bobfloydsbabe

[bobfloydsbabe]

matched with a man on one of the cursed apps and he immediately started interrogating me about being bi 🙃

[bobfloydsbabe]

[bobfloydsbabe]

ovulation pain, thou art a heartless bitch

[bobfloydsbabe]

i know wisdom teeth removal can hurt for a few days post-op, but fuckin’ hell is it painful

[bobfloydsbabe]

[bobfloydsbabe]

Update: Date went well, but it was more like hanging out with a friend. He was kinda boring ngl, and he didn’t laugh at my jokes which is just rude.

[bobfloydsbabe]

EVERYBODY STAY CALM

i have a date tomorrow

[bobfloydsbabe]

I’m out of surgery. It went really well overall. Now I’m just a little groggy and tired.

[bobfloydsbabe]

I’m having dental surgery tomorrow 🙃

[bobfloydsbabe]

[bobfloydsbabe]

a gift & an invitation | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob gets a gift and extends an invitation.

WARNINGS: academia au, age gap (mid-20s/late 30s), power imbalance, sexual tension, allusions to smut, mention of holidays/christmas. just bob being a horny softie. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 875

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss Professor Bob and Imogen so much, so I wrote a little blurb for them. This is the lead up to The Holiday Truce, which I swear I will finish one day even if it kills me. Enjoy!

“Dr. Floyd.” Dr. Kazansky smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as he meets him outside the staff lounge.

“Dr. Kazansky,” he greets back. He brushes rapidly melting snowflakes from his hair, a little antsy about why he’s being cornered in the corridor on the last day before the holiday break. “What can I do for you?”

“How are you finding it having a TA?”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Actually, it’s his own personal hell. How is he supposed to explain that his teaching assistant is on his mind all the time? Explain that he knows what her pussy feels like around his fingers? That he knows exactly what she looks like when she comes. ‘Fine��� doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I knew you’d like her,” his boss says with a self-satisfied smirk. Bob hopes the shitty corridor lighting covers the way his cheeks heat. “But I’m surprised you didn’t refuse.”

He’d wanted to. “She’s… persistent.” He had tried to tell her he didn’t need a teaching assistant, but she’d brushed him off every time. She kept coming back, and he gave up convincing her to leave him alone.

“She is,” he agrees, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Happy holidays, Dr. Floyd.”

He wishes his mentor happy holidays and hurries down the corridor to the safety of his office. He closes the door and shuts his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he only has to get through today, and then he has two glorious weeks of freedom.

“You okay there, Professor?” His blood runs cold. Not even his office is sacred anymore.

He opens his eyes and straightens his back. “Miss Van Doren.” He cuts across to his desk, setting his bag down with a thud, and frowns at the wrapped box in front of him.

He stares at the brown paper then turns his gaze to Imogen, who, to his utter shock, is not wearing a skirt for once. It should make him happy, but disappointment settles in his veins instead. “What’s this?”

She blinks her dark doe eyes at him in that way he’s come to recognize is anything but innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up his nose. She’s sitting on the sofa towards the back of his office. She spent the first few weeks as his TA digging it out from underneath piles of books, notes, and other teaching material, and he hates to admit that it’s nice to see the floor beyond the path from the door to his desk. She even found the missing black tower and white queen for his chess set.

He reaches for the perfectly square gift, running his fingers under the paper to loosen the tape. In his periphery, Imogen stands and approaches. Beneath the wrapping is an equally nondescript brown box, and inside he’s met with navy blue tissue paper.

What greets him is a ceramic cup. His eyes shoot up to Imogen, who’s picking her cuticles, giving away how nervous she’s feeling. “What’s this?”

The corners of her pull lips curl up and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Have a look.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, wishing she was wearing a skirt so he could get a look at those supple, creamy thighs. What he wouldn’t do to settle between them and dine on her center.

He reaches into the box, taking out the delicate ceramic. He raises it and studies the design on the outside, his eyes widening. “Is this…?”

“A teacup with a picture of a hunting cheetah? Yeah.”

He puts the cup down and stares at his TA, as beautiful as she is aggravating. He could kiss her. It’s been over a month, but he still remembers the taste of her lips. Can still recall how she felt when she came undone on his fingers. The memory has fueled so many masturbation sessions, it’s borderline pathological.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a thoughtful gift, so he changes the subject, trying to gather his thoughts.

Imogen scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going home.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” She walks back to the sofa and grabs her tote. “Are you not going to be with your family?” She slides it onto her shoulder and faces him.

“I went for Thanksgiving,” he replies, as if that explains anything. He doesn’t want to get into it and from Imogen’s vague answer, she’s right there with him.

She nods, biting her lip as she always does when she’s thinking. Her eyes meet his after what feels like an eternity of silence. “So you’ll be all alone on Christmas?”

“So will you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I guess so.”

Now it’s his turn to be quiet. He watches her. She watches him right back. He’s spent so much time fighting his attraction to her, struggling to keep his desire at bay, but when she looks at him like that? Like she wants him as much as he wants her? His mouth opens before his brain can catch up.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with me?”

I NO LONGER HAVE A TAGLIST. FOLLOW @bobfloydsbabe-library FOR UPDATES.

[bobfloydsbabe]

Professor Bob’s primary field of study is the Byzantine Empire and they would train cheetahs to use for hunting! I just couldn’t fit that part into the story in a way that felt natural 😆

I always look forward to your comments and I love that you pick out specific sections too. Thank you so much 🥹

a gift & an invitation | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob gets a gift and extends an invitation.

WARNINGS: academia au, age gap (mid-20s/late 30s), power imbalance, sexual tension, allusions to smut, mention of holidays/christmas. just bob being a horny softie. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 875

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss Professor Bob and Imogen so much, so I wrote a little blurb for them. This is the lead up to The Holiday Truce, which I swear I will finish one day even if it kills me. Enjoy!

“Dr. Floyd.” Dr. Kazansky smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as he meets him outside the staff lounge.

“Dr. Kazansky,” he greets back. He brushes rapidly melting snowflakes from his hair, a little antsy about why he’s being cornered in the corridor on the last day before the holiday break. “What can I do for you?”

“How are you finding it having a TA?”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Actually, it’s his own personal hell. How is he supposed to explain that his teaching assistant is on his mind all the time? Explain that he knows what her pussy feels like around his fingers? That he knows exactly what she looks like when she comes. ‘Fine’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I knew you’d like her,” his boss says with a self-satisfied smirk. Bob hopes the shitty corridor lighting covers the way his cheeks heat. “But I’m surprised you didn’t refuse.”

He’d wanted to. “She’s… persistent.” He had tried to tell her he didn’t need a teaching assistant, but she’d brushed him off every time. She kept coming back, and he gave up convincing her to leave him alone.

“She is,” he agrees, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Happy holidays, Dr. Floyd.”

He wishes his mentor happy holidays and hurries down the corridor to the safety of his office. He closes the door and shuts his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he only has to get through today, and then he has two glorious weeks of freedom.

“You okay there, Professor?” His blood runs cold. Not even his office is sacred anymore.

He opens his eyes and straightens his back. “Miss Van Doren.” He cuts across to his desk, setting his bag down with a thud, and frowns at the wrapped box in front of him.

He stares at the brown paper then turns his gaze to Imogen, who, to his utter shock, is not wearing a skirt for once. It should make him happy, but disappointment settles in his veins instead. “What’s this?”

She blinks her dark doe eyes at him in that way he’s come to recognize is anything but innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up his nose. She’s sitting on the sofa towards the back of his office. She spent the first few weeks as his TA digging it out from underneath piles of books, notes, and other teaching material, and he hates to admit that it’s nice to see the floor beyond the path from the door to his desk. She even found the missing black tower and white queen for his chess set.

He reaches for the perfectly square gift, running his fingers under the paper to loosen the tape. In his periphery, Imogen stands and approaches. Beneath the wrapping is an equally nondescript brown box, and inside he’s met with navy blue tissue paper.

What greets him is a ceramic cup. His eyes shoot up to Imogen, who’s picking her cuticles, giving away how nervous she’s feeling. “What’s this?”

The corners of her pull lips curl up and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Have a look.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, wishing she was wearing a skirt so he could get a look at those supple, creamy thighs. What he wouldn’t do to settle between them and dine on her center.

He reaches into the box, taking out the delicate ceramic. He raises it and studies the design on the outside, his eyes widening. “Is this…?”

“A teacup with a picture of a hunting cheetah? Yeah.”

He puts the cup down and stares at his TA, as beautiful as she is aggravating. He could kiss her. It’s been over a month, but he still remembers the taste of her lips. Can still recall how she felt when she came undone on his fingers. The memory has fueled so many masturbation sessions, it’s borderline pathological.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a thoughtful gift, so he changes the subject, trying to gather his thoughts.

Imogen scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going home.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” She walks back to the sofa and grabs her tote. “Are you not going to be with your family?” She slides it onto her shoulder and faces him.

“I went for Thanksgiving,” he replies, as if that explains anything. He doesn’t want to get into it and from Imogen’s vague answer, she’s right there with him.

She nods, biting her lip as she always does when she’s thinking. Her eyes meet his after what feels like an eternity of silence. “So you’ll be all alone on Christmas?”

“So will you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I guess so.”

Now it’s his turn to be quiet. He watches her. She watches him right back. He’s spent so much time fighting his attraction to her, struggling to keep his desire at bay, but when she looks at him like that? Like she wants him as much as he wants her? His mouth opens before his brain can catch up.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with me?”

I NO LONGER HAVE A TAGLIST. FOLLOW @bobfloydsbabe-library FOR UPDATES.

[bobfloydsbabe]

if this pimple gets any bigger people are going to think i’ve grown an extra head

[bobfloydsbabe]

Oh, poor baby Teddy! Please give him all the love and apologies from me 🥺

Professor Bob needed someone to challenge him, to entice him, to call him on his bullshit, and he certainly got that with Imogen. She loves to tease him, and she's in for one hell of a ride now that they've called a holiday truce 😏 👀

a gift & an invitation | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob gets a gift and extends an invitation.

WARNINGS: academia au, age gap (mid-20s/late 30s), power imbalance, sexual tension, allusions to smut, mention of holidays/christmas. just bob being a horny softie. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 875

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss Professor Bob and Imogen so much, so I wrote a little blurb for them. This is the lead up to The Holiday Truce, which I swear I will finish one day even if it kills me. Enjoy!

“Dr. Floyd.” Dr. Kazansky smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as he meets him outside the staff lounge.

“Dr. Kazansky,” he greets back. He brushes rapidly melting snowflakes from his hair, a little antsy about why he’s being cornered in the corridor on the last day before the holiday break. “What can I do for you?”

“How are you finding it having a TA?”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Actually, it’s his own personal hell. How is he supposed to explain that his teaching assistant is on his mind all the time? Explain that he knows what her pussy feels like around his fingers? That he knows exactly what she looks like when she comes. ‘Fine’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I knew you’d like her,” his boss says with a self-satisfied smirk. Bob hopes the shitty corridor lighting covers the way his cheeks heat. “But I’m surprised you didn’t refuse.”

He’d wanted to. “She’s… persistent.” He had tried to tell her he didn’t need a teaching assistant, but she’d brushed him off every time. She kept coming back, and he gave up convincing her to leave him alone.

“She is,” he agrees, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Happy holidays, Dr. Floyd.”

He wishes his mentor happy holidays and hurries down the corridor to the safety of his office. He closes the door and shuts his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he only has to get through today, and then he has two glorious weeks of freedom.

“You okay there, Professor?” His blood runs cold. Not even his office is sacred anymore.

He opens his eyes and straightens his back. “Miss Van Doren.” He cuts across to his desk, setting his bag down with a thud, and frowns at the wrapped box in front of him.

He stares at the brown paper then turns his gaze to Imogen, who, to his utter shock, is not wearing a skirt for once. It should make him happy, but disappointment settles in his veins instead. “What’s this?”

She blinks her dark doe eyes at him in that way he’s come to recognize is anything but innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up his nose. She’s sitting on the sofa towards the back of his office. She spent the first few weeks as his TA digging it out from underneath piles of books, notes, and other teaching material, and he hates to admit that it’s nice to see the floor beyond the path from the door to his desk. She even found the missing black tower and white queen for his chess set.

He reaches for the perfectly square gift, running his fingers under the paper to loosen the tape. In his periphery, Imogen stands and approaches. Beneath the wrapping is an equally nondescript brown box, and inside he’s met with navy blue tissue paper.

What greets him is a ceramic cup. His eyes shoot up to Imogen, who’s picking her cuticles, giving away how nervous she’s feeling. “What’s this?”

The corners of her pull lips curl up and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Have a look.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, wishing she was wearing a skirt so he could get a look at those supple, creamy thighs. What he wouldn’t do to settle between them and dine on her center.

He reaches into the box, taking out the delicate ceramic. He raises it and studies the design on the outside, his eyes widening. “Is this…?”

“A teacup with a picture of a hunting cheetah? Yeah.”

He puts the cup down and stares at his TA, as beautiful as she is aggravating. He could kiss her. It’s been over a month, but he still remembers the taste of her lips. Can still recall how she felt when she came undone on his fingers. The memory has fueled so many masturbation sessions, it’s borderline pathological.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a thoughtful gift, so he changes the subject, trying to gather his thoughts.

Imogen scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going home.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” She walks back to the sofa and grabs her tote. “Are you not going to be with your family?” She slides it onto her shoulder and faces him.

“I went for Thanksgiving,” he replies, as if that explains anything. He doesn’t want to get into it and from Imogen’s vague answer, she’s right there with him.

She nods, biting her lip as she always does when she’s thinking. Her eyes meet his after what feels like an eternity of silence. “So you’ll be all alone on Christmas?”

“So will you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I guess so.”

Now it’s his turn to be quiet. He watches her. She watches him right back. He’s spent so much time fighting his attraction to her, struggling to keep his desire at bay, but when she looks at him like that? Like she wants him as much as he wants her? His mouth opens before his brain can catch up.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with me?”

I NO LONGER HAVE A TAGLIST. FOLLOW @bobfloydsbabe-library FOR UPDATES.

[bobfloydsbabe]

I MISS THESE TWO SO MUCH IT HURTS.

Thank you for your enthusiasm and for loving them. I appreciate you! ✨✨

a gift & an invitation | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob gets a gift and extends an invitation.

WARNINGS: academia au, age gap (mid-20s/late 30s), power imbalance, sexual tension, allusions to smut, mention of holidays/christmas. just bob being a horny softie. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 875

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss Professor Bob and Imogen so much, so I wrote a little blurb for them. This is the lead up to The Holiday Truce, which I swear I will finish one day even if it kills me. Enjoy!

“Dr. Floyd.” Dr. Kazansky smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as he meets him outside the staff lounge.

“Dr. Kazansky,” he greets back. He brushes rapidly melting snowflakes from his hair, a little antsy about why he’s being cornered in the corridor on the last day before the holiday break. “What can I do for you?”

“How are you finding it having a TA?”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Actually, it’s his own personal hell. How is he supposed to explain that his teaching assistant is on his mind all the time? Explain that he knows what her pussy feels like around his fingers? That he knows exactly what she looks like when she comes. ‘Fine’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I knew you’d like her,” his boss says with a self-satisfied smirk. Bob hopes the shitty corridor lighting covers the way his cheeks heat. “But I’m surprised you didn’t refuse.”

He’d wanted to. “She’s… persistent.” He had tried to tell her he didn’t need a teaching assistant, but she’d brushed him off every time. She kept coming back, and he gave up convincing her to leave him alone.

“She is,” he agrees, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Happy holidays, Dr. Floyd.”

He wishes his mentor happy holidays and hurries down the corridor to the safety of his office. He closes the door and shuts his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he only has to get through today, and then he has two glorious weeks of freedom.

“You okay there, Professor?” His blood runs cold. Not even his office is sacred anymore.

He opens his eyes and straightens his back. “Miss Van Doren.” He cuts across to his desk, setting his bag down with a thud, and frowns at the wrapped box in front of him.

He stares at the brown paper then turns his gaze to Imogen, who, to his utter shock, is not wearing a skirt for once. It should make him happy, but disappointment settles in his veins instead. “What’s this?”

She blinks her dark doe eyes at him in that way he’s come to recognize is anything but innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up his nose. She’s sitting on the sofa towards the back of his office. She spent the first few weeks as his TA digging it out from underneath piles of books, notes, and other teaching material, and he hates to admit that it’s nice to see the floor beyond the path from the door to his desk. She even found the missing black tower and white queen for his chess set.

He reaches for the perfectly square gift, running his fingers under the paper to loosen the tape. In his periphery, Imogen stands and approaches. Beneath the wrapping is an equally nondescript brown box, and inside he’s met with navy blue tissue paper.

What greets him is a ceramic cup. His eyes shoot up to Imogen, who’s picking her cuticles, giving away how nervous she’s feeling. “What’s this?”

The corners of her pull lips curl up and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Have a look.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, wishing she was wearing a skirt so he could get a look at those supple, creamy thighs. What he wouldn’t do to settle between them and dine on her center.

He reaches into the box, taking out the delicate ceramic. He raises it and studies the design on the outside, his eyes widening. “Is this…?”

“A teacup with a picture of a hunting cheetah? Yeah.”

He puts the cup down and stares at his TA, as beautiful as she is aggravating. He could kiss her. It’s been over a month, but he still remembers the taste of her lips. Can still recall how she felt when she came undone on his fingers. The memory has fueled so many masturbation sessions, it’s borderline pathological.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a thoughtful gift, so he changes the subject, trying to gather his thoughts.

Imogen scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going home.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” She walks back to the sofa and grabs her tote. “Are you not going to be with your family?” She slides it onto her shoulder and faces him.

“I went for Thanksgiving,” he replies, as if that explains anything. He doesn’t want to get into it and from Imogen’s vague answer, she’s right there with him.

She nods, biting her lip as she always does when she’s thinking. Her eyes meet his after what feels like an eternity of silence. “So you’ll be all alone on Christmas?”

“So will you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I guess so.”

Now it’s his turn to be quiet. He watches her. She watches him right back. He’s spent so much time fighting his attraction to her, struggling to keep his desire at bay, but when she looks at him like that? Like she wants him as much as he wants her? His mouth opens before his brain can catch up.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with me?”

I NO LONGER HAVE A TAGLIST. FOLLOW @bobfloydsbabe-library FOR UPDATES.

[bobfloydsbabe]

i bought new shoes

[bobfloydsbabe]

a gift & an invitation | eccentric professor!bob floyd x oc

a gold rush fic

SUMMARY: Bob gets a gift and extends an invitation.

WARNINGS: academia au, age gap (mid-20s/late 30s), power imbalance, sexual tension, allusions to smut, mention of holidays/christmas. just bob being a horny softie. strictly 18+/minors dni

WORD COUNT: 875

PROFESSOR BOB MASTERLIST

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I miss Professor Bob and Imogen so much, so I wrote a little blurb for them. This is the lead up to The Holiday Truce, which I swear I will finish one day even if it kills me. Enjoy!

“Dr. Floyd.” Dr. Kazansky smiles, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening, as he meets him outside the staff lounge.

“Dr. Kazansky,” he greets back. He brushes rapidly melting snowflakes from his hair, a little antsy about why he’s being cornered in the corridor on the last day before the holiday break. “What can I do for you?”

“How are you finding it having a TA?”

“It’s, uh, fine.” Actually, it’s his own personal hell. How is he supposed to explain that his teaching assistant is on his mind all the time? Explain that he knows what her pussy feels like around his fingers? That he knows exactly what she looks like when she comes. ‘Fine’ doesn’t even begin to cover it.

“I knew you’d like her,” his boss says with a self-satisfied smirk. Bob hopes the shitty corridor lighting covers the way his cheeks heat. “But I’m surprised you didn’t refuse.”

He’d wanted to. “She’s… persistent.” He had tried to tell her he didn’t need a teaching assistant, but she’d brushed him off every time. She kept coming back, and he gave up convincing her to leave him alone.

“She is,” he agrees, patting Bob’s shoulder. “Happy holidays, Dr. Floyd.”

He wishes his mentor happy holidays and hurries down the corridor to the safety of his office. He closes the door and shuts his eyes for a moment, reminding himself that he only has to get through today, and then he has two glorious weeks of freedom.

“You okay there, Professor?” His blood runs cold. Not even his office is sacred anymore.

He opens his eyes and straightens his back. “Miss Van Doren.” He cuts across to his desk, setting his bag down with a thud, and frowns at the wrapped box in front of him.

He stares at the brown paper then turns his gaze to Imogen, who, to his utter shock, is not wearing a skirt for once. It should make him happy, but disappointment settles in his veins instead. “What’s this?”

She blinks her dark doe eyes at him in that way he’s come to recognize is anything but innocent. “I’m sure I don’t know.”

He grumbles, pushing his glasses back up his nose. She’s sitting on the sofa towards the back of his office. She spent the first few weeks as his TA digging it out from underneath piles of books, notes, and other teaching material, and he hates to admit that it’s nice to see the floor beyond the path from the door to his desk. She even found the missing black tower and white queen for his chess set.

He reaches for the perfectly square gift, running his fingers under the paper to loosen the tape. In his periphery, Imogen stands and approaches. Beneath the wrapping is an equally nondescript brown box, and inside he’s met with navy blue tissue paper.

What greets him is a ceramic cup. His eyes shoot up to Imogen, who’s picking her cuticles, giving away how nervous she’s feeling. “What’s this?”

The corners of her pull lips curl up and she shrugs nonchalantly. “Have a look.”

His gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, wishing she was wearing a skirt so he could get a look at those supple, creamy thighs. What he wouldn’t do to settle between them and dine on her center.

He reaches into the box, taking out the delicate ceramic. He raises it and studies the design on the outside, his eyes widening. “Is this…?”

“A teacup with a picture of a hunting cheetah? Yeah.”

He puts the cup down and stares at his TA, as beautiful as she is aggravating. He could kiss her. It’s been over a month, but he still remembers the taste of her lips. Can still recall how she felt when she came undone on his fingers. The memory has fueled so many masturbation sessions, it’s borderline pathological.

“What are you even doing here? I thought you’d be halfway home by now.”

He doesn’t know what to say to such a thoughtful gift, so he changes the subject, trying to gather his thoughts.

Imogen scoffs and crosses her arms in front of her chest. “I’m not going home.”

He frowns. “Why not?”

“Don’t want to.” She walks back to the sofa and grabs her tote. “Are you not going to be with your family?” She slides it onto her shoulder and faces him.

“I went for Thanksgiving,” he replies, as if that explains anything. He doesn’t want to get into it and from Imogen’s vague answer, she’s right there with him.

She nods, biting her lip as she always does when she’s thinking. Her eyes meet his after what feels like an eternity of silence. “So you’ll be all alone on Christmas?”

“So will you.”

She breathes out a laugh. “I guess so.”

Now it’s his turn to be quiet. He watches her. She watches him right back. He’s spent so much time fighting his attraction to her, struggling to keep his desire at bay, but when she looks at him like that? Like she wants him as much as he wants her? His mouth opens before his brain can catch up.

“Do you want to spend Christmas Eve with me?”

I NO LONGER HAVE A TAGLIST. FOLLOW @bobfloydsbabe-library FOR UPDATES.