Page 6 of The Professor
“What kind of truth?” I managed.
“Tell me,” he murmured, “what you were really doing at my lecture this morning?”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly narrow. I’d just told him I didn’t lie. That I believed in truth. And truth meant a lot to my professor, I’d learned that about him for certain.
“What do you think I was doing?” I asked, my voice breathy and the rest of the world fading away.
“Apart from listening to a lecture you could have stood up and taken in my place because you are perfectly qualified to,” he said softly. “I think you were touching yourself.”
My breath hitched. Fuck. He had me.
“Imagine you are in a court of law, Chelsea, the truth is required, no, the truth isvitalto the next thing that happens.”
The next thing that happens? Was he talking about a courtroom or here and now in his office? “Is there a law against that? Against a person touching themselves?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Well, you weren’t indecently exposing yourself, so I guess you’re clear of any crime there.”
I didn’t speak, my vision had blurred a little, my brain was a riot of emotions and my clit swelling. I hoped my arousal wouldn’t trickle down my thigh. I was still pantyless.
“Though it wasn’t a victimless crime,” he said, his fingertips moving a strand of hair from my collarbone and back over my shoulder. “Was it, Chelsea?”
“Victim? There was no victim.”
“Of course there was, you had someone you were thinking about, didn’t you, while you jerked yourself off?”
I spun to him, my chest brushing his. To my surprise he didn’t step away, but then nothing about this exchange was predictable.
“There was someone making your pussy wet,” he said, his face so close to mine our noses were almost touching, “Someone making your nipples hard and stealing all of your dirty thoughts. Be honest now.”
“Yes,” I managed. “There was.”
“A guy on your course?”
I shook my head.
“Some bloke you’ve got a crush on?” His lips flattened as though he really didn’t like the idea of that.
“No.” God, my heart, it was going so fast I feared for its survival.
“So who? Who is he, or is it a she?”
I could see every whisker on his upper lip, and there was a miniscule freckle beneath his right eye I hadn’t noticed before, like a tiny tear. “Not a she.”
He nodded. “So what guy do you think of when you touch yourself, Chelsea, tell me?” He nipped my chin between his thumb and forefinger, his flesh warm on mine and also a little rough. “I need to know.”
* * * *
Andrew
Damn it, the woman was beautiful, and my entire body actually hurt with the desire to claim her. To hear her cry out my name and spasm in ecstasy beneath me.
“You.” Chelsea’s eyes flashed.
It was the word I longed to hear spilling from her seductive pink lips.
“You, Professor…it’s you I think of, every time. Every single time I touch myself your face is all I see.”
She’d said the last sentence so slowly it was impossible not to let every word sink deep into my psyche.
