The Professor: A Standalone Novel

by Akeroyd, Serena

  Would she leave Scottie with me?

  While it was an imposition, I wouldn’t have minded—a fact that surprised me.

  I hadn’t held a baby since Rosa had passed away. If anything, I’d gone out of my way to avoid children, yet here I was, inviting one straight into my inner sanctum.

  Her footsteps were soft, light, and I thought back to when I’d called her fat, and wondered what world we lived in where she believed me.

  She was perfection in female form.

  All rounded and soft. Smooth curves instead of hard lines.

  “Professor?” she whispered, and her scent seemed to follow her.

  “I told you to call me Nicholas,” I rasped, and knew that she jerked in surprise at my hard tone and hated myself for getting a thrill out of it.

  It was delicious to me when she responded out of fear. If anyone was scared, it was me. I was the one who was obsessed. I was the one who was terrified about being found out, and yet the object of my obsession was frightened of annoying me.

  Irony was best served with a side of pussy, I found.

  And if it was her pussy?

  God, I’d lap that up every damn day of the week.

  She cleared her throat. “Nicholas.”

  “Yes?” I tilted my head to the side and found she was studying me. She wasn’t scared though. If anything, she was eying me like I did when I worked hard not to eye her.

  She was attracted to me. I knew that. She saw the face and not the demons within.

  Why was it the monsters were always couched inside a beautiful form?

  As she licked her lips, I fought a groan.

  “What is it, Phoebe?” I demanded, knowing that if I didn’t prompt her, she’d just gawp at me.

  Though I scared her, she was as fascinated by me as I was by her. Even before my blackmail, I’d sensed her regard in class where she looked at me like I was a juicy steak, and she’d been vegan for a decade.

  “I was hungry. Would you mind if I made us something to eat?”

  My heart quickened at her inclusion of me. “You don’t have to ask. I told you, treat the place as your home.”

  Her eyes shifted from mine and quickly darted around the place. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that this loft was entirely unlike her old home.

  “Yes, well… would you mind?”

  “Feel free. I’d appreciate that.” And I would.

  Gina had never cooked for me.

  I’d never wanted her to though. Not like I wanted Phoebe to cook for me.

  To care whether I was full or not.

  The nurturing side of her character was something I couldn’t have anticipated. I saw her timid friendliness with others, her quiet humility, and the low self-esteem that had her darting through life like a hungry mouse on an assault course. She had a habit of running a few minutes late—understandable now that I was aware of Scottie—and would always help her colleagues out in a pinch.

  She was, I knew, a good person.

  She didn’t, I also knew, deserve to have someone like me in her life.

  Someone who’d taken advantage of what I’d seen, of her pocketing something from the till, and had used it to force a link between us.

  As I always did, I’d intended on sneaking out of the coffee shop while she was in the kitchen. But when I’d been watching her, waiting for her to leave the storefront, I’d seen her grab the twenty from the tip jar and the ten from the register.

  Disappointed wasn’t the word, but even as I’d been angry at her, I’d known I could use it to my gain.

  And here we were.

  Five weeks later.

  Phoebe and her infant sibling were in my loft, and she was offering to make me lunch.

  Life had a strange way of turning out.

  Nicholas

  Chapter Nine

  I heard the door to the loft open, and as she’d done for the last few nights, she stepped out onto the balcony almost as soon as she made it inside.

  I’d been kind, not wanting to scare her off, and had contained myself, but tonight the beast was riding me.

  Hard.

  With the snick of the patio door opening, I slipped to my feet and headed out of my bedroom.

  Before I followed her, I went to her room and quickly dipped my head inside.

  Though Rosa had been dead for four years, I still remembered the routine, and when, that first night, she’d started to get him ready with the intention of taking him to a babysitter she’d arranged, I’d told her not to be foolish and that I could manage a one-year-old.

  Of course, I couldn’t.

  Of course, I’d lied.

  I needed her to need me.

  Wanted her to depend on me.

  And if she did, then incrementally, I could relax. Loosen the taut reins I had on myself.

  My throat was tight as I quickly checked on Scottie, who was a far easier baby than Rosa had been. But then, my baby girl had been spoiled for attention and I could tell that though Scottie was used to Phoebe’s focus, he was also used to being left on his own.

  A notion that both saddened and angered me.

  How many other babies were like him?

  Abandoned by their mothers, left to relatives to raise? And Phoebe was just barely an adult. Sure, there were younger mothers, but she wasn’t his mother. She was his sister. Still, you wouldn’t be able to tell.

  When she left him, his face would turn bright red but he wouldn’t cry. It was like his fury was internalized. I had to admit, I’d never seen anything more terrifying than a baby with his sense of control.

  Rosa would have bawled her eyes out. Had done so every time we’d left her with my parents or Gina’s. But Scottie? He was one of those babies who slept the whole night through because he was accustomed to being ignored.

  A month ago, I’d have blamed Phoebe for that. Wanted to attribute something, anything, negative to her. But instead, I was sympathetic now. I knew how hard she worked, how hard she strived, and she’d done the right thing by taking Scottie away from her mother.

  A month ago, I wouldn’t have said this was a safe place for her. Not with me in the vicinity. But with Scottie here? I’d do nothing to put him in jeopardy. Would do nothing to unsettle him, not after he’d had a short life of being passed around from pillar to post.

  It was hard not following her everywhere, hard staying at home while she went out to work at Crow, but it was getting easier.

  Knowing Scottie was safe made my not keeping an eye on her bearable.

  As I rubbed a finger down his cheek, he didn’t stir, so I left him to rest and headed out to the balcony.

  She was safe from me, but that didn’t mean I wanted her to know it.

  Nor did it mean I wasn’t ready to see her pretty pussy again.

  My cock hardened as I stepped onto the balcony, where she was leaning over the railing and staring out into the distance.

  From here, you could see Brooklyn Bridge and all the way over to the Seaport and the Lower East Side areas. I knew why she was fascinated by the view, but me? I was more interested in her ass.

  I’d studied that heart shape so often that I could imagine what it felt like to hold it in my hands. But I wouldn’t touch.

  I couldn’t.

  “Thank you for letting me stay here.” That she knew I was watching came as a surprise, and when I didn’t reply, she turned to look over her shoulder and smiled at me.

  To any other man, that wasn’t a siren’s song, but to me, it was. My own personal fucking torture.

  God, the urge to take that smile away was ripe, and I was such a twisted fuck that the only way I could control myself was to hurt her. Verbally. To diminish her self-worth, to make her feel like shit.

  What kind of a cunt did that?

  Who made their woman feel that way?

  The words burned on my tongue, evil and vile, but I wasn’t that man. If she was going to be my woman—not that she was aware of that yet—then I couldn’t treat her so ba
dly.

  I wanted her.

  More than I wanted my next breath.

  If I pushed her away, it would kill me.

  And so, though it was one of the hardest things I’d ever done, I held my tongue and moved toward her, coming within a hairsbreadth of her body, and calmly said, “You’re welcome. But I’ve already told you that.”

  She hummed under her breath and the sound made me wonder what that would feel like when she was sucking my cock.

  She turned to look at the view once more. “I miss her,” she whispered.

  “Mrs. Linden?”

  “Yeah.”

  I wanted to touch her, but didn’t dare. “That’s natural.” Christ, did I have to sound like such a fucking robot? I despaired for myself sometimes. I truly did.

  Rubbing my forehead instead of reaching out to touch her, I amended, “I mean, the pain will go with time, but embrace it while it’s here.” I could tell that surprised her because she twisted to look at me.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that the pain is your love for her. It won’t die, it will only blossom with time as she becomes a part of your memories. But the pain and the love make them more deeply entrenched in your soul.”

  Her eyes widened. “That’s a beautiful way to think of it, Nicholas.”

  I shrugged. “Hardly.” Because I didn’t like the way she was looking at me, like I’d reinvented the wheel or something, I changed the subject and blurted out, “How was work?”

  “Tiring.” She hung her head. “I’m tired of working nights but the money is beyond good. The tips were crazy tonight.” She fell silent then, her gaze turned out toward the city that brushed her with its lights. Painting her in colors that merely illuminated her beauty.

  For a second, I was a sycophant.

  Nothing more than a worshipper at a goddess’ altar as I breathed in the same cherished air as her.

  “I need to start looking for somewhere else to live.”

  The words were loaded with embarrassment, and though my immediate reaction was to snarl at her, I didn’t because I heard something in her voice—she liked it here, and was only making the suggestion because it was what people in her position did.

  Phoebe, however, was unaware of her position. Her true position.

  Without batting an eyelid, I murmured, “Spread your legs.”

  She reared back as was her way when I surprised her, but when she caught my eye, she saw something in mine that had her cutting off her response.

  When she licked her lips, I knew I had her.

  Her weight pressed harder onto the railing as she parted her legs and shoved her butt in the air—a sight that turned my bones molten.

  “Are you wearing panties?” I asked, turning my head so I could whisper the words into her ear. The second my breath touched her, she shuddered.

  “No.”

  “Good girl,” I praised, both surprised she’d taken my instructions and made them a rule but also enraged that she’d been at Crow, panty-less for the past few days, without my protection.

  God, if any motherfucker dared touch her… I’d call Jay and ask him to have his bouncers tear the bastards a new one.

  When a breath hiccupped from her lips, I could practically taste her excitement.

  Whatever it was about me, about what I said or did to her, it made her hot. It fizzled in her core, enticing her as much as another man’s kiss might.

  “Are you wet?”

  “Y-Yes,” she moaned, her head dropping as though she couldn’t bear to carry the weight.

  “Good.” I fell silent, content to let her suffer, content to let her stay there in that stasis of misery, a state I existed in perpetually because of her.

  Hungry for her.

  Ravenous for her taste, for her touch.

  The sound of her overexcited breathing was like a caress to my cock, and my lips curved in a smirk as I stared over at Manhattan.

  I could live there if I wanted, but I preferred Williamsburg. Preferred looking at the beehive than being a part of it, and I especially appreciated the seclusion of this balcony that allowed me to behold the magnificence of NYC, while tormenting the woman who tormented me with every breath she took, knowing that no one else could see her.

  “P-Please, professor.”

  At any other time, her failure to use my given name would have pissed me off. But now?

  It fit.

  I hadn’t thought it would.

  Hadn’t imagined I’d like the reminder, but appreciate it I did.

  “Please what?” I inquired coolly.

  “L-Let me touch myself.”

  Her words sent relief crashing through me. I might never be able to touch her, might never trust myself with her, and I’d feared the change in circumstances would make her think our unusual arrangement had changed too.

  “Why?” I questioned, like I was asking her to defend a statement she’d made in my class.

  And fuck if I wouldn’t be thinking about this the next time we were on campus.

  “Because I need to come.”

  “Do you deserve to come?” I queried.

  She was quiet for a second. “I worked hard today, so yes.”

  Finding myself amused by her retort, and well aware that my amusement laced my reply, I said, “Then, by all means, find your pleasure.”

  A whimper of relief came from her parted lips, and I wanted to taste it so badly, that it took all I had not to make my move. Instead, in the city lights, I watched her lift her skirt with one hand, not stopping until she dragged it around her waist, and with her pussy bared to me and the terrace, she slipped her fingers between her thighs.

  The second skin touched skin, she moaned, and I closed my eyes. The scent and power of her was so overbearing that I couldn’t stand to look at her for a second.

  Her fingers moved fast, faster than usual, and she didn’t plunge them inside her pussy, didn’t fuck herself, just focused on her clit. She worked herself high, hard and fast, and just when she was about to come, I breathed in her ear, “Stop.”

  I felt her temptation to disobey me, felt it, longed for her lack of obeisance, but instead, she paused, and as her fingers stopped, she mewled in distress.

  “Suck them clean,” I ordered her, as I’d done many times before. “What do they taste like?”

  “Salty. Sweet.” They were her usual answers. But she surprised me. “Need. Want. Desire.”

  “Desire for what?”

  She exhaled roughly. “You.”

  The single word ignited fireworks in my soul. But she couldn’t have me. Not in that way.

  “Make yourself come.”

  A disappointed moan escaped her, and I realized she’d been asking me to fuck her.

  How I wanted to.

  How I fucking needed to.

  I clenched my jaw, and the second she cried out with pleasure as she found her release, I walked off, left her outside with her climax to keep her company, because if I didn’t?

  There’d be no saving either of us.

  ❖

  The scent of bacon filled the air when I awoke the next morning, and as I’d discovered, my stomach stirred at the same rate as my cock when I thought of Phoebe cooking in my kitchen.

  If the fridge was stocked, she cooked, and that was a decided advantage to having her living here. While I could be accused of sounding chauvinistic, I was already red for dead with the whole stalker shit, plus, I’d been known to buy bags of Iceberg lettuce, eat it straight from the wrapper, and call that a salad.

  I needed all the help I could get.

  Phoebe wasn’t exactly a gourmet chef, but I appreciated her time and effort, and loved that she wanted to feed me.

  Gina hadn’t been like that.

  Which was another way they were different, another way in which I could find relief at the lack of similarities between my ex and Phoebe. What had started the compulsion where she was concerned, no longer drove it.

  Phoebe was fire e
nough on her own to spur me on.

  As I rolled onto my belly, I shoved my cock into the duvet, appreciating the ache it caused. The masochistic pleasure was all I was allowed when I was punishing myself for being a creep, so even as I enjoyed the pain, I enjoyed the timid knock on my bedroom door even more.

  She’d taken to doing that.

  Knocking on the door to wake me up.

  Not even the lightest sleeper in the world would hear that tap though.

  “I’ll be out in a minute,” I called out huskily, and hearing the swift tap-tap of her footsteps, knew she was scuttling back to the kitchen.

  She was an odd one, that was for sure.

  Half terrified of me, half aroused by me. I knew she liked it when I tempted her, taunted her even. Knew she liked to challenge me and reveled in testing my control.

  Maybe the two of us were just the perfect amount of weird to suit one another down to the ground.

  The thought put a smile on my face, and since it was a Monday morning, smiles should have been illegal.

  I didn’t bother showering, just grabbed a robe and dragged it over the tee and briefs I slept in. Knotting the robe loosely at my hips, I yawned as I stepped into the hall and heard Phoebe singing.

  Fucking singing.

  I didn’t care that it was a nursery rhyme, one that was her attempt at wheedling Scottie into eating something, it just set my nerves on red alert.

  I found that the many memories of Rosa were battering me on all fronts, but what I was surprised by was how well I dealt with it.

  My daughter had been gone far longer than I’d had her, but that didn’t diminish my pain any. Didn’t diminish Gina’s either. It was why she’d gone crazy, after all. Losing Rosa had fucked with her already fucked-up head, and had turned her from a successful lawyer who was on the right trajectory for DA, into a whacked she-devil who’d given me more physical scars than mental.

  And that was saying something.

  I’d stopped telling people about losing Rosa, mostly because I got that old, ‘no parent should ever have to lose a child,’ shit. Most said that to try to make me feel better.