The Professor: A Standalone Novel

by Akeroyd, Serena

  It didn’t work.

  Rosa’s death would be a perpetual ache inside me.

  Gina’s betrayal would be a rip in my control that I’d forever try to repair.

  But those imperfections in my character were what had made me me. I wasn’t happy with who I was, didn’t approve of how I treated Phoebe, hated myself for having stalked the poor woman even if it could be argued I was helping her now, but I’d survived.

  And there’d been points where, honest to God, survival hadn’t seemed likely.

  The song I’d once sung Rosa rang around the kitchen walls, but I tried to let it soften me, not harden me. For all she’d been a transient presence in my life, Rosa had brought joy. In fact, though I mourned her to this day, she’d given me more joy than grief, and that was truly saying something.

  So, when I made it into the kitchen, I sang along with Phoebe. She faltered for a few notes, but when I cocked a brow at her, she rallied around and began singing.

  And, wouldn’t you know?

  The little booger started eying the mush Phoebe had put on the plastic plate in front of him with more interest. Seemed he liked a show with his meal.

  My nose wrinkled at the food. “What is that?”

  “Banana and oats.”

  “You made it yourself?” I asked, eying the ramekin jar on the counter.

  “Yep. It’s easy. He usually likes this. I don’t get why he’s being fussy.”

  Sardonically, I informed her, “He’s a man. I’m sure he just likes variety.”

  For some reason, that had her cheeks blanching and her gaze instantly darting away from mine, and when I put two and two together, I had to hide a smirk.

  So, she was concerned I needed variety.

  Interesting.

  Rather than remark on it, I moved toward Scottie and hauled him into my arms. He gurgled and beamed at me, his cheeks coated with more mush than his plate, and I held him higher up so that he could look down at the world.

  “Now try and feed him.”

  Her attention was back on me, now, exactly where I wanted it. But the softness to her gaze had me thinking shit I shouldn’t be contemplating. And not just because I was holding Scottie.

  I had no right to her. Even if she was, in my head, mine already.

  She fed him from the small dish and laughed when he munched on it, accepting the food now that his scenery was more interesting.

  As I held him, he wriggled slightly and I tightened my grip, not wanting him to fall.

  It felt good, him being in my arms, her feeding him. It felt like this was my family, and God, how I wished it was.

  When Scottie had finished, I settled him back into the highchair I’d had shipped in, and started on some of the bacon she’d fried for me. When she turned around and began poaching me a damn egg, I had to say, “You really don’t need to make me breakfast, Phoebe.” Her shoulders tensed. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I appreciate it, but you’re not my slave.”

  She looked at me over her shoulder. “You don’t have to help out with Scottie, but you do. You didn’t have to let us stay here, but you did. Cooking you something for breakfast and dinner is nothing.”

  I sighed because I heard her resolve. “I’m grateful.”

  “No more than I am,” she retorted firmly, and I enjoyed that hint of steel in her voice. Enough that I settled back in my seat and watched her bustle around my kitchen.

  This hadn’t been somewhere Gina and I had ever really been interested in. It was pretty minimal with steel backsplashes and plain, raw ash cupboards that opened with the press of your palm against the door. Everything was hidden behind those doors, the fridge, the ovens, even the dishwasher. When you walked in, very little gave away that it was a kitchen. It might even have been a utility room for all it was decorated.

  As I watched her, though, I realized it didn’t fit. Maybe because Phoebe didn’t fit in here.

  It was too modern.

  Too simple.

  Phoebe wasn’t a simple person. She was chaos in a slowly moving world.

  I doubted she saw herself that way, but that was something I appreciated in her.

  For every action, Newton said, there was an equal and opposite reaction. That was what happened around Phoebe. Men stopped and checked her out, but she didn’t notice the traffic jam that backed up because of her. Her kind smile could light up a room, but to her, because she was deep in thought, she might as well have been tucked in among the shadows.

  She didn’t expect the world to stop turning for her, but she should.

  Last night, after she’d complied, after she’d obeyed me, and after I’d managed not to whip her with my words for the feelings she inspired in me, I realized I needed to build her up, not drag her down.

  Even if it put me in emotional peril.

  The world had already had its ill effects on her. She should be bubbling with confidence, the life and soul of any party, but she wasn’t. She was too tired from all the running around she did.

  But that needed to change.

  I’d come to realize that last night.

  By bringing her here, everything had changed, nothing was the same. Including me. And our relationship.

  So, even if building up her esteem, forging the walls of her confidence meant I lost her in the end, I’d do it. Because to me, she was the woman and I didn’t want to be the bastard who brought her down.

  Some sacrifices were worth making, and because I wasn’t good enough for her in the first place, this was less of a sacrifice than it might have been otherwise.

  “You’re looking at me funny,” she chided, as she placed the plate on the table in front of me.

  “Just thinking,” I replied easily, switching my focus to the eggs, bacon, and grilled tomatoes and mushrooms on my plate. This came after yesterday’s oatmeal, and then some kind of chia pudding the day before, something that had told me she’d raided my cupboards to find them—my PT had insisted they were a great way to bulk up a shake, but I loathed them.

  Somehow, she’d made them palatable.

  Another miracle.

  “About?” she tested, her gaze darting to mine before retreating to her plate. She had an egg white omelet, no bacon, and more veggies.

  Boring.

  Even as I wondered if she was trying to eat healthy because of me, or if it was simply because she had the run of the food in the cupboards, I said, “Just wondering what you’re going to do while I’m at work today.”

  “Get some transcribing done. Your friend sent over a lot more sheets last night.” Yeah, and it had taken me over a fucking hour to get that done. “I’m not sure where she gets all her notes from!”

  Maybe I was a glutton for punishment, because I asked, “Are they boring?”

  “The notes?” When I nodded, she frowned as she chewed on her omelet. “No. The job is, I guess. It’s tedious, but I like the way she thinks. Doesn’t she show them to you?”

  I snorted. “No.”

  The brisk answer had her shrugging. “Shame, because the stories and insights are good. I wonder what she’s going to do with them once they’re all transcribed.”

  “Publish them, probably.” I scratched my chin as the lie tripped easily from my lips. “What about Scottie?”

  “I found an app. I couldn’t afford it before, but you pay to subscribe and the sitters are registered locally.”

  I frowned. “That’s not ideal, is it? They could be anyone.”

  She reached up and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not sure what else to do.”

  Because I wasn’t either, I fell silent as I pondered the situation, then, when the solution came to me, asked, “What about a nanny?”

  She gaped at me a second before cascading into giggles. “N-N-Nanny?” she spluttered, going so far as to slap the table which, of course, had Scottie mimicking her until it was like being at a Blue Man concert without any blue men in the vicinity.

  I stared at her with a frown. “What’s so hilario
us?”

  “How can I afford a N-N-Nanny?”

  And that set her off again.

  “I’ll pay,” I offered, huffing at her humor that came at my expense.

  “You damn well won’t.” Like that, her amusement switched off and she glowered at me. “Scottie is my responsibility, not yours. I’ll work something out.”

  “It seems impractical—”

  “Maybe it is, but that’s the reality for a lot of women in my position.” She blew out a breath, then, eyes softening, said, “Look, I appreciate the offer, but I can’t allow myself to depend on you. I can’t. If I do, then when I leave here, it will be too hard to go back to the way things were before.”

  I wanted to tell her that she was never leaving here, but that would make me sound like a kidnapper.

  I wasn’t that bad.

  At least, I didn’t think so.

  Pulling a face, I raised my hands and said, “Do what you must, but if you need help, I don’t mind.”

  “No, but I do.”

  How had I failed to see how proud she was?

  I wasn’t sure if I appreciated that in her or not.

  She was right, to an extent. In her circumstances, it would be foolish to grow dependent on something that had no roots.

  Which meant, I swiftly realized, that I needed to make those roots, and fast.

  ❖

  I wanted to taste her.

  Fuck.

  I did.

  I wasn’t sure how I stopped myself, didn’t know how it was possible, but as she hopped onto my desk like this was a regular thing to do in your professor’s office, lifted her skirt and showed me her pussy, my mouth watered with the need to suck on her clit, to slurp up her juices.

  Because yes, she was wet.

  Very wet.

  And I wanted that all over my goddamn mouth.

  My nails dug into the leather armrests on my desk chair as I watched her touch herself. The bloom of pink had gone from her cheeks now. She was no longer embarrassed, instead, she was turned on by what I had her do. Her eyes glinted; they weren’t cast down with mortification. Her skin was rosy, to be sure, but with desire and heat, the flush of pleasure.

  The thrill of the forbidden had yet to bore her, but I wanted more. Truly, I did.

  Could I have it?

  Would she want it if I offered it to her?

  She bit her bottom lip then trained her eyes on me, letting me know, without words, that she was really fucking me. That her fingers were my cock.

  I was so out of practice, so out of the game that I didn’t know what to fucking say or do.

  But the promise was there.

  Waiting for me.

  Shuddering, I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I felt like a caged bear. One who was made to dance and perform, one who was forced to do unnatural things by my owner—her. And in this, not touching her was the most unnatural thing I could think of.

  And then she signed my death warrant.

  “Please,” she whispered, the words low, breathy. Softer than a moan, more heartfelt than a murmur.

  As she drew the one-syllable word into two, I bit off, “Get down, put your face to the desk, and stick your ass out.”

  The excitement that overtook her almost had me panting. Her tits swayed beneath her shirt as she hurried to comply, and when her ass was inches away from my face, when I could smell her delicious pussy, I gripped the hand rests once more.

  If, and it was a huge if, I was going to do something to her, it wouldn’t be here, and it would take longer than the time I had to give her before my next appointment.

  I was tempted to use the vibrator on her. Hours and hours of fucking research had gone into that toy. I’d had to make sure it was not only the best, but that it wouldn’t hurt her. That it was safe enough to be inside her while I toyed with her endlessly. But even that kind of penetration was more than I could handle.

  “Get yourself off,” I commanded, and her whimper of distress was like being sucker-punched in the belly.

  “B-But…” She mewled.

  “Do it,” I ground out, and breathed a sigh of relief when she edged her fingers under her belly and awkwardly rubbed herself.

  Her legs were shaking by the time she got herself off. It took her a little longer than usual, granted, but I appreciated the different view, enjoyed the more subservient pose.

  With her glistening flesh so close to me, it was a severe effort in restraint as I watched her thigh muscles tense and strain to stay upright, inadvertently pushing her pussy lips together.

  I wanted, so fucking badly, to slide my cock between them. To spear myself inside her and thrust into her so deeply she didn’t know where I began or she ended.

  Because I couldn’t do that, I whispered instead, “Stand up.”

  I gave her a few moments to comply, and when she stood, I saw from her dazed eyes that the orgasm had been deeper than usual. No wonder she was swaying on her feet.

  I couldn’t resist.

  I had to taste some small part of her.

  “Kneel between my legs,” I urged her, my voice a silken promise.

  Like day flowing into night, she slipped to her knees and sat there, looking up at me through bright green eyes that sparkled, even through her slumberous satiation.

  I let myself get lost inside them, allowed myself to be lost inside her, and then, I broke my own protocol, leaned down, and allowed my lips to brush hers.

  The way she moaned was something I’d never forget. It was seared into my brain, into my memory banks. I’d remember this until the day I died, and even then, it would be as much a part of me as my bones.

  My hands were shaking as I lifted them, cupped her soft cheeks, and finally allowed myself to touch her. To connect with her.

  Our mouths were trembling, her lips softly parting as I thrust my tongue between them. As we were united that way, the guttural groan that escaped her sank into my very being, and I swallowed it and her breath.

  Her hands settled upon my knees, and the close touch, after four long years of no touch, had me jolting into awareness. But before I could fear she’d touch me farther up, her nails dug into my adductors, high up on my inner thighs, biting through the thick denim of the jeans I wore as she took her pleasure out on me.

  I thrust into her, tasting her, savoring her, knowing she tasted and savored in return.

  That one kiss was better than a night of sex with Gina.

  It was better than a thousand blowjobs, a million hand jobs.

  It was everything, and yet it was nothing.

  Just like our connection.

  It was less than it should be, and on its way to being more than I’d ever anticipated.

  As I devoured her mouth, she tore into me, and the only thing that stopped us?

  The knocking at the door that signaled my next appointment.

  When I pulled back, startled, I reached up and wiped my mouth. “Wait a minute, Jarrad,” I called out hoarsely.

  “Sure thing, professor,” was his cheerful reply. A reply that didn’t suit my frame of mind. That didn’t resonate at all with the ground-trembling, earth-shaking kiss that had just decimated everything, razing it to nothing, only for it to be built up once more.

  She stared up at me, drowning me with those big green eyes, looking at me as though she believed I had all the answers.

  But I didn’t.

  This was us breaching that thousand-step journey, and did she but know it, she’d made her choice.

  And God help us both.

  Chapter Ten

  The next two days were a study in torture.

  She cooked, studied, went to her classes, worked. I put up with having a strange woman, the new sitter, in the place when we were both out, wanting her to lead her regular life so she could see how much better it was when she was with me.

  And though I could sense her contentment, through it all, she watched me.

  Phoebe was waiting.

  In her own way, she was an
innocent, and I knew she was letting me make the first move. But even though she seemed to think I had all the answers, I didn’t.

  I was as goddamn terrified as she was.

  One night, as I sat at my desk, the windows wide open so the light breeze could slip into the room, I stared at Scottie who stared back at me.

  Although she’d first insisted on keeping him in her room, I knew babies liked to explore. Hell, more than that. They needed to.

  Scottie, as a result, was now in the know about every nook and cranny in the loft, and I was getting used to tripping over him. As he stared at me from the ground, gnawing on his fist, I wondered what he was thinking.

  Wondered if he cared that I’d had to vacuum the floor three times before I let him go on it. Wondered if it mattered that I’d been on my hands and knees disinfecting anything I thought he might touch.

  Rosa’s death had been genetic, but I’d be damned if Scottie—

  My jaw clenched at the thought, and the urge to get up and clean something else, to make sure it was sanitized enough for him rode me hard.

  He had to be safe. As much as Phoebe was. I couldn’t lose another one. Couldn’t lose someone else.

  This child had been in my life a ridiculously short amount of time, and yet, he and his sister had taken over my world.

  For too long, my days had started and ended with thoughts of Phoebe. But now, Scottie was there too.

  It made strange emotions unfurl inside me.

  I’d locked myself away from most people after my divorce, not wanting to let anyone in, because when I did, I knew they’d let me down.

  Most had believed Gina’s bullshit over my side of the story, but a few had gone to bat for me. Jay was one such person. He’d gone from simply family to friend that day. But I’d lost a lot of kin in the aftermath, and it made me wonder if it was because of Gina’s accusations or because of how I’d treated them.

  My propensity to snarl at Phoebe was a habit.

  A bad one.

  I couldn’t hide from that anymore.

  Whenever she got too close, whenever she touched a raw nerve, I’d snap at her, say something mean to make her cry.