Dear Professor

by Blaire Drake

  “We get it,” I said under my breath.

  If anyone could bring out my inner toddler, it was him. Fuck. He had it down to an art form just by existing.

  “Something to say, Miss Hamilton?” His voice seemed to carry over the hum of everyone packing their belongings away.

  “No, sir,” I answered with a sweet smile. “I just knocked my thumb against the desk.”

  His eyes told me that he knew I was lying, but I didn’t care in the slightest. It was what it was.

  Slowly, everyone filtered out of the room, leaving me and Jake behind. I grabbed my bag and followed him toward Professor Keaton’s desk. Keaton was lucky I had a free next period or I would have been pissed. I didn’t do being late.

  “How long have you been in my class?” he asked almost as soon as we approached his desk.

  “Three months,” Jake responded.

  “And how much do I appreciate talking in my class?”

  “Not at all.”

  Keaton barely looked up from his laptop. “Your essay appears to be three hundred words short, Mr. Haas. You have two hours to write them.” Finally, he looked at Jake. “I’m sure that’ll be enough time, don’t you agree?”

  I wouldn’t have put a bet on it, but Jake nodded. I was sure to get a frantic text from him asking whether or not he could throw in an extra “very” or “just” here and there. For here and there, see: everywhere.

  “You better make sure you do, Mr. Haas, or your grade will be lowered,” Keaton threatened. “You can go now. Miss Hamilton, I’d like a moment longer of your time.”

  “Of course.” I smiled tightly but did my best to make sure it looked genuine. Felt it, at the very least. Who the hell was I to know?

  Jake shot me a look, but he backed out of the classroom without another word. I gave him my own look that told him I’d be okay. As he shut the door behind him, I wasn’t so sure.

  Keaton’s eyes seemed to focus on me with the most intense scrutiny. It honestly made me uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to being so torn apart by someone’s gaze, and it was unnerving. I could feel the shivers as they cascaded across my skin with relentless intent.

  “You wrote the most out of everyone,” he told me, sitting back in his chair. His gaze never wavered as he clasped his hands and rested them on his flat stomach. “Why so many words?”

  “I have a tendency to work the hell out of the words ‘and,’ ‘but,’ ‘just,’ ‘so,’ and ‘that.’ It’s a curse,” I retorted smartly—and also a little honestly.

  I’d swear he almost cracked a smirk.

  “I spoke with Professor Banks yesterday,” he said. “I believe you have something to ask me.”

  I ran my tongue across my top teeth as his words hit home. I did. He was right. But I didn’t want to.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He waved his arm.

  I guessed that that was my cue. “Well, I’m getting ready to apply to law school. I was hoping you’d provide me with my final letter of recommendation.”

  “Interesting. Which is your first choice of school?”

  “Harvard.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Are your grades high enough?”

  “Why don’t you check? I’ve maintained my GPA and continuously get As.” The words came out sharper than I’d intended, but I hated it when my intelligence was brought into question. “I have the entry requirements. I just need my letters of recommendation to help me with my interview.”

  His piercing eyes studied me for a second longer before he sat up. He rested his elbows on the desk and touched his fingers together, hooking his thumbs beneath his chin. I couldn’t move beneath his paralyzing gaze. I’d never been this close to him, but since I was, I could see the tiny imperfections on his skin.

  The slice through the corner of his left eyebrow, scarred white. The hint of a dimple in his right cheek. The rough edge to his stubble as it curved down over his cheek.

  “No.”

  I jerked my gaze up from his hands to his eyes at his words. My heart pounded dangerously painfully.

  “No?” I repeated. My voice was void of strength. The only thing I felt was shock, and I felt it everywhere.

  No? Fucking no? Was he kidding me?

  “No,” he confirmed, never letting up with his eyes.

  They weren’t as mesmerizing when anger was flowing through my veins.

  I heaved my bag back onto my shoulder and stared him down. “Are you kidding me right now? I’ve had the highest grade in the class since the start of the year. I’ve hardly had anything but a perfect score on all of your tight-ass tests, and I’ve worked my ass off to make it that way. Now, you’re sitting in front of me and telling me no?”

  He didn’t say a word.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, turning away. “I don’t need it. I’m sure the others will be enough. It’s not like you have grounds for refusal if I’m asked why you refused.”

  I shrugged and headed for the door. I was so fucking angry that I could feel the tight tendrils of fury wrapping around my veins and heating my blood. I was shaking just about everywhere as the emotion took hold and I grasped the door handle.

  “Let go of the door, Miss Hamilton. We aren’t done here.”

  Dear Professor, you’re an asshole. Xoxo, Darcy.

  We weren’t done here? What was he? My fucking father punishing me for having come in after curfew? My boss reprimanding me for not having given my clients what they’d paid for?

  Was he absolutely serious about that?

  I wanted to turn around, march up to him, and give him one hell of a fucking bitch-slap to the side of his handsome damn face. But I didn’t; no, I was good. I restrained myself and turned with nothing more than the narrowing of my eyes as I fixed him with a glare.

  “Sir,” I ground out.

  He pushed off his desk, but even after he’d stood, he didn’t take a step closer to me. “How do you expect to have a conversation if you’re halfway across the room?”

  I forced myself not to argue and walked back across the room. The sound of each step seemed as though it ricocheted throughout the room, and each one felt like it physically hurt me. I wanted to run toward the door, turn down the hall, and never come back in his class ever again.

  I drew level with his desk and dropped my bag on top of it. I was pretty sure it was the only and last show of defiance I would make, but fuck it. It was fun, and I was running out of respect for the man I called my professor. I had a hard enough time with respect anyway, simply because I believed that it was something to be earned and not freely given, but he’d just run it into the ground and spat on it.

  “Your attitude is quite something, Miss Hamilton.”

  I hit him with a level glare. “It should come with a warning sign, I know.”

  The corner of his mouth quirked up, and the dimple in his cheek formed with a shadowy dip. “Indeed. I’m assuming you want to know why I won’t give you your letter.”

  “Actually, I don’t care, which is why I was trying to leave.”

  His eyes told me that he knew I was lying, but I was determined to keep up the charade.

  “Miss Hamilton,” he said slowly, playing with his shirt at his wrist. He dropped his eyes. “Trust me when I say I have a very good reason for not wanting to give you your letter.”

  Don’t roll your eyes, I thought. Don’t give him the satisfaction of knowing he’s gotten to you.

  “With all due respect, sir, if you’re not going to tell me, I have somewhere to be for the next couple of hours.” In my room—studying, for once.

  He didn’t say anything for a long moment, so once again, I turned toward the door, making sure to grab my bag. I was halfway across the room for the second time when he cleared his throat. My steps faltered.

  “Somewhere to be, Miss Hamilton? Where would that be, exactly?” His voice easily carried across the room.

  “My room, studying,” I confirmed before resuming my walk.

  “Your room at Dalton Ho
use?”

  The words carried a sting of venom, and each one snaked across my skin sharply.

  When I turned, it was as though it were in slow motion. My heart was thumping inside my chest, beating a fast two-step against my ribs. The thundering rush of my blood as it spread around my body was also deafening, and bile rose in my chest, burning the back of my throat. I forced myself to swallow it down and ignore the panic I could feel taking over as I met Professor Keaton’s eyes.

  “I have no idea what that is.”

  “You don’t look so sure, Darcy.”

  “I still have no idea what you’re talking about. I’m sorry.” I made myself continue walking to the door, but I didn’t realize he was behind me until it was too late.

  His hand came up and clasped the back of my neck. It was the only part of him that touched me, and I was too preoccupied by the immediate heat of his palm closing over my skin to realize what was happening.

  “I want you to touch yourself,” he whispered, fluttering my hair with his exhalation.

  Oh no. Oh, fucking hell no. This can’t be happening. It has to be a fluke—a joke. Someone is screwing with me. This can’t be real.

  “Again,” I forced out scratchily. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” I took a step forward, but his grip on my neck tightened. I stilled.

  “Darcy…” His voice was still quiet, but this time, his tone was deadly. Like he could take me down with one sentence, and I had no doubt that’s exactly what he was about to do. “Did you enjoy yourself last night? Did you enjoy thinking of that vibrator as a real cock as your fucked yourself with it?”

  My knees felt weak. My stomach rolled, and it took everything I had to keep myself standing as his hot breath hit my bare shoulder.

  “Jok_46897. You know exactly what I’m talking about, Darcy. Don’t you?”

  My professor has been watching me fuck myself on camera.

  Oh. Sweet. Fucking. God.

  My cheeks flamed. This was mortifying. More than anything, it was also destroying. The implications of this ran through my mind quicker than I could take hold of one and make sense of it. I didn’t understand what was going on although I knew exactly what was happening. It was completely insane. It just couldn’t be real.

  “I don’t understand why you’re telling me this,” I said quietly. My voice shook, and I hated myself for the show of weakness.

  “Because,” he murmured, “I have something you need. You have something I want.”

  “Are you… Are you blackmailing me?” I reached up and knocked his arm away from me. Then I stepped to the side.

  His eyes blazed at me with amusement, but I could see the shadow of annoyance as it lingered beneath the surface.

  “Proposing an agreement,” he corrected me. “One that benefits us both because we both get what we want.”

  “All right. I’ll bite.” I didn’t want to, but I was cornered. “I know what I want. What could I possibly have that you want?”

  One of his eyebrows curved upward. “You don’t really need me to answer that, do you?”

  No, I didn’t. I wished I did, but I didn’t. “You want me.” I wasn’t asking. I didn’t need to. I was simply stating something that was increasingly obvious.

  “Yes, Darcy. I want you. I want to fuck you.” He took a step toward me.

  Involuntarily, I drew in a deep breath. My breasts brushed against his chest, and my nipples immediately responded at the contact.

  “I want to fuck you badly. If you had any idea how hard it is to teach you when all I can see is you fingering your tight pussy… Believe me when I say that I want to fuck you furiously until you come so hard you can’t even scream.”

  My pussy clenched at the words. Jesus, no. I couldn’t react that way. My body was betraying me.

  He was my professor.

  He was absolutely, positively, one hundred percent forbidden, and there was no way on Earth I was going to allow my pussy to get her claws around his cock. No matter how handsome he was or how fucking fabulously he was talking. It was wrong.

  “I want you until the end of the semester,” he continued, his eyes never wavering from mine. “And then you’ll get your letter.”

  “And if I don’t agree? What if I tell someone about this conversation?”

  “Then your little secret won’t stay a secret, will it? And who’ll believe you over me, hmm?”

  Now, he was blackmailing me. And there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it. If my secret got out, I could kiss a top law school goodbye. Perhaps my whole career. I didn’t know the ins and outs, but I didn’t want to know them, either. I never wanted to be in a position to find out.

  “So let me get this straight,” I said. “If I let you, what, have your way with me? For the next six or so weeks, I’ll get my letter?”

  He nodded.

  “And if I don’t, you’ll tell everyone what I do and essentially undo every single thing I’ve worked so hard for.”

  “You catch on quickly.”

  “You’re a fucking bastard.”

  He cupped my jaw and leaned in. His mouth was dangerously close to mine, and it was like temptation being waved right in front of my face.

  “Watch it, sweet thing. I might be a bastard, but I have a good chunk of your future in the palm of my hand. And you have until the end of our next class to make your decision.”

  That was barely more than twenty-four hours. I felt sick all over again. I should have known that what I was doing would bite me in the ass—after all, Jake had been warning me for two years. I’d just never thought the piranha would be my history professor.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I responded, keeping my voice low. Lower than I should have been able to in my super-pissed mood. It had been a long time since I’d felt the kind of anger that was rumbling through my veins.

  Professor Keaton stared at me for one long moment, his eyes threatening to undo me, and then he dipped his head and kissed me. He fucking well kissed me. In the middle of his classroom, right after the sorry son of a bitch had blackmailed me with the rest of my life.

  I had a good mind to give his cock a massage—with my fucking kneecap.

  Unfortunately for me, the anger couldn’t erase the hot zing of desire that tingled its way across my skin from where his lips were touching mine. It lasted long after he’d pulled away, released me, and took a step back. The smug look in his eyes had my kneecaps itching again, but I just about resisted.

  Instead, I wiped my hand across my mouth. The smugness faded instantly, and I yanked the door open before he could say another word. I left it open as I turned and stormed down the corridor. I was walking faster than I normally did, and the second I found a door leading outside, I threw all of my weight into opening it and stepping outside.

  The second the fresh air hit my face, I inhaled a desperate lungful. The crisp fall air was exactly what I needed, and I was going to relish in it for as long as I could.

  Relishing wasn’t on the menu, though, as the reality of what had just happened hit me full force and emotionally winded me.

  My professor knew I was a cam girl. He was the client I’d performed for at least once a week for the last two and a half months. He’d seen every inch of me as I’d pleasured myself for him, and he’d seen me as another guy had done it for me.

  And, now, he was using it as his weapon. Blackmailing me. I was held completely at ransom by his words, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do about it.

  Worse? I was already considering it. Despite what I’d tried to convince myself, I needed the final letter. It wasn’t like there was another option anyway. If I refused, whether or not I had his letter would be futile.

  But the worst part of the whole thing? That kiss. That lightly lingering touch that seemed to bruise me with its heat.

  The very same kiss I’d liked.

  I was so fucked.

  Dear Professor, I really, really hate you. Xoxo
, Darcy.

  I had no idea what I was supposed to do. If I were a man, he’d have me well and truly by the balls, and I was pretty freaking sure he’d be twisting the ever-loving shit of them.

  I didn’t have much time to make a decision over what I was going to do. He had the upper hand in every situation. Sure, I could tell someone what he’d propositioned, but when it came down to an investigation, who would be believed?

  The slut who strips on camera or the respected history professor?

  It would be twisted back on me. I was sure he’d twist it so expertly that I’d be suffocated by his words. It felt like everything that had seemed so bright yesterday morning was now nothing more than a dull layer of gray cloud, ready to rain hell down on me. I was stuck between a rock and a hard place, except I wasn’t standing on solid ground. I was standing on quicksand, and as each hour ticked by¸ I was sinking deeper and deeper.

  And it was all because of him. Every single inch I sank was his fault. Him and his stupid ass proposition.

  I moved through my midday cam show with the enthusiasm of a slug. At the end, I apologized for it and begged off sick. It worked with my client. He told me not to worry, that he understood and hoped I’d feel better soon. Then he thanked me for the show, which was apparently still one of the better ones he’d seen.

  Now, I was sitting in my room, staring at a blank space on the wall opposite me. I couldn’t really do it, could I? What Professor Keaton wanted? Was it worth the risk of stepping away without the letter, knowing he could say something anyway?

  But what if I said yes and got caught? I’d never exactly educated myself on the laws of student-teacher relationships, but I wasn’t dumb enough to think they were legal in any kind of way. So not only was he proposing something morally wrong, he was proposing something legally wrong.

  So, why the fuck was I, as a law student, even contemplating it?

  Maybe because I’d spent half the night waking up in a hot sweat after doing exactly what he’d demanded of me in the last show I’d done for him: imagining that he was the one fucking me instead of the vibrator. I hadn’t been able to get the images out of my head no matter how many times I’d rolled over or tried to force myself to dream about something else. I just hadn’t.