Double Dirty Mountain Men(36)

“I don’t know,” she says, and leaves. I watch her walk down my drive and then away from my house as the snow falls. I want to chase her, but I know it won’t do any good, because she’s nothing if not stubborn.

Back inside my house, I want to shout and punch things. I want to take the lasagna out of the oven and smash it on the ground, throw the wine against the wall, let the fire burn the house down. But instead I force myself to think while I drink scotch.

I have to let her know. I have to convince her that she’s the only one, the only girl I’ve truly wanted in years, the only person I’ve ever felt this way about.

I sit quietly. I think. I’m a professor; thinking is what I do.

I don’t go to bed until I think I have a solution.



I think Greg sensed the urgency of this meeting, because he scheduled it for nine on Monday morning, the soonest it could be. My stomach is tying itself in knots as we sit in big, comfy chairs on opposite sides of his desk and he studies me carefully.

“Well, Ethan, I give up,” he says, bringing his coffee mug to his lips. “What’s this about?”

I’m about to risk everything. My career. The job that I love. The life I worked so hard for. If I get fired, I have no idea what I’ll do — it’s not like there’s a big demand for Latin translators these days.

But I have to try. I have to get Melody back, to prove that I’m willing to go to any lengths for her.

I take a deep breath.

“I’m in a relationship with a former student of mine,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady. “She’s an undergrad.”

His eyebrows arch upward instantly, and his coffee mug freezes halfway to his mouth.

“Ethan, are you serious?” he asks.





Chapter 25





Melody




Professor Sharpe calls me thirty-four times on Monday. He texts me again and again, but I mute him and ignore his voicemails. I just can’t look at them right now, can’t hear him lie any more.

I don’t know if he’s lying. I want to believe him. I do, but I don’t want to be an idiot, either. People don’t change, and I know that.

When I get home for the day, I check my email, still bundled up in my coat and scarf. A dozen emails from clubs and organizations, telling me how I should spend my after-school time; a promo email from the Gap; a few from friends.

And an email from Greg Cohen, the chair of the Classics Department.

I sit up straighter.

Melody,

I need to speak with you about an important matter. Could you come to my office tomorrow morning at ten?

Best,

Gregory Cohen

Oh fuck. I have no idea what this is about — Professor Sharpe? The A minus on my quiz? My thesis? Something else completely?

I feel like I’ve swallowed a lead weight as I pull my phone from my pocket and unmute Professor Sharpe’s texts. Just as I do, another one comes through:

I told Professor Cohen about our relationship.

Oh God. Oh God.

I don’t actually know if I could get in trouble for this. It can’t be a good idea, but could they fail me? Expel me? Worse?

What the hell could be worse?

I’m useless that night. I don’t get any homework done at all, and when Erica gets back, I’m just watching Netflix on my laptop in bed. I tell her I’m not feeling well, since it’s not like I can tell her the truth.

I don’t sleep well.



I’m outside Professor Cohen’s office at nine forty-five the next morning, just waiting anxiously. At nine fifty he walks down the hall, coat and scarf still on, and sees me sitting there.

As he unlocks his office door, he nods at me, and I follow him in nervously, sitting in a chair while he takes his outer layers off. He sits behind his desk and rubs one hand over his balding head.

Then he sighs.

“I might as well get right to it,” he says. “Ethan Sharpe tells me that you’re in a relationship with him.”

My face flushes bright, bright red.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he says, and leans back in his chair. “Melody, I have to tell you that while it’s not against policy for students to become involved with professors, as long as they’re not in that professor’s class, it’s rarely a good idea.”

I swallow and try to think of something to say, but my mind goes blank.

“On the other hand, I’ve been divorced twice, so it’s not like I could give much good relationship advice. You’re not being coerced or anything, are you?”

I shake my head, and he nods, then grabs a list from the side of his desk.

“Okay then,” he says. “Last but not least, we need to get you a new advisor.”



I call Professor Sharpe the moment I’m out of the Classics Department. It’s a bright, sunny day, even though there’s snow on the ground, so it’s nearly blinding outdoors.

“Melody,” he answers, breathlessly.

“Why’d you tell?” I ask, standing on a street corner, watching cars go by.

“I wanted you to know I was serious,” he says, his voice quick and low. “I want us to be together, Melody. Really together, because there’s no one else and there never will be, and I didn’t want to hide anymore.”

I pause. There never will be? Really?

My heart skips a beat.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before,” he says.

I clear my throat.

“That’s okay,” I say. “I... I’m sorry I freaked out and called you a liar.”

I think I can hear him smile over the phone.

“Forgiven,” he says. “Do you have class today? I want to show you how sorry I am.”

My heart beats faster, and my pussy throbs. I do have class, but Linguistics 240 has a pretty lenient absence policy — I can miss four whole classes before it affects my grade.

Meaning I can miss one today.

“No,” I say. “Not anymore.”

“Good,” he says. “Meet me at your apartment.”





Chapter 26





Professor Sharpe




I’m already standing outside her building when Melody walks up. I was supposed to teach today, but I emailed my Latin 102 students that I’m not feeling well and canceled class.

I don’t need class, I need her.

“Hey,” she says when she walks up, bundled up and braced against the cold. “Professor, I’m sorry I—”

I don’t let her finish her sentence. I just kiss her, her face cold but her lips warm. For the first time, we’re out in the open, standing on the street, where anyone could see us.

It feels incredible.

When she pulls back there’s a mischievous sparkle in her eye, and she bites her lip quickly. I still don’t think she knows she’s doing it, but I’m already rock hard watching her.

“Did you come by just for that?” she asks slyly. “Or do you want to come in? Erica’s in class all day.”

I kiss her again and push her gently toward her apartment door. The moment we’re inside, still taking off her hat and scarves and gloves, I kiss her again, more urgently this time and she yields below me, her soft, warm body ready for taking.

I slide my hands under her shirt, unfasten her bra, and pinch both of her hard, pebbled nipples between my fingers. She moans into my mouth, sucking on my tongue, and I push her backward into her bedroom, kicking the door shut behind her.

“I don’t fuck undergrads,” I say into her ear, pinching a little harder. “Just you.”

“I know,” she whispers.

I pull her shirt off and push Melody onto her bed, bending over her and taking one nipple in my mouth, sucking and licking it hard. She moans again, her hands in my hair, and I move to the other, already unbuttoning her jeans, desperate to taste her yet again.

I don’t understand it. Usually I’m bored of women by now, just going through the motions of sex until the time is right for me to end things, but not with her. I crave Melody and think about her constantly when we’re not together.

I slide her jeans over her hips, spread her thighs apart and run my tongue between her soft, delicate lips before swirling it around her clit, her body already buzzing and humming as I lavish attention on that sensitive button. This is about her right now, about how much I need and love her, and I want her to come again and again until she can barely speak.

“Professor,” she whispers somewhere above me, her hand tight in my hair. I move my tongue faster, sliding three fingers into her dripping pussy. She practically sucks me into her, moaning again, and I lap at her clit as hard and fast as I can, curling my fingers inside her channel.

“Please let me come,” she moans. “God, please—”

I suck hard on her clit and drive her over her the edge, feeling her clench around me like a fist closing.

“Jesus, you’re good at that,” she murmurs.

I don’t stop. I take my fingers out of her and work my tongue down to the delicate bud of her asshole as she gasps, then insert two fingers there, feeling her stretch as I suck her clit into my mouth yet again. She moans and bucks underneath my hand and mouth, losing herself completely to pleasure.

Good. I need her almost delirious with pleasure and utterly relaxed, because I’ve got something in store for her. Something that will overwhelm her completely, overpower her, and make her come uncontrollably hard.

I stand, bending over her and kissing her on the mouth. She sucks at me greedily, tasting herself as she tries to sit up, but I push her back down by the shoulder.