The Heat Professor (Nerds Who Knot Book 4)

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The Heat Professor (Nerds Who Knot Book 4) Page 8

by Amy Bellows

That’s because we’re going to pick you up.

  He’s truly thought of everything. Each time Damien does something sweet like this, it makes me feel safe. Even though I don’t get to keep him, I’ll always be better off from the time I spent with him.

  That’s how it is for every omega he meets, isn’t it? Like those five children he helped bring into the world. A horrible part of me wonders how many other omegas Damien is spoiling right now. Did they all get invitations to dinner at his house? How many of them has he kissed this week?

  I’m sure the other omegas are a better fit for him. They probably have doctorates and refined taste, just like him. But tonight he’s mine, right?

  Thank you, Damien. I’m really looking forward to it.

  He answers immediately again.

  Me too. Will you wear your suit for me?

  I smile.

  Only if you wear your suspenders.

  Deal.

  17

  Damien

  “I hate to be a killjoy, but don’t you think it’s a bad idea to put all of your eggs in one basket?” my omega mother says as I set the table with my good china. We’re at my house because I wanted to show Tatum my mother-in-law cottage in the backyard. I think his mother would be very comfortable living there.

  “I’ve messaged back and forth with other omegas,” I remind her.

  She folds the fourth napkin and slides it underneath the fork on the last place setting.

  “But you haven’t met with any of them or even video-chatted with them. Don’t you think you should give them a chance? The dean said you could go back to teaching as long as you stayed away from the student you had an inappropriate relationship with. If you choose a different omega, you could go back to your life.”

  I’m not sure how to explain the tightness I felt in my chest when the dean told me I could return to teaching after this semester. All I could think about were the students who couldn’t stay awake during class and the endless papers I had to grade. For me, teaching has always been a way to advocate for sex workers, but there are days when I wonder how many of my students actually care what I have to say. You can scream as loud as you want, but if your audience isn’t listening, it doesn’t make any difference.

  “What if I don’t want to go back to my life? I mean, what if I don’t want to go back to the university?” I ask.

  “If you don’t want to teach, then what do you want to do?”

  I’m not sure she’s going to like my answer to that question.

  “Be an advocate. Make a difference.” It may be idealistic. I don’t care. I’m never going to stop fighting the good fight, even if I have to change my angle of attack now and again.

  My mother pulls her car keys out of her pocket and jangles them back and forth. “Okay, Gandhi. Let’s go get your underage boyfriend.”

  “He’s not underage. He’s twenty-two—”

  “And you’re thirty-four.”

  She’s right. Tatum’s far too young for me, but the shame I felt initially about our age difference isn’t enough to keep me away from him any longer. I guess I’ll have to stay in excellent shape so I can take care of him for many years to come.

  “Do you honestly think I’m interested in Tatum because of his youth?”

  “I think you’re interested in him because of your heat latch. Which is even worse.”

  She walks outside and down the front steps toward her silver BMW. I follow after her, locking the door on my way out. We both get inside the car, but before we pick up Tatum and his mother, I need to explain something.

  “When have you felt the most connected to your inner omega, mom?”

  She starts the car. “I don’t know. During my heat and when I was in labor?”

  She puts the car in reverse.

  “Just hear me out, okay? With alphas, it’s the same. Because I’ve helped so many omegas through their heats, I’ve gotten to know my inner alpha very well. There have been times when I was past the point of exhaustion, and I relied on him to help me do my job. He isn’t only motivated by sex. He’s a caretaker and a protector. He’s the most primal, instinctual part of me. And he chose Tatum.”

  “Sometimes the most primal, instinctual part of me wants a cheeseburger. That doesn’t mean I should eat one.” She pulls out of my driveway and heads west for Tatum’s house.

  Maybe when she gets to know Tatum, she’ll understand. He’s truly special.

  “Will you try to keep an open mind?” I ask.

  She doesn’t answer for a long time. There comes a point where I wonder if she’s forgotten that I said anything. It isn’t until she pulls into the trailer park that she finally slows and turns to me. “I’m trying to be supportive here. I’ve delivered your baskets and kept an eye on you all week. But if you expect me to think it’s a good idea for you to date one of your students, I don’t think that’s something I can give to you. I’m your mother. I want you to be happy and successful. It’s hard for me to imagine you being either of those things with a boy who’s twelve years younger than you and will require you to give up your career. All I’m saying is you need to meet with other omegas and let your heat latch react to their pheromones. I think if you do, you’ll find this boy less appealing.”

  We reach Tatum’s house at the end of the road. Is my mother ever going to be able to accept Tatum as a viable mate for me? And if she can’t, will anyone else?

  “What if I promise to go out to dinner with three other omegas this week?”

  She turns off the car. “All right. Thank you, Damien. That makes me feel a lot better. Now come introduce me to this boy you’re so obsessed with. You’ve made me ding dong ditch every time I’ve dropped off a gift, so I haven’t had a chance to meet him yet.”

  We both get out of the car and walk up to Tatum’s front door. There’s giggling on the other side, and a, “Well, don’t you look handsome.” My mother smiles at me and knocks.

  Tatum’s mother opens the door wearing a black dress that hugs her curves and red lipstick highlighting her full mouth. It’s clear where Tatum got his good looks from. Tatum steps beside her in his suit, complete with a flirty little bowtie he wasn’t wearing last week at the SLASW. His wild blonde hair looks more windswept than normal, and without thinking, I reach over and tuck some of it behind his ear. He blushes and smiles sheepishly at my mother, who glares at me.

  “How old are you again?” she asks.

  “Almost twenty-three.”

  My mother sends me a skeptical glance.

  “Mom, this is Tatum. Tatum, this is my omega mother, Sharita.”

  She holds out her hand to Tatum, and he shakes it.

  “Uh, this is my mom, Gwen. Gwen, this is Damien, or Professor Ringdal. And of course, his mother.”

  Gwen shakes both of our hands.

  “It’s nice to meet you. You seem like a very nice man. Thank you for inviting us over for dinner.” Even though it’s her son who’s dating a much older man, she doesn’t seem concerned. Is that because of her memory or because she’s more open-minded than my mother?

  We head back to my omega mother’s car, where Gwen gets in the passenger’s seat, and Tatum and I both squeeze into the back. Being this close to Tatum is distracting. I should be trying to make small talk, or at least putting on my seatbelt, but I simply sit there and stare at him. He stares back, almost as if we’re caught in the same spell.

  “Ahem. Some adults in this car need to be reminded to buckle up, even though they are grown men now.”

  Tatum blushes furiously, then pulls his seatbelt over. I follow suit.

  “All right. Let’s roll,” Tatum’s mother says.

  Tatum lays his hand flat on the seat between us and looks up at me nervously. Does he want me to hold his hand?

  This makes me feel like I’m in junior high again. I glance at my mother and consider the situation carefully. Maybe she’ll think it’s ridiculous, but I can’t leave Tatum hanging. I reach my hand over and rest it on his. He twists his hand,
threading our fingers together. When he squeezes my hand, I can’t help but close my eyes. After talking with him every morning for a week now with no ability to touch him, holding his hand is enough to make my pants tight.

  He notices and smirks at me. One second he’s a shy, bashful omega, and the next second he’s 100 percent Tatum, without a self-conscious bone in his body. I don’t know if I’ll ever figure him out.

  He runs his thumb along the sensitive skin of my palm, and my breath catches.

  “Keep it G-rated back there,” my mother says.

  How did I, a thirty-four-year-old man, get myself in this situation?

  “Yes, ma’am,” Tatum says with a little too much sass in his voice.

  My mother doesn’t hide her shock very well when she turns back to give him her Mom-Eye.

  “We’re not really a G-rated family,” Gwen says. “It isn’t in our nature.”

  Everyone in the car laughs.

  Even my mother.

  18

  Tatum

  In Miracle on 34th Street (which is the best Christmas movie in the world, by the way), the little girl asks Santa Claus for a house and is rewarded at the end with a huge mansion decorated to absolute perfection with everything a child could ever want. Damien’s house is a little like that. It’s one of those charming old homes with a grand staircase and a fireplace in the living room. Damien starts a fire before dinner, then pours drinks for everyone: white wine for his mother and himself, and fancy soda for my mother and me. My mother sits in the antique rocking chair, and Damien’s mother sits across from her in one of those fancy sofas lined with detailed woodwork and studded with buttons. Damien and I stand side by side in the corner of the room. While we chat with our mothers, he slides his arm casually along my back.

  It’s so easy. I don’t have to worry about my mother because she’s right here. The conversation flows as steadily as the drinks. Our mothers start talking about Dolly Parton, then Tina Turner, and before long, they’re laughing together like old friends. They don’t even notice the way Damien’s hand massages along my back, or the way my breath quickens when his hand travels down to my ass. He smiles at me so innocently, it takes every bit of self-control I have not to laugh.

  Eventually, we move into the kitchen, where Damien and his mother work in tandem with a grace that speaks of decades of practice. My mother laughs at their fancy cheeses in her endearing, self-deprecating way, and Damien jokes around with her like she’s a real person.

  More than anything else, that’s what does it. I fall for Damien Ringdal hook, line, and sinker. I might as well put my pumping heart inside his hands because it belongs to him as surely as I’m breathing.

  It’s one of those moments in life that simply stops. Damien looks at me from across the room, and in slow motion, his eyes close while he brings his glass of wine up to his lips. He’s down to his button-up shirt and suspenders, his sleeves rolled up, and he’s everything I’ve ever wanted. Kind, handsome, and smart as fuck. Nothing about this is real. I’m Cinderella, and when the clock strikes midnight, this will all turn into nothing but a pumpkin and a collection of mice.

  Well, not midnight. Exactly two weeks from now. Damien will choose his mate, and this magic will be over.

  “While the pasta boils, I want to show Tatum the guest house,” Damien says.

  His mother gives him some serious side-eye. “With a chaperone.”

  “We’ll be five minutes. You can time us.”

  She nods to my mother. “What do you think? Can we leave them alone for five minutes?”

  My mother grins at her. “I told you we aren’t a G-rated family. I wasn’t lying.”

  Traitor. I take her to a nice dinner, and she reveals my intentions to get Damien out of his pants the second we’re alone.

  She knows me too well.

  “Five minutes, Damien. I’ll be timing you,” Sharita tells him.

  Damien opens the French doors into the backyard and waits for me to step through.

  The backyard is still icy from the thawing winter. For a house of this size, it’s not big, but it’s certainly a lot bigger than ours. Instead of a shed with questionable structural integrity, Damien’s backyard has an honest-to-God guest house with a brick exterior and everything. He slides a key into the lock and opens the door to a very cozy open-concept home with a large island in the kitchen. It opens up into a small dining area, with a collection of small couches and recliners settled around a television. Damien flips on the light and shuts the door softly behind him.

  “This is where I used to host clients who didn’t want to spend their heat at home.” He steps closer to me and rests his hands on my hips. “I thought it might be perfect for your mother. If you wanted her to live with us in the house, that would be fine too—”

  I interrupt him with a kiss. Of course he has a whole house for my mother. What about this fantasy isn’t perfect?

  Besides not being able to have sex with him, that is.

  He pulls me closer until our bodies are flush. I tangle my fingers into his hair and open his mouth with my own. He moans, the vibration buzzing against my lips. I want to rock my hips into his, take off all his clothes and worship his body with my lips, pull my pants down and drape myself over the kitchen island.

  But we only have five minutes.

  Like the good alpha he is, he breaks the kiss and steps back.

  “Do you think she’d like it?”

  It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking about my mother and this quaint house.

  “Yes, Damien.” My throat is thick. “She’d love it.”

  That’s when I realize this might be the last time I get to see him. The only time before he makes his decision. So I take a risk. There’s one thing I want before we go back to the main house—something to remember him by.

  I kneel down in front of him and grab for the button of his pants.

  “Tatum, we can’t—”

  “I just want to taste you. That’s all.”

  “But my mother—”

  I guide his zipper down and free his hard cock from his briefs.

  “Please. One taste, okay?”

  I grab the shaft and circle my tongue around the head, licking the precum off the tip. He’s musky and salty, and oh God, I need more of him. I inhale his scent. Man and soap, with a hint of sandalwood. I try to remember it for later when I’m jacking off. Or, more realistically, when I miss him.

  His eyes cloud over with the lust that consumed him less than a week ago in my bedroom. He threads his fingers through my hair.

  I take him between my lips, savoring the warm weight of his cock. Most of my experience with oral has been with the plastic dildos I perform with on my show. When Damien’s cock pushes into the back of my mouth, it’s so different. His hips twitch, and he lets out a soft moan. I feel so close to him. It isn’t just oral sex, it’s something else—something deeper.

  I hear footsteps outside the door. In a panic, I stand, and zip Damien’s pants up. He snaps out of it just in time to button himself before the door opens, and Damien’s mother appears, wielding a spatula.

  “It’s been five minutes, young man.” She glances back and forth between us. Too late, I remember to wipe off my mouth. She rolls her eyes. “For Christ’s sake. C’mon, let’s go eat dinner.”

  Damien laces his fingers through mine.

  I lean into him and whisper, “Sorry. I just figured we wouldn’t get another chance to be alone.”

  “In a few weeks, we’ll have plenty of time alone together, okay?” He reassures me.

  Of course, there’s so much that goes unsaid. We’ll only get to be alone if he chooses me, which he won’t. My mother will only get to stay here if he wants me, which he won’t. I can’t complain. I’m lucky to be on this joyride at all. But I’m glad I got to taste him, smell him, if only once. At least I have that.

  Smiling as convincingly as I can manage and squeeze his hand. “Okay.”

  We follow his mother b
ack to the house.

  19

  Damien

  Having Tatum in my home, eating dinner with my omega mother, feels so right, I wish I hadn’t promised her I’d date other omegas. I don’t need more time to decide. And if the way Tatum looks at me is any indication, he doesn’t either. At the end of this week, I’m going to pop the question.

  At ten o’clock, after we’ve chatted and laughed for a few hours at the table, we drive Tatum and his mother home. She’s a delight as well. Her humor is dry, and she has a magnetic confidence. She doesn’t forget what’s going on even once during our dinner, which gives me a better idea of how her short-term memory loss works. I’ve read a lot about it in the last week, and I’ve asked Tatum quite a few questions, but interacting with her for a few hours is helpful.

  Gwen slips into the house first when I walk them to the door, turning back to tell us “not to hurry” with a flirty little wink.

  The porch light is on, and my mother is watching, so things can’t get too frisky. Tatum doesn’t seem all that interested in a kiss either. He’s staring at me from head to toe, as if he’ll never get to see me again.

  “What’s on your mind?” I ask.

  “Oh, I just… you’re wonderful, Damien.”

  It’s amazing how three words can make my heart soar. I’ve spent my adult life taking care of different omegas, never understanding why an alpha would want to spend the rest of their life with only one. At first, the idea of giving up my work as a heat companion was painful. But if I could be with Tatum, I don’t think I would mind as much. I’d love to spend the rest of my life taking care of no one but him.

  “I’d like to make a decision at the end of this week,” I confess, kissing his knuckles. “Do you think that would be too soon?”

  His eyes widen, and a tentative smile comes to his face. Then he glances away, and his face falls. “Okay. I understand.”

  “Tatum, I—”

  He opens the door and nods to me. “Have a good night, Damien.”

 

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