Page 17 of The Professor
“Sure thing, Professor.”
Chapter Five
Chelsea
“Drive, Ted. Take me home.” I slammed the back door of the car and slunk down in the seat. “Now.”
What the heck had just happened?
“You okay, Miss Chelsea?” Ted had an East London accent, though he tried to hide it.
“Sure. Yes. Of course.” I pulled off my cap, releasing my hair.
Luckily Ted wasn’t a talker, not this late at night anyway, and he started the engine and headed away from the university at a speed that told me he wanted his bed.
My entire body was shaking. I was hot and cold at the same time. My brain was fried and my pussy so wet I knew I’d leave a damp patch on the leather seat. Fuck. Did I really see what I thought I had? Or had I imagined it?
Had my brain, while I’d come hard and long, conjured the small, perfectly round burn mark on my masked lover’s hand? Had I wanted it to be the professor so badly that I’d dreamed it up? A mirage?
I was going insane!
Or was I?
The light had been dim, of course it had been, but not pitch-black. And only yesterday I’d studied that tiny scar and wondered if it was a cigarette burn.
I stared out at the passing houses, mostly in darkness, and recalled his hands on me. His big fingers gripping my ass and hips with such possession an extra jolt of adrenaline had gone through me.
And that slap, as I’d teetered on the edge of coming. I was sure it was forbidden but he’d done it anyway. Hadn’t been able to help himself. Was that just the surface of a seriously kinky dude? Had he wanted to slap me more, until I’d cried out, burned red?
The thought wasn’t horrific to me
I held in a groan and closed my eyes when the houses became hedgerows. What were the chances of Ted smelling sex on me? Zero, I hoped.
What were the chances that Professor Andrew Deacon had just taken me roughly and anonymously from behind and given me the best orgasm I’d had in months…years…maybe ever?
I went over the entire event in my mind again. From bending over and pulling up my skirt, to wriggling my ass and spreading my feet. I hadn’t waited long to be claimed, and then when I had, he’d hit the ground running, fucking me without any hesitation or buildup or, in fact, consideration. He’d just rammed home and pounded me, dragging me onto him in a way that super-charged my G-spot. It had been about him finding an orgasm and me going along for the ride.
But ride him I had, I’d given as good as I’d got. And oh…oh…if it had been the professor, Andrew, now I knew we were meant to be. We’d fitted perfectly, come in synchrony, and finished together. My satisfaction was still ebbing and flowing in my veins, and my pussy, if it were possible, felt exhausted.
Eventually, we drew up at the gates. Ted used the remote to open them, then drove up the gravel driveway.
When he came to a stop, he alighted, dashed around, and opened my door. “Is that it for today, Miss Chelsea? Anywhere else you need to go?”
“No, and of course, you’re done, go get some sleep, and thank you.” I stood and was glad when he shut the door to hide any wet patches. Hopefully they’d dry by morning.
“I’ll go and park up in the garage and then I’ll be ready for you at nine for university.”
“I don’t need to be in until lunchtime. Have a lie-in, with Dad being away you can.”
He smiled and touched the little black peaked cap he liked to wear. “Thank you.”
He drove off, and I climbed the steps, rooting in my pocket for the key. The house was dark and quiet. Tina had Thursday’s off so had likely gone home.
But when I stepped into the hallway and flicked on a light I heard noises from my father’s study. I glanced at the alarm control panel. It had been turned to neutral.
“Dad?” I called, kicking off my shoes and dropping the keys into a bowl. “Is that you?”
Another shot of adrenaline went into me. Dad was in London. Tina was at her home. Who the fuck was rooting around in my father’s drawers and filing cabinets?
