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Better to Eat You

Page 59

by Savannah Skye


  Willow takes a seat at an empty computer station, but there are no other open chairs so I’m forced to stand behind her. I drop my bag onto the floor and kick it under the desk while she begins clicking around on the screen.

  “What are we doing here?” I question, more than a little agitated.

  She’s too preoccupied to provide a verbal response to my more than reasonable inquiry, so I lean over her shoulder and watch the computer screen as she types away.

  SEARCH: Signs of sexual attraction

  “Are you kidding me?” I scoff and exhale on a gasp. She clicks a purple link—indicating she’s not the first user on this computer to visit the website in question—and a page loads that reads: Does He Want To Bang You?

  “Could you be any more profane?”

  She cocks a judgmental look over her shoulder. “Says the girl who’s dreaming of a salacious student-teacher affair.”

  I drop my palm onto her bare shoulder and sink my nails into her skin, deep enough to hurt but not deep enough to draw blood. I’m not that evil.

  “Ouch.” She jerks away from my grasp and drags her hand to the mouse. “You need to clip those nails, Freddy Krueger.” She leans in closer to the screen and clicks once more. “Okay, here we go.”

  “I’m not doing this,” I protest, but I realize that when it comes to Willow, I don’t really have a choice. I squint at the screen and read the first question in a hushed whisper, “Are you sexually attracted to him?”

  “Obsessed,” Willow says and clicks the yes button.

  I can’t help but to roll my eyes.

  The student occupying the chair beside Willow rises to her feet and throws her bag over her shoulder. Before she’s even left the general area, I find myself sliding into the chair and claiming it as my own.

  “Were his pupils dilated?” Willow cranes her head to me to stare me down, waiting on edge for a response. She’s more excited about finding out if Mr. Ridley wants to ravish my body than I am.

  I shrug. “Sure, I guess. Actually, now that I think of it, I was wondering if he was sick because his eyes looked a little weird.”

  “Okay.” She nods and clicks the appropriate button. “Did you notice a pulse in his neck?”

  “Absolutely.” I nod my head with such conviction that I almost believe the words coming out of my mouth. The truth is, I couldn’t remember. Not that I’m not going to be basing any decisions on any website that calls itself The Co-Ed’s Guide to Sex And Dating anyway. I’m only playing along because it keeps me from thinking about the sensation of wanting the floor to swallow me whole while I was in his office.

  “Were his muscles tense?” She looks at me with an amused smirk, her lips hitching unevenly on one corner of her mouth. “And just to be clear, I think they’re asking about his neck or his shoulders, not the muscle safely tucked behind those tight ass briefs.”

  “I don’t know why we’re friends.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” She clicks on the yes button and continues to ask me another twenty questions before my results are calculated. Flashing on the screen;

  Congratulations; He Wants To Bang You. Click HERE to order condoms online because nobody should forego their future because they got pregnant by a man who ONLY wants to bang you.

  “You know, I don’t believe in crystal balls…” She swivels in her seat to face me fully. “But I trust the source, and as your friend, I just want to tell you that I think dropping to your knees to massage Mr. Teacher was the best move you could have possibly made, because it’s clear to me that he wants to fuck you.”

  My eyes go wide, knowing damn well the girl behind Willow clearly heard the last bit, if not the entire rant.

  “I’m never telling you anything ever again.”

  She twists to see the girl behind her and then just waves her off as if it’s no big deal. She scoots her chair closer to me.

  “Come on. Think hard and try to be serious here. You might be inexperienced, but you’ve been around guys who were into you. Did he seem like that?”

  “I don’t know.” I shrug, and try to think back to the incident. For the most part, my mind has been preoccupied with the embarrassing way in which I announced I had to leave. “You know, now that I think about it, despite his hard-muscled thigh, I didn’t really feel any evidence of knotting that would indicate a cramp. But he was definitely tense and very uncomfortable. He practically winced when I touched him.”

  Willow’s pansy blue eyes shoot wide. “Holy shit, Batman!” She puckers her lips before leaning in close, pressing her lips against my ear to whisper, “I bet you caught the professor waxing his pole.”

  “Jerking off?” I question back and shake my head, my cheeks flushing as my pulse kicked up. “No, that’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” She raises her brows and presses forward. “Men have needs. Even daddies. Trust me on that one, because let me tell you—”

  “That’s quite all right,” I insist. “I don’t need you to go in graphic detail about your best friend’s father again.”

  “Former best friend,” she adds with a knowing smirk. “A drunken confession about losing your virginity to your best friend’s father isn’t something most modern friendships can come back from.”

  “As if modern relationships are different from any other relationship in that regard.”

  “The eighties were a different time, Grace. People had needs and they weren’t judged for wanting to fulfill them,” she said, her tone matter of fact.

  “Can we get back to the issue at hand?” I begged.

  “Right.” She nods and rakes a hand through her brunette curls. “Lets go down the list of facts.”

  “Okay, so when I walked in, he was definitely out of breath,” I say. “Oh yeah! And the door was locked and it took him a while to open it. That’s a key element that I perhaps should have remembered earlier.”

  “No shit.” She stares me down for a moment, as if that’s something worthy of deep contemplation. “It’s just another piece of evidence that he was in fact jerking off. You know what I think?” She twists a finger in her curls and blows a massive, purple bubble with gum I hadn’t even realized she was chewing.

  “I’m honestly on pins and needles waiting to hear what you think,” I say, my voice dripping with enough sarcasm to form a pool capable of drowning in.

  She leans back in her chair, her lips splitting into a mischievous smile. “I think he was, in fact, jerking off. And I’m going to double down here and further suggest that he was thinking about your virgin ass the entire time.” She blows another bubble and offers me a sly wink that’s soon obscured by the obnoxious size of the growing candy bubble.

  I sigh and push back against my chair, throw my head back and stare at the ceiling. He had been behaving strangely. And he did seem awfully uncomfortable. I’d be willing to agree with her that he was jerking off, but I’m still not sold that it had anything to do with me.

  “Maybe you’re right about the jerking off part,” I venture to say out loud, all the while hating to give her the satisfaction. “So, assuming there’s a chance you’re right about the rest, what do I do now?”

  She let out a snort and grinned. “You exploit that shit, ASAP. You flaunt that taut little college ass in front of him until he can’t resist. In fact, I’ll even help you. Let’s take a quick look through my closet later and find you something to wear and see if you can’t ramp things up a bit tomorrow. I’ve already got a plan forming.”

  “Excuse me?” A shy student wearing a fancy shirt tucked into his trousers questions from behind Willow. “Are you using this computer?”

  She passes me a knowing glance first and then averts her gaze to the student standing over her. “No, I’m actually just sitting here to be an asshole because I know how rare it is to find a seat in this underequipped library.” She grins, baring her teeth. “Now scram, Zuckerberg.”

  I narrow my eyes at her. “You’re such a—”

  “Stop.” She throws
up one hand. “Let me save you from yourself, save you from taking a wrecking ball to your squeaky clean image. I’m a bitch. You don’t need the sin of those words on your innocent little lips…”

  She continues to drone on, but I begin to space out until all that’s left are the hushed vibrations of her lips. My mind slips elsewhere, ventures all the way out into fantasy-land as I think back to my private meeting with the man of my dreams. Maybe she’s right. Maybe I shouldn’t give up yet.

  I think of his strong fingers gripping my wrist, can feel his muscles at work as he guides me to my feet. Think about that emerald gaze boring down at me as if his eyes were enchanted with fire. He’s no regular professor. I’d bet my college career on it.

  I ran today, but equipped with this new information, there’s no way I’m going to abandon ship now. Professor Ridley’s waters run deep and there is more to him than meets the eye. If I ever want to find out exactly what lurks beneath the scholarly façade, I’m going to have to get close.

  Real close.

  Chapter Three

  Jack

  Fuck.

  Fuck. Fuck.

  I tear into the dry ass cafeteria burger, purposely punishing myself. Weeks worth of work down the drain because some hot little number got on her knees and batted her eyelashes at me. I'm supposed to be better than that. Stronger than that.

  And yet, I can’t get a handle on Grace Farrow. She handles herself like a twenty-year-old virgin, but shit, can anyone truly be that naïve? Kneeling yesterday, hands outstretched, ready to massage out my "cramp" nearly had me shooting off in my pants. How could she not know that mere inches from her lips my cock was straining against the zipper, doing everything in its power to close that gap?

  It had taken me five weeks. Five fucking weeks of sitting in a cramped ass car until one AM, peeing in a bottle and eating greasy fast food for dinner, just to finally get a glimpse of Tony Macha. Then last night, out of nowhere, the fat asshole appears and I'm too busy with my cock in my hand to do anything about it. Too busy thinking about what would have happened if Grace had just moved her hand a little to the left earlier that day, maybe bobbed that head a little lower...

  I need to get laid. A night of sweaty, raw, dirty sex. Something to fuck the hot little Miss Farrow right out of my head, because I’ve got work to do. I make a mental note to call Tiffany after my 3:30 lecture. She is always primed and ready for a night of screaming sex. It’s true what they say about those English profs.

  I take another bite of my burger and nearly choke. Not from the shit cafeteria food this time, but from the new sight before me.

  Little Gracie Farrow standing in the doorway, haloed by the outdoor sunlight. Her legs go on for miles before they stop at a too short, frayed jean skirt. The belly halter wasn't much better. God, my fucking cock's betraying me again. I make a mental note to call Tiffany before the lecture, maybe she can fit in an afternoon quickie.

  Grace spots me before I can bury my head in a book and suddenly she's headed my way.

  "I'm so glad I caught you," she says, her chest heaving because she practically ran over to me. I can't help but notice her nipples are hard again. I wonder if she should talk to someone about finding a better bra. This one obviously isn't working.

  "I wanted to apologize for yesterday," she says. I know she's saying more, but I can't concentrate on anything but her pert little tits.

  "Professor Ridley, did you hear me?" she purses her cherry, red lips and I'm done for. Tiffany is now out of my mind for good. It's obvious now, that only this girl will do.

  "I'm sorry, what?" I say, somehow managing not to sound like a teenage boy going through puberty. My mouth is dry.

  "I'm sorry about yesterday," she says. "I realize I probably just made things harder when I tried to help you with your cramp. I…I just thought I could help."

  She says “harder” a little like a dirty school girl in a barely legal porno and I wonder again if the virgin thing is all an act or if my imagination is carrying me away again.

  "I know," I say, grinding out the words. “It’s fine.”

  She smiles. Those ruby red lips a striking contrast to her pearly white teeth.

  "A peace offering then," she holds out a cup of coffee. "Just like you like it. I asked the barista to make your usual. Black with just a bit of sugar. He was really helpful…"

  She's rambling again, and the innocent school girl is back. I reach for the cup of coffee and our fingers brush. The contact is completely unintentional, but once again I'm hard as a rock. She's staring at me with those doe eyes, expecting me to say something. I'm sure she asked me a question, I just don't know what it was.

  "Where's your head at?" she asks with a giggle. It's young woman flirtation mode now, her hand reaches out and playfully rests on my upper arm. My cock jumps and I'm glad I'm sitting down. One second she's innocent, the next it's a full court press of seduction. I can't tell who the real Grace Farrow is.

  I'm not used to this kind of confusion. I'm supposed to be badass. Hard core. Between the Army Rangers and my current nighttime career, most of my adult life has been centered around making definitive, split-second decisions.

  Friend or foe.

  Life or death.

  But this half-woman, half-girl has me in knots. Why can't I read her?

  I fantasize about taking her over my knee and giving her a few sharp smacks to see which side of her wins out. See if I can break her. If I can get a bead on her motivation, it will be a lot easier to manage her.

  She's looking at me expectantly. I haven't said anything in the past twenty seconds, too busy thinking about turning her ass cheeks rosy just before I plunge my throbbing cock between them.

  "I'm sorry," I finally manage to say. "Could you repeat that?"

  "I know it's a bit of an imposition, but I'm taking this writing class. The professor wants us to interview someone we admire and find interesting and try to write our perspective of their life story, and I thought…"

  She trails off, a hopeful smile once again parting those red lips.

  I'm barely processing what she's saying.

  She licks her lips, still waiting. It's an innocent enough gesture, but I'm done for. All I can think about now is her crawling under the table and working over my cock. It's already straining, all she would have to do is pull it out and go to town. I can almost feel that auburn hair running through my fingers as I guide her head. I know she's unpracticed, but I can show her what to do. The state I'm in, it wouldn't take much.

  Fuck.

  I'm her professor, damn it. In a position of power, and all I can think about day and night is taking advantage of this college girl. No matter how I try to convince myself otherwise, she's not some skilled seductress trying to get into my pants. She's a young woman who doesn't know any better and I'm the dirty old man thinking with his dick.

  "I'd be happy to help," I say because what else can I do? I can't punish her because I can't keep my cock down. I lie about my life pretty much 24/7, so spinning a yarn for her little assignment should be easy enough.

  "Great," she says, that dazzling smile back out in full force. "My last class ends at 5:00 today, can we meet after that?"

  "Sure, there's a coffee shop on Post Road. Say, 5:30?" I say it without thinking. The coffee shop's my go to spot, it's also just downstairs from the studio apartment I rent. Whether intentionally or not, I’ve just invited Grace Farrow close enough to the lion’s den to know we were both in trouble. “On second thought, how about Eggzam’s Breakfast shop just off campus? They have better coffee anyway.”

  She shakes her head mournfully, her cheeks going a pretty shade of pink. “I’m actually banned from ever going there again,” she mumbles.

  I stare at her, imagination running wild as to what little Gracie Farrow could’ve done to merit such a consequence. Maybe she’s less innocent than I think?

  “Why is that?” I hear myself asking, despite being one hundred percent sure that her answer isn’t going
to help the situation.

  “So, you know how they had that little incubator with the chicks in it around Easter time to go along with the theme of the place?”

  I nod, even more intrigued.

  “Well, my roommate and I headed there one Sunday taking advantage of the endless mimosa brunch and we noticed that one of the chicks looked sick. It was like falling over and stuff.” She starts to fidget and chew on that full bottom lip. “Anyways, I told the manager and he didn’t care. He said they die all the time. So I…uhm… I stuffed it down my shirt and took off.”

  I could feel the smile tugging at my lips but I fight it back. She is still a student and I am still a professor. I shouldn’t be encouraging her misdemeanor theft. “You stole a baby chick from the café?”

  “Sort of. I tried to. But I got caught. My friend Willow is better endowed than me and probably would’ve been able to pull it off without getting busted, but,” she shoots a mournful glance at her modest cleavage, “the poor thing really had nowhere to hide. Then it started cheep-cheep-cheeping away as we tried to sneak out. It was a real mess. Long story short, they have my picture up by the register so I’m waiting to grow my hair out and get some foils in it before I try to go back. Point being, let’s just meet at the first place you said.”

  She’s so naïve, even her story about being naughty is weirdly touching.

  I nod slowly, too caught up in her tale to think of another reason not to agree. “Sure. That’s fine. I'll see you there."

  She plants her hands on the table and pushes herself up, causing that belly shirt to rise just a few more inches. I can see the skin above her navel now and while I've never particularly been a stomach man, all that smooth expanse of lightly tanned skin is doing something to me.

  Grace is clueless once again. She gives me a little finger wave as she turns, and sashays toward the cafeteria door, her hips swinging as if to some mysterious music only she can hear. I watch her all the way because there's no way I'm tearing my eyes away from this peep show. The door's just closing when I see her do a little fist pump.

 

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