The very same kiss I’d liked.
I was so fucked.
Dear Professor, I really, really hate you. Xoxo, Darcy.
I had no idea what I was supposed to do. If I were a man, he’d have me well and truly by the balls, and I was pretty freaking sure he’d be twisting the ever-loving shit of them.
I didn’t have much time to make a decision over what I was going to do. He had the upper hand in every situation. Sure, I could tell someone what he’d propositioned, but when it came down to an investigation, who would be believed?
The slut who strips on camera or the respected history professor?
It would be twisted back on me. I was sure he’d twist it so expertly that I’d be suffocated by his words. It felt like everything that had seemed so bright yesterday morning was now nothing more than a dull layer of gray cloud, ready to rain hell down on me. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, except I wasn’t standing on solid ground. I was standing on quicksand, and as each hour ticked by¸ I was sinking deeper and deeper.
And it was all because of him. Every single inch I sank was his fault. Him and his stupid ass proposition.
I moved through my midday cam show with the enthusiasm of a slug. At the end, I apologized for it and begged off sick. It worked with my client. He told me not to worry, that he understood and hoped I’d feel better soon. Then he thanked me for the show, which was apparently still one of the better ones he’d seen.
Now, I was sitting in my room, staring at a blank space on the wall opposite me. I couldn’t really do it, could I? What Professor Keaton wanted? Was it worth the risk of stepping away without the letter, knowing he could say something anyway?
But what if I said yes and got caught? I’d never exactly educated myself on the laws of student-teacher relationships, but I wasn’t dumb enough to think they were legal in any kind of way. So not only was he proposing something morally wrong, he was proposing something legally wrong.
So, why the fuck was I, as a law student, even contemplating it?
Maybe because I’d spent half the night waking up in a hot sweat after doing exactly what he’d demanded of me in the last show I’d done for him: imagining that he was the one fucking me instead of the vibrator. I hadn’t been able to get the images out of my head no matter how many times I’d rolled over or tried to force myself to dream about something else. I just hadn’t.#p#分页标题#e#
It’d been driving me crazy all morning. I swore I’d felt the whisper of his touch on the back of my neck more than once, but that was nothing more than a coincidental meeting of a breeze and my imagination. Still, it said a lot that it was so strong in my mind.
And the kiss.
That final kiss had been perhaps the most torturous. It hadn’t been hard by any means, but I’d felt the bruise of his touch for hours afterward. It was the distinct heat of having someone kiss you because they wanted to.
That was it, wasn’t it? What it ultimately came down to? My job, while filled with intimate touches and pleasure, was cold. I never meant it as I kissed the guy I was screwing on camera. I felt nothing as I slid my hands down his body and sucked his cock. I felt even less as we maneuvered into whatever position we needed to be in and fucked.
It was just cold. Emotionless. It was a rare day that I felt desired or wanted by any of the guys I had to get it on with. So rare that I could probably count the times on one of my hands and still have fingers left over. I liked it that way. I’d closed my emotions off after Griffin had died and I had known what it was to hurt so badly that it felt like living was impossible. I liked the coldness of my job, but that didn’t mean that, sometimes, it would be nice to be desired.
And yesterday, God help me, the man had made me feel wanted. Slow words in his deep voice, red-hot touch, a kiss that had burned…
The thought of it made me swallow. It was insanity. I knew it. I couldn’t honestly agree to what he wanted. He was my fucking professor.
Somehow, no matter how many times I told myself that, it didn’t matter. It didn’t change a thing. Maybe my want to be wanted was starting to cloud my judgment, because damn it, I wanted to agree.
I wanted to say yes.
I wanted—no, I needed—my letter. A full set would do me wonders. And six weeks wasn’t much. He couldn’t want that much from me, could he?
Jesus Christ, Darcy.
I was really considering it, wasn’t I? I was honestly thinking about having an affair with my professor. One that I knew could go one of two ways, but the catch was that both ways led to everything up in flames.
I jumped as three knocks sounded at my bedroom door. “Yeah?” I said, rolling my head to the side on the pillow.