Dear Professor

by Blaire Drake

  The Darcy he’d known before the date of September twelfth had been quiet, studious, determined. She’d been every inch the scholar, but with her looks and what he’d seen of her personality, he had known she would be a force to be reckoned with in whatever field she decided to enter.

  But that day… If he thought hard enough, he could remember every detail, even right down to the underwear she was wearing. He could remember seeing her picture, pausing, clicking to investigate. He remembered becoming enraptured with her confidence in front of the camera and the way she’d explored her body so expertly.

  The next day, he’d watched her as some two-bit punk had drilled into her from behind. He’d watched as she’d gotten fed up of obviously faking the orgasm and reached between her legs to bring herself to pleasure.

  If he had known then that it’d become more than a guilty little pleasure, he might have stopped. Might have.

  She’d very quickly become an obsession for him. A craving, almost, but an obsession, definitely. He knew that now. He didn’t just find himself attracted to her—he found himself slightly addicted. And they’d barely had any interactions at all. All he knew was that he wanted more of her.

  If only he hadn’t been lying when he’d warned her that, if he fucked her right then, then he’d hurt her. He wouldn’t have done it intentionally. He never had, but fuck. Fuck, his self-imposed restraints went against everything in the contract he’d laid out for her.

  He was supposed to be able to have her however, wherever, whenever, but all he’d done so far was spread her legs and eat her sweet pussy the way he’d wanted to for so many weeks.

  He sat back in his chair and rubbed his hand down his face. He was getting hard from just thinking about it. About her. This was dangerous territory. There was a line, and this time, he’d well and truly fucking crossed it.

  A smarter man would have handed her the letter and muscled through to the end of the year. A smarter man would have gone out and found someone who wasn’t ten years younger than he was or his student.

  “You sick bastard,” he muttered to himself.

  He blew out a long breath just as his laptop pinged with a notification. He turned back to the screen and clicked on the shortcut to his inbox. When the page loaded, he skipped past three e-mails from the university, one from the head of the department, and one from his second guilty pleasure: Amazon Prime.

  Still, he was pleased to see that his coffee beans had been dispatched. Sometimes, it was the little things.

  It was the top e-mail that really caught his attention though. Darcy. He clicked on the bold, highlighted message and waited for it to load. He’d never specified a way of contact for them outside of class, but they’d amicably settled into an e-mail exchange.

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  From: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  Subject: Romeo, Romeo, where for art thou?

  Dear Professor,

  You’re awfully quiet today. Can I expect a summons presently or am I allowed to play with myself tonight?

  Xoxo, Darcy.

  He smirked at the sarcasm in the subject line, even if her wording did have blood pumping into his already semi-hard cock. He hit reply.

  To: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  From: jkeat@gmail.com

  Subject: In his office, working.

  Darcy,

  You’re very well spoken this evening. Perhaps you switched nationalities since we last spoke.

  And no. I don’t require the…pleasure…of your company. Feel free to play with yourself as long as said playing is done privately.

  J

  Yes—privately. And if she wanted to do it privately for him… Well, he wouldn’t turn that down, either. But he’d be damned if any other man was going to watch her bring herself to her climax. She belonged to him until he said otherwise.

  If another man got off to her, it’d be on his word, under his rules, and right in front of him.

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  From: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  Subject: It would be suspicious for you to be outside my window.

  Dear Professor,

  No nationality change. Just some interesting reading today. Shakespeare did enjoy a love story after all… And a tragedy or two.

  Your request is heard and understood. I need to log in so I don’t lose my job… I can send you a private link, but you will be staring at my bedroom wall for twenty minutes while I finish my reading.

  Xoxo, Darcy

  Of course. That other snag in the agreement—his supplementing her income. It was a bitch, but it was a sacrifice he’d had to make in order to get her to agree. It wasn’t his favorite clause. That was the third-party one.

  To: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  From: jkeat@gmail.com

  Darcy,

  I’m sure your wall would be much more entertaining than these painful papers I’m grading. Please send the link, and I will ensure to keep to my end of the agreement.

  J

  For the next few minutes, he gave half of his attention to the paper in front of him, but he hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d told Darcy that it was painful. He wondered whether or not the student had even listened to his lesson, never mind done research.

  When Darcy’s e-mail came, it held nothing but a link. Of course, her signature greeting and way of signing off were there too, but no more words. He clicked on the link, and within a few minutes, the familiar chat room page of Dalton Cam Girls filled his screen. The difference was that, this time, her face didn’t fill the camera. His laptop beeped as she sent an instant message through the chat.

  D: Sound is off.

  He nodded. He didn’t expect that much sound would be necessary if the show was her bedroom wall. He ignored the twinge of disappointment at not getting to see her and responded with a simple, Ok. She didn’t respond—he had known she wouldn’t. But that didn’t stop him from hesitating before looking away.

  Just in case.

  He minimized the screen and ran his hand down his face. Fuck—he wished he were a better man. He wished he could stop this fucking attraction, obsession, whatever the hell it was turning into. But he couldn’t. Not until he’d had all of her.

  He really was the sick bastard he’d called himself earlier.

  He cricked his neck and put his glasses back on as though that would make the papers easier to grade. It hadn’t, he realized, as he made his way halfway down one page. If it carried on like this, he’d have to retu—

  The sound of his e-mail pinging once more jolted his head up. Again, the top message was from Darcy, and slowly, he reached for the trackpad and ran his finger over it.

  From: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  Subject: (empty)

  (Download Attachment.)

  He skeptically narrowed his eyes at the message. Not a word was written, and he clicked on the download arrow on the attachment. As soon as it’d downloaded, he double-clicked on the file.

  It opened in his video player. His eyes stayed as thin as slits as it buffered, but they soon widened. The second it played, the blood rushed through his body, hardening his cock within seconds.

  On the screen, someone, clearly Darcy although her face was hidden, was fucking herself with a vibrator. It was only ten seconds long—but ten seconds was all it needed. Three deep thrusts, her finger circling her clit, and two long, drawn-out moans he knew belonged to her.

  He shut the player down pronto and returned to his e-mail.

  From: jkeat@gmail.com

  To: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  Subject: (empty)

  Turn that fucking camera around now.

  When no response came, he adjusted his pants over his erection and started another message.

  From: jkeat@gmail.com

  To: darcy_h345@gmail.com

  Subject: You’re playing with fire.

  Darcy,

  Don’t think I’ll forget this.

  And thank you for that little g
em. I’ll keep it safe.

  Try not to moan too loud for the rest of your orgasm. You’ll need your voice to scream when I finally fuck you.

  J

  Dear Professor, hee. Hee. Hee. Xoxo, Darcy

  I liked to think I had the upper hand. Even if it was only for a few seconds. My little trick was risky—I knew that. I’d essentially given him something else to hold against me, and it wasn’t something I’d sent without making a big decision.

  I’d reassured myself that, by not including my face and having nothing to connect me to the girl in the video, I could just as easily have downloaded a clip off a porn website and sent it to him.

  On second thought, I probably should have done that, but I knew he’d probably know that it wasn’t me. I’d have to try it someday…

  Anyway. What was done was done, and I’d taken the first steps toward my new plan.

  Determine his exact marital status and get him to fuck me.

  I needed him to. Not because I was getting more and more curious about exactly what he could do to me, but because I needed that leverage. I needed to have something truly physical I could hold over his head the way he was holding my letter over mine.

  I recognized this for what it was. It was a game. Pure and simple. The second I’d signed that agreement, I’d become little more than a puppet, and he was in control of every single string. I wouldn’t for a second believe otherwise. I couldn’t. It’d all be over the moment I did that.

  But that didn’t mean I couldn’t believe I didn’t have a little tugging power on one string.

  The second I’d discovered he was married, I could do that. I’d regained the ability to yank them my way, because whether he knew it or not, I had something on him. As long as they were still together, of course.

  The thought had made me pause way too many times since I’d discovered it yesterday morning. What if I was technically “the other woman”? Was I okay with that? No, I wasn’t, but I was running out of options.

  It also stood to reason that, if he were in a steady marriage, I wasn’t the first.

  Not that it was at all comforting, but it pulled back to my original plan. Make him fuck me. Hold infidelity over his head. Mutually agree to another contract that would let us both walk out unscathed—me with my letter and him without losing fifty percent or more of his belongings.

  Yep. It was just that simple.

  Now, I just had to execute this plan. There were still several weeks left until the end of the semester, and that was enough to get it done. It had to be. Hell, it had to be enough before the end of the semester. I was steadfast in my resolution that I would not belong to that man a minute longer than necessary.

  I heaved my bag onto my shoulder and swiped a sip of Jenna’s coffee off the kitchen table while her back was turned. I gagged almost instantly. I’d never be a fan of that damn vanilla shit she insisted on buying, and that was why. Twelve girls in the house full time, and she was the only one who drank it.

  Maybe she was smarter than I had her pegged for.

  I slid out of the house right as Cassie, another cam girl, slipped in. She gave me a dazzling smile, but that was it. She was the quietest of us all, and although she was a senior, our classes didn’t overlap.

  That was the oddest thing about Dalton House. We were…cliquey. We found our people and we stuck with them. That was something I’d learned.

  Females were like penguins. When you found that friend, that was it. For life. No backsies.

  Which was unfortunate for me, because Jenna and Bella were my penguins. It was perfectly fine when they were apart, but together…

  I shuddered as I got into my car. It was like moderating a nursery full of newborn babies. I dumped my purse on the passenger’s seat and plugged my phone into the aux cable right as Jenna texted me.

  Jenna: I saw that, you whore.

  Me: LOL!

  Then I tapped the Spotify icon and drove away. The music stuttered as her response came in, but I ignored it since I was driving. Adele’s low voice filled my car, and within seconds, I found myself singing along to “Someone Like You.” It was oddly fitting for the situation, and when I turned into a spot in the campus parking lot, I snorted at the irony.

  That was exactly what I did not want to do with my current situation. Find another Professor Keaton… Especially while I was still stuck with the real one.

  History was my first class of the day, and I’d dressed for the occasion. After my little trick last night, I fully expected every minute of the lesson to be at the “flight instinct” end of the comfort spectrum. A part of me wanted to get back in my car and call in sick, but I figured doing that twice in no more than a week would have been suspicious.

  It was time to pull my big-girl panties up and get on with it.

  I grabbed my purse and tugged the hem of my dress down. It covered my butt by maybe an inch, and it wasn’t exactly hot enough to really wear it, but hey. With tall boots and a light-knit cardigan, it wasn’t too bad.

  My ass disagreed, but that was the fault of my underwear. They didn’t have that much material. It was kind of breezy up there.

  I slung my bag onto my shoulder and grabbed the bottom of my dress as a gust of wind blew through the parking lot. I just about saved myself from having a Marilyn moment and darted into the building. I blew out a long breath, pushed my hair from my face, then turned in the direction of the classroom.

  “Is Halloween here early?”

  A tiny scream escaped me at the sound of Jake’s voice close to my ear, and I jumped back with my hand on my chest. My heart thumped against my palm. I reached out to smack his arm.

  “Don’t ever do that again, you bastard!” I wheezed, adding another little slap for good measure.

  He roared with laughter and grabbed me. His strong arm went around my shoulders as he tugged me toward him for a quick hug. “I’d say I’m sorry…”

  “I get it, I get it.” I pushed him off me and readjusted my bag strap.

  “Seriously though. Did I miss a dress-up notice or something?” He glanced down at my legs.

  I looked at my legs and then at him. “Jake.”

  He didn’t respond, but he kept staring at my legs as we walked around the corner.

  “Jake!” I swung my bag toward him.

  He jumped out of the way just in time but grabbed his arm and rubbed it anyway. “Sorry, sorry. Those things are distracting.”

  I rolled my eyes, but inwardly, happiness tingled through my veins. Distraction was exactly what I had been aiming for. I hoped it worked the same inside the classroom as it did out of it.

  “Those things are my legs, but thank you for saying so.”

  “For real though. Is there any reason you’re wearing that particular dress?”

  “It was in my closet, and I wanted to wear it before fall is over. It still had the tags.”

  “And you didn’t think your…bedroom…was a better place for it?” The word bedroom was said in a very hushed voice.

  I shook my head and opened the door to Professor Keaton’s classroom. “Jake? I love you, but shut up.”

  He held up a hand. “Noted. At least you wore flat boots.”

  I stopped, turned, and gave him a death glare. “One more word…”

  The grin that stretched across his face was warming, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek so I wouldn’t return it. Damn him. He was as adorable as he was annoying sometimes.

  I took my seat and made sure to stretch my legs out in front of me. Now that I was sitting down, I honestly had no idea whether or not he’d be able to see me, but just walking out of the class would be enough. And, when that happened, I wouldn’t even try to cover my butt.

  This was turning into a chess game of epic proportions.

  I just hoped I’d be the one who would move to checkmate.

  The door slammed open. It was a fitting announcement to his arrival, really, given the thick cloud of frustration that swamped the room as soon as he’d set
one foot through the door. I fought my smirk when my eyes fell on him as he stormed across the front of the room. Silence descended so swiftly that I swore I heard the echoes of sentences left unfinished.

  Professor Keaton set his bag on his chair, removed his laptop, and then threw the bag on the floor. A handful of pens scattered across the floor thanks to the undone zipper. He ignored them.

  That was unsettling.

  My glimmer of amusement at the thought that I was partially to blame for his foul mood petered out. In its place came apprehension.

  “Open your textbooks. Turn to page two hundred and two. Read the chapter. Write an essay of at least two thousand words on your thoughts. I don’t want to hear a single word until you’re outside this classroom.” He slammed his hands on the desk as numerous groans and whispers of, “Fuck,” rippled through my peers.

  Electric-blue eyes surveyed us one by one—except for me. Me, he skipped right over.

  If I’d had gum in my mouth, I would have popped a bubble in defiance.

  “Are we clear?” Professor Keaton asked.

  “Yes, sir,” various students around the mood murmured.

  The one thing I’d forgotten? A pissed-off professor was an unreasonable professor.

  I pulled my laptop and my textbook out of my bag and arranged them on my desk. Jake glanced at me a few times then typed furiously. His message appeared the second my browser loaded my Facebook page.

  I’d already read the chapter.

  Jake: Did you get your letter yet?

  Me: Nope.

  Jake: Why the hell not?

  Me: Because he’s an ass.

  Jake: Maybe don’t try and get it today.

  Me: You think?

  I typed my e-mail URL into the search bar as my eyes scanned the textbook’s pages. Yadda, yadda, yadda… This was going to be simple. I shrugged as I focused back on the screen and the highlighted message at the top of my inbox, ignoring the Zulily offers. I’d check the boots out later.