Page 8 of The Professor
I chuckled. “I’ll give you something.”
“What? Tell me.”
I paused then, “Whatever you think this is, I’m the worst decision you’ll ever make.”
“So it’smydecision.” Her eyebrows twitched. “My decision to make? Good or bad?”
“No.” I laughed. “No, it really fucking isn’t.”
I swear she stomped her foot before huffing and marching to the door. She slammed it behind herself with enough force for a framed certificate to fall off its wall hook and smash on the floor.
I guess that served me right for bringing her into my office and not giving her what she wanted.
Chapter Three
Chelsea
“Dad, I’m home.” I stepped into the vast kitchen that looked over an outdoor pool, a croquet lawn and then ancient woodland. There was no one around, so I dumped my bag on the marble island and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of Evian. My rage at Professor Andrew Deacon had not subsided on the journey home. He was a prize asshole. Fucking gorgeous asshole, but still…
“Ah, Miss Chelsea, you are returned from your studies. How was your day?”
Tina bustled in holding a pile of laundry, and I forced myself to smile. “All good, thanks. How has your day been?” There was an irritated edge to my voice, I couldn’t hide it.
She paused. “There is always lots to do in this big house.” She frowned. “Are you well?”
“Yes, fine, just coursework trouble, you know how it is.”
“I have no experience of such things.” She shrugged. “Your father will be home soon, he went to a lunch meeting.”
“Ah, one of those, okay.” Lunch meetings always involved expensive claret and rump steak.
“And there is chicken and salad in the refrigerator.” She walked away. “If you are hungry, Miss Chelsea.”
I glugged on the water. Hungry for food? No way. I was hungry for cock, and only one would do, but now the chance to get up close and personal seemed even farther away.
The Professor had had the perfect opportunity to fuck me over his desk hard and fast. We were alone, the rest of the university emptying for the day. For goodness’ sake, I wasn’t even wearing panties. How much easier could it have been forhim to bend me over, kick my ankles apart, and shove his impressive erection into my sopping pussy?
“Miss Slutty Shoes.” I wrinkled my nose. That was the only reasonable explanation for him being able to resist me. He was seeing her. They were exclusive, and he didn’t want to spoil the stupid, pointless, fluffy thing he had going on with her. What he didn’t know was I could give him so much more…of everything.
If only he could stop looking at me like I was a student. I was twenty-seven, all woman and completing a postgraduate course. It put me in a totally different zone to the other students who had barely started their university education.
Didn’t it?
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel caught my attention. I went to the window.
Dad was home and getting out of his chauffeured Merc. His sports jacket strained over his increasingly rotund belly, and his jowls wobbled as he walked to the house. I worried about his health, and so did his doctors, but he wouldn’t be told. Some men believed they were invincible, immortal, and Hank Taylor was one of them.
“Hey, my pretty little Chelsea,” he said, wandering into the kitchen then embracing me.
“Hi, Dad. Good lunch?”
“Lunch meeting!” He waggled his finger at me. “Business meeting. Always things to do, you know.”
“You’re supposed to be retiring.”
“All play and no work makes Hank Taylor a very dull guy.” He laughed, though it was always strained these days. “How was uni?”
“Same old, same old.”
