I had things to do, and prolonging this agony wasn’t on that list.
The second I was in front of him, I strengthened my resolve, parted my legs and dipped my fingers between my thighs.
I could do this.
One orgasm for his silence.
No big deal.
Ha.
When I touched myself, I focused on the ‘V’ of his throat that had been revealed thanks to the way the top button on his shirt was unfastened.
As I dipped my fingers into my pussy for lube, I realized I was wet. Not drenched, but slick enough to help me out.
What about this horrendous situation had made me wet?
I didn’t have a mental argument over just how wrong my body’s natural response was, instead, I focused on getting this over with.
I had to be grateful he didn’t want me to suck him off or fuck him. This was mortifying and discomforting, a real lesson in humiliation, but that? Well, it would be devastating because I didn’t know if I could say no.
I was at an Ivy League college. The administration would fry me to a crisp if he went to them with what he’d seen. Especially since my grades had been dropping too. I was no valedictorian in the making, just an average student in a place of brilliance, whose one miracle had been the chance at getting a scholarship here.
Asking for two miracles in my lifetime was just greedy.
Which all meant, God help me, that I needed to please him.
And for some reason, pleasing him meant pleasing myself.
Rubbing my clit with one hand, I used the other to pump two fingers inside my pussy. As a result, it didn’t take as long for me to come. As release powered through me, my head fell back and my breath whooshed from my lips as I let myself come down from the high I hadn’t wanted in the first place.
My body tensed as I pulled my fingers out of my sex, and when I did, he spoke for the first time since he’d commanded me to move on top of his desk.
“Lick your fingers clean.”
Considering I’d never tasted myself before, I wasn’t over the moon about complying but, sucking it up—not literally—I cleaned my fingers.
When I shot him a narrow-eyed look, I saw that he at least appeared a tad more awake than he had before. The other day, I’d been sure he was asleep, for Christ’s sake.
For an endless moment, we stared at one another. I wasn’t sure if it was another standoff or if we were just transfixed, but for that moment? There was no hate in his eyes, and that was the only thing I could read.
I had no idea why, but I’d consider that a win.
❖
“Six thousand dollars?”
For a second, I was sure I was going to pass out, but the pawnbroker, who was already looking at me like Professor Maclean did—like I was a thief—would have been truly unimpressed if I’d fainted on his floor.
Still, my knees felt like cooked spaghetti, and I was pretty fucking certain that my entire body had gone way past al dente.
I blinked at the man who held hope in his hands, and whispered, “How do we do this?”
“You sure these are yours?” he replied, studying the proof of ownership once more with a weathered eye.
It would have been easier to lie, but instead, I pulled out the letter Mrs. Linden had given me. When he read it, he looked a little less concerned.
“You live over on Eighth and Hargreaves?”
I blinked at the man who looked like a cross between an Elvis impersonator, and a brother in Sons of Anarchy—yes, that was how bizarre he looked. “I do,” I confirmed.
“I know a Janowicz. If it’s the same schmuck, he is a grave robber. I can’t blame this Enid for telling you to get in there first.” He dipped his chin. “She passed over?”
My bottom lip quivered. “Not yet.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmured, seeming to sense how genuine my grief was.
“Thank you,” I whispered. “Can you help me? I need the money for childcare.”
He nodded and, with that, six thousand dollars less his fees were dropped into my bank account—away from my mother’s thieving fingers, there to use on Scottie’s safety.
As I left the seedy storefront that had smelled of musty paper and had been filled with items that once represented people’s hopes and dreams—just like Enid’s with those watches—for a second, I allowed myself to savor the freedom I now had.
Childcare was expensive, I knew that. I also knew that six thousand bucks wouldn’t last long unless I was careful, but the way I’d been raised? Careful was all I knew.
But at least now, I had a safety net. Some semblance of protection against the harsh realities of this cruel world. Mrs. Linden had done that for me. She’d done as she always had—tried to keep me safe.
There’d be no more need to cut things so close to the bone with money.
At least, not for a little while.
And, thank God, I could return the money I’d taken from the tips and the cash register at the coffee shop. That would definitely be a load off my mind.
My morning had been busy. First with sorting out Enid’s things, and then with my class and after. My main goal today had been to deal with the pawnbroker, but now that was done? I had about an hour until I had to get to the club where I worked.
Quickly calling my mother, relief flowed through me when she picked up with the delightful response of, “Yeah?”
“It’s me. Everything okay back there?”
My mom huffed out a sigh. “You do know I managed to raise you, don’t you? You turned out all right.”
I refrained from talking about the times my school had called in Child Welfare, and I’d been left to fend for myself, but it was hard going. Sometimes, I felt sure I could grab my mother by the hair and smash her face into the wall over and over again.
The violent thought usually stopped me from acting out on that urge. Mostly because I was sure it would do the opposite of what I wanted—give her brain damage and not shake some sense into her like I wanted to.
“Need me to come home before my shift?”
“I fed him and changed him. He’s sleeping now,” my mom grumbled, and I looked at the time on my phone a second, pulling it away from my ear and cringing because she was messing with his schedule.
Knowing it was too late to argue now, I mumbled, “I’ll see you soon. Don’t set the place on fire.”
She hissed out, “I did that once.”
“Twice,” I argued, but before things could devolve, I cut the call.
Sucking down air, I turned away from the street and stared at the box the pawnbroker had already placed in the window.
I could have taken a loan from him, one where I could pay him back at any point and get the watches back, but who was I kidding? As much as I loathed selling something Enid had kept all those years, I needed the money.
So it hurt to see the box in the window, and though I’d intended on calling her anyway, it dampened my heart some when I patched through to the nurses’ station on Enid’s ward.
I had a thousand questions for her, but the nurse told me Enid was asleep, and had been complaining of some pain, so she advised it was best to leave her to rest.
I wanted to argue, say that Enid had a long time to rest but didn’t have a long time to speak with me, but couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
Instead, I sighed, mumbled a farewell, and hung up.
Though I dawdled as I walked to my second job, I was still early, and while I felt like a spendthrift, I decided I was hungry and could afford to buy a burger from the joint next door.
It tasted divine. The beef was rich and juicy, and not like the stuff I bought to save money from the store. It exploded on my tongue, melting in my mouth while enabling me to savor the naughty goodness of all the accompaniments—oh yeah, it was go big or go home, so I had it topped off with bacon and cheese too.
Afterward, of course, I felt sinful, but fuck it.
The money wouldn’t last forever, I knew that, but one burger wasn�
��t going to break the bank.
Of course, the instant that thought crossed my mind was the minute I worried if it was. If it would break the bank with the trigger pull of me being slingshotted down a slippery slope that involved me making shitty choices when I couldn’t afford one wrong move.
Hell, I’d already made one wrong move and it had led to this situation with the professor. That alone was enough to make me have palpitations, because wrong didn’t even begin to describe what was going on with him.
As I sat in the restaurant, staring down at the meal I hadn’t intended on eating, on money I hadn’t intended on spending, dread curdled with fear.
The rash decision would have meant nothing to some people, but I just didn’t have the means to splurge on things. Not even a burger.
For so long, my life had been one long round of drudgery, followed by more hard work, and I’d taken it on because I’d known, after college, it would be worth it.
This burger, though a small blip on the radar, represented the start of an attitude change I couldn’t afford.
As a result, it made that curdling sensation in my stomach happen all the more, and made me doubly regret the meal I’d gorged on.
When I headed to the club, I threw myself into work, hoping to burn off the excess calories as well as disperse the guilt with the nastiness of cleaning the place, before a double shift behind the bar.
Crow was a kind of club-cum-chill out space. The music was always too loud, the clientele too damn swank for their own good, and we’d been raided by the cops four times in the past year.
For all that, by the end of my time here, I’d end up with a perforated eardrum and a brown nose from the, you guessed it, brown-nosing, but I quite enjoyed it.
More than the cafe.
There, the hours dragged by because though business was brisk, it wasn’t like the bar. Here, the second I’d grabbed someone’s money, another client was shoving theirs in my hand to get the next drink. I had three people hollering orders at me while I served someone. Time flew by. Not to mention, the tips helped me massively.
The cafe was more sedate, more relaxed, and I guessed it just didn’t fit me as well as it probably should have.
I liked working late nights too. I preferred to be in the dark with music I enjoyed, rather than having to get up at the asscrack of dawn to pour snooty city types their cup of morning Joe before they trawled into Manhattan to start their day.
Crow was a long, thin rectangle, that was a pain to clean, but once it was done, that was it until next Friday—the only time I pulled this chore. With housekeeping over, I had a quick wash in the restroom, then changed into the uniform in time for my next shift, which started with restocking the shelves before opening.
The bar stretched along the back wall, and working with me, there was a team of six serving the heaving crowds that surged inside from the second the doors opened. Beyond us, there was the dance floor that was overstuffed with humanity, and overhead, there was a kind of mezzanine with a VIP area—I never served up there. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure who did.
In our white shirts, denim skirts, and high tops, the all-female team rushed here and there as we served on command. What the lofty bartenders in VIP wore was as unknown to me as the purpose behind Area 51.
Three hours into my shift, my manager tugged my arm. “Phoebe? Time to head upstairs. One of the girls has called in sick.”
Sweat was beading on my brow as I reached up and swiped at it with my forearm. “Me?” I asked with a frown.
Michaela nodded. “Yeah. And before you argue, you’re the girl with the most experience down here.” Her slick, red lips curved with amusement like she’d known I’d argue and I hadn’t let her down.
Blinking down at her, because I was quite tall, I grimaced. “Should I get changed into a different uniform?” I motioned down at my outfit, but it was mostly in an attempt to divert her attention.
Knowing how most bars like this worked, because I’d been around the block as I tried to get a job that fit with my lifestyle, I knew the uniform in the VIP section would be swanky and skanky.
Maclean was right. I was a lardass and the uniform probably wouldn’t fit.
The burger churned inside me once more like a silent, pulsating warning, one that dared me not to heed my inner Scrooge again. Ignoring that side of me came with an accompaniment of guilt, and that was something else I couldn’t afford.
“No, no need. You just stay behind the bar and let the others serve.”
So, she was just as aware that I was fat.
Great.
There was no point in getting angry. This was NYC, after all. If you weren’t young, beautiful, and most importantly, thin, you didn’t exist. I was quite happy with being a shadow in the dark, and would have given my left tit for Maclean not to have shone a light on my path, one that illuminated me in his world, and one that guided me in a direction I hadn’t chosen and never would have.
With a grunt, I dipped my chin at Michaela and headed toward the end of the bar where I could exit the enclosed space.
As I moved, however, she grabbed my arm and frowned at me. “Are you okay?”
Surprised by the genuine concern in her voice, I asked, “Yeah?”
“Are you answering my question with a question?” she mocked, amusement lacing her words now.
My lips twitched. “Maybe?”
She snickered. “Seriously, you okay? I expected more arguing.”
“What’s the point?”
That had her sighing before she squeezed the arm she’d grabbed. “Tips are better up there,” she assured me, and that had me perking right up.
I could offset the stupid burger if I got more tips than usual.
Her words had me pasting on a bright smile that wasn’t totally phony. She snorted at the sight then slugged me in the shoulder. “Go get ‘em, tiger,” she teased, and I shot her a grin before darting off to start earning those bigger tips.
As I headed out from behind the bar, the sheer welter of humanity in the space, as always, overwhelmed me.
What people saw in these damn places bewildered me, but maybe that was because I saw this dump in the natural light.
With strobes and lasers, the mirrors in here looked pretty cool. There were huge figurines formed from an opaque white plastic that glowed in the dark, throbbing in time to the music. The shapes were forged into icicles, which considering the heat from all the people dancing, was beyond ironic.
As I slipped into the crowd, a guy grabbed my ass, making me jerk in surprise. When I was hauled into someone’s arms and twerked against, I scowled up into the stranger’s face and shoved at his chest when he twisted me in his arms.
When his cock pressed into my belly, disgust whirled inside me—who did that? Shoved their erection into a stranger’s stomach and, for even more ick factor, ground it into the soft mound like I’d pleaded with him to do so?
Eyes narrowing, I shoved at his shoulders and when he didn’t relinquish his hold on me, his eyes only narrowing in irritation if anything. I spat, “I work here. You either let me go or I call on a bouncer.”
“Not sure they’ll hear you,” the douche retorted, his hands dropping down to cup my ass all the more. When he squeezed my butt cheeks, I raised my leg and kneed him square in the balls.
When he howled, people around us snickered, but when I rushed off, I let him get caught up by the tide.
It wasn’t the first time I’d been propositioned here, and it wasn’t the first time I’d had to defend myself against unwanted groping, but damn, it was the first time I’d found satisfaction in kneeing someone in the balls.
Was that a good development?
Or a bad one?
And, when it boiled down to it, why hadn’t Professor Maclean’s repeated intimidation inspired a similar reaction in me?
Was it because he was beautiful when the guy on the dance floor was passably attractive?
If so, how much of a hypocrite was I when Mac
lean had made me do—
What had he made me do?
Forced me to masturbate in front of him.
He hadn’t touched me. Not once. I wasn’t even sure if he’d watched, for Christ’s sake. While he’d seemed more aware than Wednesday, that was like saying a koala was more on the ball than a sloth.
Uneasy, I headed up the steps toward the VIP section. Here, the lights were lower, and there was a private dance floor actual celebrities were known to frequent—not that I’d seen any, and not that I gave a damn.
Aiming for the bar, I froze when I saw Professor Maclean tucked in a corner booth.
My eyes widened at the sight of him.
What the hell was he doing here?
Was he keeping an eye on me or something?
It took everything I had not to walk over to him, to demand his purpose for being here, but then I realized how fucking stupid that was.
This was a club.
A popular one.
And though a college professor, he was the exact opposite of an old fuddy-duddy. Why wouldn’t he be at a club that was modern, trendy, and overloaded with women who shook their nonexistent asses on the dance floor?
Still, though the reasoning made sense, it didn’t cure me of my apprehension.
Him being here was weird. Weird that, in two days, I’d seen him in both my places of work, right?
I bit my bottom lip then decided to push thoughts of him aside.
If he was messing with me or if it really was a coincidence, either way, I had a job to do.
When I reached the bar, I was hustled behind it, given less than two minutes to acquaint myself with the space, and was relieved to note the booze was stored in the exact same layout as downstairs, just on a smaller scale and with a heavy focus on the higher-priced labels.
Up here, those weird glowing shapes were more of a feature—they were sofas, uncomfortable ones, and tables too. Those were the only sources of light, making it darker than usual, oddly enough, when I was already used to working in a nightclub where the major source of illumination was a laser.
The Professor: A Standalone Novel Page 6