Dear Professor

by Blaire Drake

  God. You know what? I wasn’t going to sit around wondering anymore. Assuming had gotten me into a pickle last time, so this time, I was going to see if Jordan was in his office before I tried to throw accusations at him. Firstly, I needed to know if he knew who Christina Wilson was.

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  From: darcyh_345@gmail.com

  Subject: Hello?

  Dear Professor,

  Are you in your office? I have a question.

  Xoxo, Darcy.

  Ten minutes passed without a reply, and that was my answer. He was the quickest replier to e-mails I’d ever met, even in the smartphone age, where you could see them instantly. This only meant he was teaching, so I had to wait to find out.

  I closed my laptop and pulled my Kindle out instead. I could have done some work, but I doubted I’d be able to concentrate. Reading was the only other option—as long as it was happier than Shakespeare.

  Not that it would have been a challenge in any kind of way. Not much could be more tragic or depressing.

  I managed to read four chapters before my next class. Law went slower than I had ever thought it could, and for the first time, I found myself not caring about the defensive side of the case we were studying. I could barely concentrate on anything other than the slow ticking of the clock. I received a second e-mail from Christina halfway through with her cell number so I could call her if I wanted to, but I deleted that too.

  I was thankful when class was over and I could find Jordan in his office. I hung back until the halls were pretty clear from everyone being in their classes before I turned into the history department and started the walk down the hall to his office.

  I felt a little sick about what I might find out in the coming conversation, but it had to be done. I had enough big-girl panties, and it was about time I pulled them the fuck up.

  His office door was ajar. The low sound of voices traveled through the gap, but I couldn’t make out what was being said. Perhaps it was better for me to talk with him later or even tomorrow. He was busy…

  No, damn it. It was just one question. Even if he did tell me to come back later, I could always try now. I had to try.

  I pressed my hand against my stomach, swallowed, and edged toward the door.

  Fuck.

  The gap in the door was just big enough that I could see into the room. My heart dropped.

  Jordan was standing in front of his desk, and from the back of her head, it looked like he was kissing my English professor. Professor Banks had a grip on his collar, and his hand was on her waist.

  I staggered back, pushing my hand against my stomach as hard as I could. My other hand went to my mouth. I bit the inside of my lip so hard that I felt the sting as it traveled across my cheek.

  Oh my God.

  Adrenaline pounded through my veins, helped by the frantic beating of my heart. I felt sick. Sick and confused and, worst of all, betrayed. I had no idea why—there had been no stipulation in his agreement about him not seeing anyone else. He was free to do as he wanted.

  So, why was this hurting?

  Why, why, why did it hurt?

  I power-walked through the hall and shoved the door to the parking lot open. The rain was still beating down, and it was damn cold with the wind. It was a battle to keep my purse steady and my rapidly dampening hair out of my eyes as I ran between the cars. I reached mine and—shit. I needed to dig for my keys.

  My lungs burned as I fought to control my breathing. I was soaked through by the time I found my keys at the bottom of my purse and got into my car.

  The rain was beating against my windshield as quickly as my heart was pounding.

  This shouldn’t have hurt. This sting creeping through my body was too much. It was too real and too strong. I hated it. Hated her. Hated him. Hated myself for feeling this way… For having let it get this far.

  I never should have let my goal slip past me.

  My laptop poked out the top of my purse. It was glaring at me, teasing me with what was on its last open window. The possibility of an escape…

  I already had one though, didn’t I? It wasn’t just student-teacher relationships that weren’t allowed. Teacher-teacher relationships technically weren’t allowed either.

  But the more you know and all that…

  With the picture of Jordan kissing Professor Banks burned into my eyelids, I pulled my phone from my purse, found Christina’s e-mail, and dialed her number.

  Shock shot through Jordan’s body the moment Carly leaned forward and kissed him. It was so unexpected that, for a moment, all he could do was stand there as her cold lips touched his.

  God. She was like ice.

  He put his hands on her waist and pushed her away. “What are you doing?”

  Carly paused. “Kissing you.”

  He wiped his hand across his mouth. “You need to leave now.” He turned away, dodging her as she reached for him.

  “But I thought—”

  “You thought wrong.” The words came out short and sharp. “Whatever you thought, it was fucking wrong, Carly. Last week was a mistake. It never should have happened. You know that as well as I do.”

  Fuck yeah, he knew it. The guilt had been eating away at him for days.

  Carly didn’t move. She stood exactly where she was, her hands shaking, and stared at him. The shock in her eyes couldn’t have been faked.

  Fucking hell. She had really thought there was something more than two meaningless fucks between them. She was an idiot, Jordan realized.

  “I thought…” She trailed off and looked away. When she met his eyes again, hers were hard and unfeeling. “You’re a cold, using bastard, Jordan Keaton.”

  “And it took you this long to figure it out,” he drawled, sitting at his desk. He rested his elbows on the hard, wooden surface and touched his fingertips together. “Is that everything? I have work to do.”

  She held his gaze for one more moment before turning on her heel and stalking out of his office. She slammed the door so ferociously that it bounced back open, and he shook his head.

  Women.

  Assuming did nothing but make them annoyed. The funniest thing about the whole situation was that he’d bet she wasn’t even mad at him, but likely herself. He shook his head again as he checked his e-mail and saw Darcy’s name in his unread messages.

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  From: darcyh_345@gmail.com

  Subject: Hello?

  Dear Professor,

  Are you in your office? I have a question.

  Xoxo, Darcy.

  The timestamp read four hours ago. Shit—back-to-back classes all afternoon and then Carly cornering him had meant he’d missed it. He hit reply in the hope that she’d still be on campus, although he doubted it.

  To: darcyh_345@gmail.com

  From: jkeat@gmail.com

  Subject: Is it me you’re looking for?

  Darcy,

  Sorry. I was teaching all afternoon. I’m in my office now. What do you need?

  J

  Her response was instantaneous.

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  From: darcyh_345@gmail.com

  Subject: It was…

  Dear Professor,

  Don’t worry. I got it all figured out…

  Xoxo, Darcy.

  Dear Professor, get the polish. It’s time to dust off those skeletons. Xoxo, Darcy.

  Christina Wilson had light-blond hair that sat in a sharply angled bob. It perfectly framed her soft face, although she was definitely on the shorter side of five foot, so she looked somewhat like a pixie.

  She brushed her sweeping bangs out of her eyes and offered me a hesitant smile as I sat down opposite her in the booth. “Hi. Darcy, right?”

  “Yeah.” I smiled tightly.

  It’d been two hours since I’d seen Jordan and Professor Banks, but the time hadn’t eased the dull ache hanging around in my chest. It’d just created a hundred thousand scenarios of things that might have happened. But, m
ostly, it’d just affirmed to me that he was a liar.

  I was ready to end this bullshit relationship. I wanted to get back to work and get on with my life so that, next summer, I’d never have to see him again.

  “Can I ask you a question?” I folded my forearms on the table in front of me. “How did you get my e-mail?”

  “From the university server. And I know your name because I ran your car plate. You probably don’t want to know how I got all of that info, given your major.” She grinned. “I’m a computer programmer, if that explains anything.”

  “Quite a lot, actually.” I paused as a waitress came over and took our order. I got a Coke, but what I really wanted was a vodka. “Okay, so…why am I here?” Crap. That sounded rude.

  Christina’s lips quirked to the side. “Because of Jordan Keaton.”

  “I worked that much out for myself, but that doesn’t really explain a thing.”

  “Because of your relationship with him, Darcy. You need to know that you aren’t the only one.”

  No shit, I thought. Seeing him play tonsil tennis with my English professor clued me into that bitch of a piece of info.

  “Okay, one, how do you know that I have any kind of relationship with him? And, two, what the hell does that even mean?”

  Our drinks were brought to us right at that moment, and Christina took a long drink of hers before she set it down and focused on me.

  Her smile was wry. “I’ve made it a personal…point…to keep an eye on him since I graduated. Let me guess—you need your letter of recommendation, right?”

  “Seriously.” I gave her a flat look. “I have things to do. Get to the point.”

  She dropped the friendly pretense. “You’re not the only student he’s fucked. You’re not the first, and you won’t be the last.”

  I would have been shocked if I’d had anything left in me to be shocked with. “You.”

  “One of.” She smacked her lips together and averted her eyes for a moment.

  “How was he your professor if you’re a computer programmer?”

  “I’m a history geek. I needed credits, so I took history.” She sighed and met my eyes. “I’m not proud of our relationship. In fact, I fucking hated him. He’s nothing but a lying, blackmailing piece of shit. He had me tied into sleeping with no one but him, yet he was out fucking anything that had a vagina between its legs.”

  Apparently, that was a trait he carried through.

  “So, why did you do it?” I asked.

  “Same reason as you are. He doesn’t just pick any students. He always picks cam girls. I did my shows privately on a couple of porn websites, not an organized company like you.”

  “Is there anything you don’t know about me?”

  “Your bra size—although, if you gave me five minutes, I could probably find out.”

  “I’m good, thanks.” I rubbed the corner of my eye. “Look, Christina, I need my letter of recommendation. My chance of getting into Harvard is absolutely nil if I don’t have one from him. Or if he reveals what I do in my free time.”

  “You can get out of this.” She leaned forward, her light-blue eyes imploring me to listen to her. “Here.” She put a piece of paper in front of me on the table. “This is the other girl he coerced into sleeping with him last year. If you called her, you could probably have enough to threaten him with to get your letter and then you’ll be out of this whole situation.”

  I stared at the folded piece of paper before meeting her eyes. “You really think that’ll work?”

  “Absolutely. It’s three against one and little-to-no proof that all of us have been…online performers.” Her wry smile was back. “You have my number. There’s Rhiannon’s. Let us know what you decide to do.” She grabbed her paper cup full of soda and stood.

  “Christina?”

  “Yeah?” She glanced over her shoulder.

  “How well did you know him?”

  “I can tell you every mole on his back and every dip of muscle on his stomach.”

  “Not his body. Him as a person.”

  She stood still for a long moment before she said, “I knew he was a bastard. I never hung around long enough to find out anything else. If you were smart, you’d do the same.”

  She walked away, leaving me sitting at the booth… With the bill the waitress placed on the table the moment the door shut.

  I sighed and put ten dollars down to cover it. Then I left. She had a point. If I were smart, I’d drive to his house right now, throw everything I know in his face, and blackmail him right back.

  And I was. Smart. But I was also cunning… And a little bit of a bitch.

  I had this information, but going in guns blazing wouldn’t get me out of this situation. Despite my thoughts before, I wanted out. I didn’t want to be wanted by him anymore. I didn’t want to feel his skin against mine or his mouth exploring my body.

  I wanted my life, my job, and my remaining dignity back.

  I had to do it properly though. I needed to draw him into my web and make sure he was so stuck that the only way he could get out was to agree to my terms.

  It would be hard—I knew that. But hey… I was born for hard.

  It was time to sign back into Dalton Cam Girls.

  “You’re getting back at a guy. What do you do? Solo or couple? Go.”

  “Couple,” Jenna answered immediately.

  “Solo,” Bella argued.

  “Why a solo?” Jenna looked at her.

  Bella raised an eyebrow. “Because the best way to piss off a guy is give yourself a better orgasm than he could give you. Duh.”

  Her reasoning lingered in my mind for all of ten seconds before I realized that her logic made total sense.

  “Got it. Thanks.” I patted the top of her head and darted out of the room.

  “Hey!” she yelled after me, but I ignored her and took the stairs two a time.

  Yes. That was exactly what I was going to do. I was going to get dressed up and fuck myself until I screamed nobody’s name. And he was going to know about it—because I was going to send him the fucking link and make him watch every single second of it.

  It took me five minutes to get ready and log in to set up a chat room. I set the start time for fifteen minutes later and grabbed the room’s link.

  To: jkeat@gmail.com

  From: darcyh_345@gmail.com

  Subject: For you.

  Dear Professor,

  www.daltoncamgirls.com/dh192036

  Xoxo, Darcy.

  His response landed within seconds.

  To: darcyh_345@gmail.com

  From: jkeat@gmail.com

  Subject: Darcy.

  Darcy,

  What the fuck is that?

  J

  I grinned. It was a rhetorical question. He knew exactly what it was—or what it would be. He wasn’t a dumb man. I also knew he’d get mad the second I didn’t reply, but I had no fucks left to give.

  Having seen him with Professor Banks earlier was still hurting more than I cared to admit. He wasn’t mine—I knew that. He never had been, but that didn’t make it easier. I’d naively assumed that, when he’d sworn me to monogamy, he was practicing the same thing.

  Again, assuming was my downfall.

  He wasn’t cheating. We weren’t together. We were just two people who fucked because I had been forced into such a situation.

  I wished that had stopped the pain.

  My alarm went off, telling me that I had to get on camera, and I shut my e-mail window down. He hadn’t sent another, so I got into position and turned my webcam on.

  He was fuming.

  He’d paced back and forth in front of his fireplace ever since she’d sent that e-mail. The anger pumping through his veins was unparalleled. What the fuck was she playing at? She knew the rules of their agreement—and a public fucking cam show was not allowed.

  She. Fucking. Knew.

  He rolled his shoulders as though that would alleviate the tension balled there. Fuck!
His usually eloquent thought process had been stamped the hell out of. As if his day couldn’t have gotten any worse—a vomiting freshman, an overzealous colleague, and now, this shit.

  Fuck.

  Just…fuck.

  His laptop beeped with the notification that her show was starting. He twitched with the urge to go see. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to watch her on the screen when she should have been there, in front of him, in person.

  Yet he did. He moved toward the sofa and angled his laptop so he could see the screen. As if it had its own mind, his hand moved across the trackpad and made it full screen.

  She was there. Right there, all gorgeous and sensual, clad in the bright-pink underwear he so favored.

  Deliberate. All deliberate, although he had no idea why.

  Still, he watched. Watched as she explored her own body with her hands.

  He wanted to take those hands and pin them above her head while he asked her what the fuck she was playing at.

  He unbuckled his pants and pulled his hard cock free from its confines. He grasped it lightly, cussing himself out for going back to it, but he couldn’t help it. Watching her was too much. Knowing how she tasted, how she writhed beneath him… Knowing how soft that damn skin was… It was just so overwhelming to know that there were other men watching her right now.

  He could see them asking her to do things. To touch herself. He could see them paying her, dollar after dollar after dollar.

  Telling Darcy what to do. His Darcy.

  Touch yourself, he typed. Touch yourself and think of me as you do it.

  She faltered on the screen as his message appeared in the chat box, and she looked directly at the camera. It almost felt as though she were looking right at him, but he knew she wasn’t. It didn’t stop his cock from jerking in his hand though.

  Darcy removed her lingerie and got on all fours, sticking her ass in the air, putting her pussy on full view. She had the clearest webcam known to man, and Jordan could see her wetness glinting off her pussy lips. His grip on his cock tightened as he remembered the tangy, rich taste of her as she’d come in his mouth.