Dear Professor(19)

Subject: Yes, really.



Dear Professor,

I don’t agree at all. There’s no stipulation regarding the gender of the third party, nor do you lay out the specific relations determined by gender. If the third party is a woman, am I expected to lick her pussy while she fucks you? Will she do that to me? If the third party is a man, am I expected to suck his cock while you fuck me, or vice versa?

I’m sure you can understand my issue with this highly vague clause. Your response will be appreciated now, sir.

Xoxo, Darcy.



To: darcyh_345@gmail.com

From: jkeat@gmail.com

Subject: This isn’t a conversation for here.



Fifteen minutes. Meet me outside the old abandoned house just off Mercy Road.





Mercy Road.

The irony. It was a bitch.



To: jkeat@gmail.com

From: darcyh_345@gmail.com



Dear Professor,

You got it.

Xoxo, Darcy.





Mercy House—the street had been named for the house, not the other way around—had been standing in town for two hundred years. It’d undergone many reservations in the last century, but fifty years ago, it had been abandoned without reason. The family who owned it had just upped and left, and now, all that was left of the majestic building with a Victorian wraparound porch was a shell of what once had been, its outer walls decorated in ivy. It came with many of the rumors that old houses did—ghosts, tragic stories, untimely deaths.

Still, it was just a house, a central landmark in town. Most commonly the site of dares and pranks by tweens and teens. And it was about to add another thing to that list—the place where I would meet my professor for a conversation that could change my life.

I wish I’d been more prepared.

The gentle evening breeze held a slight chill as it pushed my dark hair over my face. I reached up to push it back and shut my car door. My stomach rolled with nerves, and I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm them.

It didn’t work.

In the ten minutes it’d taken me to drive there from Dalton House, I’d gone from sassy as hell to scared as fuck. My fight instinct had done exactly what I wanted to—it’d run away. But I’d agreed, I was there, and I had to deal with the consequences.#p#分页标题#e#

I still didn’t like it though.

I leaned against my car and checked my phone. There was an e-mail icon blinking at me, so I opened the message. My heart jumped into my throat as I read the instructions that told me to walk around the corner. I felt like I was entering into a drug deal or something… or trying to get the last cappuccino pod for the coffee maker on a Monday morning.

I forced my feet to step one in front of the other. It was possibly one of the hardest things I’d ever done, but there was a niggle of uncertainty behind my apprehension that just felt…out of place, almost. As though I were firing the uncertainty at myself because I wasn’t feeling as scared as I thought I was.

No, I realized with a sobering hit. I wasn’t scared.

I was a little bit excited.

I felt very much like a good girl gone bad… Well, badder. There wasn’t much left of me to go bad, if I was being honest with myself. But this… This was bad. This was forbidden. Risky. Dangerous.

I liked it.

I shook those thoughts off as I rounded the corner of Mercy House. A black SUV was parked against the curb, and as I approached it, the passenger’s side door opened. The dim light lighting up the interior glimmered over the features of the man sitting on the driver’s side, and even in the almost-darkness, his eyes were unmistakable.

Swallowing hard, I clutched my phone and got into the car. He didn’t say a thing as he leaned over me to grab the door. He slammed it shut and sat back in his chair. Silence rang out, deafeningly loud, as the seconds ticked past. My mouth went dry, which forced me to lick my lips.

His gaze burned into me. I felt his eyes as they followed the sweeping motion of my tongue as it moved over my lips. It didn’t help—instantly, my lips dried out again. I resisted the urge to lick them again and, instead, parted them to take a deep breath.

He was like a hawk waiting for its prey to cross his path. Except I already had. I was simply waiting for him to sweep in and devour me.

“Nervous, Darcy?”

I turned my face toward him, hating the way his lips quirked to one side. “Should I be?”

“Do you think you should be?”

I bit the inside of my lip. “Honestly? Yes.”

His smirk grew into a smile that reeked of self-satisfaction. He gave the impression that he got off on my being uncomfortable, that he liked the idea of my being nervous around him.

Shit—what would the man do if he knew just how afraid I was?