You just said you're leaving so it's not like anyone would find out!"

"Tristan," she shook her head. "No."

"It'll be good karma for you. Great start to a new life, right?"

"You're killing me," she sighed, and in more ways than one as her eyes darted to his crotch which was face level with her in the chair. She thought of her dream where she had been blowing him. Behind her lips, her tongue slid over her teeth, yearning to taste him.

Her mind drifted back to wondering how big he was and how she could be the best head he ever had. Better fuck too. She was a real woman who could handle a hard core fucking. Miranda bet if he were as hung as he looked, he had to go easy with the little bitches. Then again, she hadn't had it put to her good in so long maybe he'd have to go slow with her.

Nah, she'd let him just take her hard, use her, make her feel it. It would no doubt be a good pain. But that's after she'd show him the difference between a coed and a woman in her prime, make his damn eyes roll.

She craved the feeling of having her mouth stuffed with cock. Young hard cock. Miranda felt her face flushing and a trickle of sweat slid down her back.

"Professor Willow," he continued, his voice taking on a pleading tone. "There has to be something I can do."

Oh, there's plenty you could do.

"I told you, there's no time to get any extra credit."

"What about you?"

"Me?"

"Can I help you? Do you need something done? You're moving, right? I can help you pack or load your truck?"

He was speaking in a rush and his voice was beginning to tremble.

"That wouldn't be right," she said softly. "I'm your teacher."

"I'll help you after you're my teacher. No more teacher as of Friday. Give me the grade and then I'll do anything for you," he slowed himself down by taking a deep breath. "Anything."

She wasn't his teacher after Friday. After Friday when the last bell rang all he'd be is a young man doing something for her. That was her hall pass, she'd no longer be working for the school. He could meet her at her place, it wouldn't be as wrong.

But he'd already have the A. What if he stiffed her? Miranda lowered her gaze and tapped a red nail on the desk. Every dream, every waking fantasy had been of making this as wrong as possible, doing him right here in her office, on school property, still as his teacher.

"Professor?" She could hear the tremor in his voice. He desperately needed this, and it would be wrong to use that. But she needed something just as desperately, so they'd be helping each other out, what was so wrong about it?

It would be wrong if he didn't want her. She wouldn't want him to just do it because he had to. Another issue hit her, and so hard, before she could stop, she asked the question.

"Tristan, do you have a girlfriend?"

"Huh?" He looked justifiably surprised by the question, but then shrugged. "No, between school and work I'm always tired. The girls want to go out and I have no time or money."

"Good looking kid like you all alone. Kind of a shame, no?"

Miranda's voice also had a tremor to it, but one of excitement. If he'd answered yes to dating someone it would have been the end of the conversation. His answer of no on the other hand had just slammed the door on anything resembling morals and rational thought.