Sonata (Harry Styles FanFiction)

38. Otherwise

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To: BFellowes@nyu.edu

CC: HStyles@nyu.edu

From: CMcKenney@nyu.edu

Subject: Dismissal - Immediate Attention Required

Body:

Bruce,

I am in need of a progress report for my CCW212 course. I've just received an email from Dr. Augst requesting a written report by noon. As Harry Styles is proctoring the class in my stead, I need to see him immediately. If you could dismiss him within the hour, I would be very grateful. Thank you.

Caleb McKenney

Professor of Shakespearean Literature and Creative Writing

CMcKenney@nyu.edu

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"Make sure to delete the message from the sent folder and keep an eye on his inbox. We don't want daddy-kins seeing that you abused his email, yet again. He's starting to get more creative with his passwords," Jas warned, smirking at me as she got up, gathering her bag. I'd abused Caleb's position on more than one occasion, but surprisingly never for sex. I'd coerced extensions and negotiated excused absences, but I'd never used it as the Sex-R-Us depot.

"What would I do without you, Miss McKenney?" I laughed, picking up my Alexander McQueen tote, and linking my other arm through hers.

"Be stuck in class horny as hell."

"The things I do for Stella," I sighed, grinning maniacally at Jas as we made our way across campus.

Darien Grace

Any day now, superstar.

I checked Caleb's email for what had to be the eighth time since I'd walked into the main English building fifteen minutes ago. Every now and then, a stray student would rush down the hallway or a professor would struggle to balance his coffee on top of his laptop and the typical leaning tower of papers. Most of them didn't even notice me at all. They all had to be oblivious.

Sure, ignore the girl in black with purple fucking hair, suspiciously lurking outside of the room the professor she's boning is in.

I swore, for some of the most intelligent individuals in the country, these people were dumb as fuck. Literally, no common sense.

Rolling my eyes, I cranked the volume up on my beats, playing the recorded draft of my composition for the gala back to me on repeat. If I was going to be stuck outside, waiting with a lady boner, might as well get something done. I listened to the track at least three times before the doors to the lecture auditorium opened.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," he groaned, his eyes narrowing at me. My own narrowed, but the reasoning was obviously different. He was as delectable as always. The man was sinfully attractive. No one person should have been allowed to set me on a fast track to an orgasm by the tone of his voice. He had to be some sort of divine punishment.

As I drank him in, I found myself beginning to actually like the lowering temperatures. When I'd first moved here from the deep south, the winters had almost killed me; my hair had actually froze once. Jas hadn't warned me not to walk outside with my hair wet and it fucking froze— pieces had literally cracked off. I panicked and ran inside crying to Caleb and John. It was traumatizing.