Page 34 of The Professor
I swallowed and held in a sob. “Professor Andrew Deacon,” I managed. “You tricked me, you betrayed me, you lured me here, so how can I possibly believe a word that comes out of your lying fucking mouth?”
Chapter Nine
Andrew
I knew full well she’d recognize me the moment I spoke, if not before. Hell, we’d been up close and personal only hours ago. A kiss that had turned my cock rock-solid and had every fantasy and wet dream I’d had about her colliding like some massive astrological event.
“Will an apology help?” I said beside her ear and breathing in the peaches-and-cream scent of her hair.
“Letting me go will help, and if you do it now, perhaps we can keep this between us and I won’t go to the police about you and your thuggish friends.”
“What if I said one of usisthe police?”
“What? Are you crazy?” She tried to turn to look at me.
“I’m crazy, all right, crazy about you,” I said.
She didn’t reply but she was breathing fast, her cute tits pressing up against her white t-shirt.
Didn’t the woman own a bra?
“But you know that, right?” I continued. “In fact, you’ve brought it on yourself.”
“How can you possibly say that?”
“Sitting in my lecture theater masturbating, coming to my office, tempting me with your sexy little smiles and sweet perfume.” I ducked my head to her neck and let my lips graze her flesh. “And then coming straight here, at my first invitation, for a good fucking.” I paused. “You can’t deny that’s why you came here.”
She huffed in frustration and yanked at the ropes, trying to get her arms free.
“You might as well relax,” I said, smoothing my index finger along the pale insides of her left arm, wrists to elbow, and back down again. The light hit her inner wrist, showing the delicate blue veins beneath the surface of her skin. “You’re going to be here a while. Relax.”
“What is this place?”
I circled back around her, took the gun from the small of my back, and set it on the table.
“What the fuck?” She stared at it.
“Tool of the trade.” I pulled my mask down. There was no point hiding anymore.
“What bloody trade? I thought you were a professor.”
“I am.” I grabbed another chair and directly sat in front of her. “Some of the time.”
“What does that mean?”
She was staring at me with an expression of disbelief and confusion. I didn’t give her an answer. She’d figure it out soon enough, or some of it.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“For want of a better word, it’s a safe house.”
She frowned at me. “I don’t feel very safe right now.”
“You are.”
She pouted her kissable lips. Intelligence and frustration danced in her eyes.
“It’s collectively owned,” I said, “by myself and the guys you just met. There’s a few more, but they couldn’t be here…” I sucked in a breath and thought of Finn and Grant behind bars. “And girls, women, who work the streets use it as a place of business.”
