Dear Professor(47)

Nisha: K. No worries. Have a good two weeks off. Remember I’m here if you need me.

Me: Thanks. Have fun with your in-laws.

Nisha: Danny’s going to suffocate me in my sleep. Got it covered.

I snorted and put my phone back down. Like her husband would do that. The man was disgustingly infatuated with her.

“All sorted.”

“Good.”

An air of awkwardness hovered as I took my seat back at the small table. I wanted to tap my nails against the hard surface or click my tongue or something. Anything that cut through the silence had to be a winner. Hell, I’d even have sung.

I was remembering exactly why I didn’t give my number to the guys I worked with. It was to avoid these scenarios. These uncomfortable hi-what-do-I-say-now moments.

I sipped my wine and made sure not to look at him.

Jesus Christ.

I’d just fucked my professor.

A lump formed in my throat, and my stomach tightened. I’d set out to do it, but fuck. Shit. And, now, I was having dinner with him! What was I doing? Why had I allowed myself to be in this situation? Fuckshitfuck!

I grabbed my wine glass again, but this time, I didn’t sip. I swallowed the remaining wine in three mouthfuls. Jordan watched me with an amused curve of his lips, and I covered my eyes with my hand so I didn’t have to see him.

Oh boy. I’d just reserved my spot in Hell. Right next to Satan. I’d be his right-hand whore, more than likely.

Why not?

“You seem conflicted, Darcy.”

The calmness of his tone pissed me off. Like raised-hackles and pow-pow-angry pissed me off. It pounded through my veins, driven by adrenaline.

“Conflicted? Me? What makes you say that?” I reached for my glass, but fuck! Empty.

“Your shrill tone for one. Also the way your leg is tapping beneath the table and driving me fucking crazy. The wine was another clue.”

I snapped my head up and glared. “Are you laughing at me?”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. It was written all over the smug bastard’s handsome face.

“Agh!” I shoved my chair away from the table and stood. My feet took me to the middle of the room, where I stopped, put a hand on my hip, then smacked my palm into my forehead.

I needed to knock some sense into myself. And I needed to do it, like, ten days ago.

Maybe this is why dreamers rarely chase their dreams—because it’s too easy for them to crumble.

I could feel it balling inside me. The panic was becoming all too real as the reality of this situation washed over me. I’d been pushing it to the darkest corners of my mind even though I was living it, determined to escape it without accepting it.

And, now, as I stood in the middle of Jordan’s front room with my heart pounding desperately against my chest, I had to accept it.

I’d just fucked my professor. I would have to continue to fuck my professor. I would have to continue to feel the desire and need and other emotions I’d kept buried for so long.

The clink of a fork being put down drew me out of my thoughts. A chair scraped against the floor, and I took a deep, steadying breath. I felt his presence more than I saw it. It was the tiny shift in the air as he became a sliver of calm amongst the chaos of my mind.

“Talk.”

One word. It had been said so gently that, if I hadn’t known for sure it was him, I would have questioned the identity of the speaker. He hadn’t demanded it… He’d requested. Asked me.#p#分页标题#e#

“Do you ever…” I dropped my hand and looked up.

He was standing in front of me, peering down at me with questions in his bright eyes. God, they are captivating.

“Have you thought about this?” I flapped my hand between us. “This situation.”

He didn’t answer me. He just stood there and stared at me unwaveringly.

“Like, shit!” I stepped back from him and ran my fingers through my hair. “Have you actually considered the ramifications of this? What could happen if someone finds out? I’m a student. You’re my professor. You’re supposed to teach me, not fuck me!”

“There are worse things in life than two consenting adults in a sexual relationship.”

“But you are my professor!” My voice was getting louder, and I jabbed him in the chest with a finger. “My teacher.” Another jab. “You’re ten years older than I am!”

“You think I don’t know that?” He grabbed my wrist, his growl echoing through the air. “You think I don’t know how fucking old you are? That I shouldn’t even look at you, never mind touch you? You think I don’t fucking know this is wrong, sweet thing? ’Cause I do. I know exactly how fucking wrong this is. I know I sure as shit shouldn’t be standing here right now, wanting to flip you over and fuck you again.”