Professor, page 3
6
Professor Goode
This was not my scene. It was loud and obnoxious, crowded and hot. The age group for the Olive seemed to be eighteen to twenty-five.
I was out of place. Tossing back shots and grinding with sorority girls had never been something I participated in, not even when I fit in with this age group.
I was here for one reason, one person.
Grace.
As I scanned the club, looking for her, I felt my body tighten further. I didn’t like her here. I didn’t want her here. The amount of testosterone in this place, inhibitions lowered because of the alcohol flowing, would put her in a position that wasn’t safe.
I knew what guys thought about, what they wanted to do. They had one thing on their mind and that was getting in the pants of a girl with her inhibitions down. And although Grace was smart and I hoped wouldn’t fall for that shit, there were plenty of assholes who didn’t know when to stop.
I curled my hands into tight fists at my sides as I moved through the club, pushing my way past people dancing, all but having sex together. The very thought of some bastard putting his hands on Grace, touching her when she was mine, had impatience and anger filling me.
I stopped at the bar and looked around, the place so crowded I couldn’t even breathe.
Although I didn’t see her immediately, I wasn’t about to give up. She was here, I could feel it. Or maybe it was my need to protect her, even from herself, from her friends, that had me wanting to be the one to rescue her.
I wanted to be her knight in fucking shining armor.
I turned and looked in the other direction, scanning back in the corner, where the tables were slightly shrouded by the shadows, only intermittent flashes of light piercing it.
And then I saw Grace, sitting at a table with her friend and the guy that had been at the coffee shop. They were currently involved in a passionate kiss, her friend all but sitting on his lap.
But Grace wasn’t paying attention to them. She had her focus on the dance floor, and even from a distance I could see how pink her cheeks were, how glossy her eyes were.
She was drunk.
I straightened from the bar, knowing that storming up to her probably wasn’t the best plan but wanting to do just that, to pull her against my body, to tell her I was taking her out of here.
A rush of people came to the bar, blocking my path to her. And then I could see a guy walk up to Grace, lean down and say something softly. She shook her head and smiled, embarrassment covering her expression. He said something again and straightened, the smile he wore cocky.
He held out his hand to her. Grace looked behind her at her friend, but she’d get no help there. And when she looked back at him, his grin spread.
She slipped her hand into his and he helped her stand, leading her out to the dance floor. The song changed to something more sexual, and I narrowed my eyes and clenched my jaw as I watched him wrap his arm around her waist and pull her close to his body.
I’d break his hands for touching her.
I growled low, the vibrations in my throat the only thing that let me know the sound had spilled free. I couldn’t even hear myself think in this fucking place.
It wouldn’t have mattered anyway because all I could think about, focus on, was getting to Grace … getting that fucker away from her.
7
Grace
He was sweaty, and he smelled like beer. It was gross, and I felt slightly uncomfortable. He started grinding up on me, and I instantly regretted agreeing to dance with him. The feel of his erection digging against my belly, the feel and smell of his humid, beer-laced breath on my neck had me all but gagging.
This felt so wrong.
But he’d seemed nice as he held his hand out, looked kind of pathetic begging me for just one dance. I should’ve gone with my instinct and told him no, kept my resolve. But here I was, regretting every moment of it, thinking of how to get out of the situation.
I wasn’t really even dancing and instead grabbed his hands to push them away from my hips. He leaned in and the feel of his hot, wet breath on the side of my neck had me scrunching up my nose.
“I should probably go,” I said loud enough for him to hear, all but shouting the words. He didn’t hear me or wasn’t listening. He added pressure to my hips and pulled me closer until I felt how hard he was.
That’s when survival kicked in.
This guy wasn’t going to stop even if I shouted no in his face. He’d either had too much to drink or he was just a dirty asshole.
I shoved at his shoulders, and he pulled me in closer, caging his arms around me. I yelled at him, tried to kick him, fear taking hold. I couldn’t move, couldn’t get out of his grasp. The panic was setting in, and with the music too loud, the alcohol flowing too strong, and everyone else focused on their dance partners, no one noticed I needed help.
“Stop,” I cried out and shoved at his chest again.
“Calm down,” he groaned against the side of my neck. “This feels good, doesn’t it?”
I shook my head. “Stop. I don’t want to dance anymore.” I tried pushing at his chest, but he was stronger than me and kept his hold ironclad.
I tried looking to where Sherry was, but we’d moved farther away from the table and I couldn’t make her out through the thick throng of people.
He smoothed his hand over my hips and belly, creeping lower. Fear spiked even harder in me, and I struggled again.
“I said no,” I said loudly enough I knew he’d heard. But then, in the next second, he was pulled away from me.
I stumbled back from the sudden motion and felt my eyes widen as I stared up at Professor Goode. I didn’t know why he was at the club, but that wasn’t my main concern at the moment. It was the fact he was currently holding Mr. Groper by the neck.
The expression on my professor’s face was downright frightening. He leaned in close to the other man’s ear and said something low enough I couldn’t hear. I watched as my would-be assaulter widened his eyes in clear fear. He looked at Professor Goode and shook his head frantically, holding up his hands as if to show he meant no harm.
And then he turned and hauled ass away from us, pushing people out of his way as if the place were on fire and he was desperate to get out to survive.
I stared at Professor Goode for a second, not sure what the hell was going on but thankful he’d been here at the right time.
I felt increasingly light-headed and stumbled back again, but he reached out and took hold of my upper arm, steadying me. He pulled me close to him, and I braced my hands on his chest, tipping my head back and staring up at him.
He looked around the club, and I watched as he narrowed his eyes, felt the growl leave him as the sound vibrated underneath my hands, which were still on his chest.
Before I could anticipate what was happening, he had my hand in his and led me out of the club. I looked back over my shoulder, trying to see Sherry, but the crowd was too thick.
And then we were outside, the cool air washing over me and sobering me up for just a second, before light-headedness took its place once more.
Professor Goode strode down the parking lot, opened the passenger-side door to a sleek black sedan, and helped me inside. I was too dumbstruck to say anything, to tell him I shouldn’t go, that my friend was still inside. But any protest lodged in my throat.
When he was in the driver’s side seat, the engine started, and he was pulling away from the club, I finally found my voice.
“Sherry is still in there.”
“She’s fine,” he grumbled out.
“I can’t just leave without telling her.” I could hear the slurred tone in my voice, that one drink really kicking my ass.
“You’re in no position to go back in there. You’re drunk and it’s not safe.” The way he spoke to me was akin to him scolding a petulant child. “Text her and tell her you’re fine, and you’ll call her in the morning.”
I didn’t move, didn’t say anything for long seconds. But then I found myself doing just that, reaching into my pocket for my cell, staring at the screen, and knowing I probably should have told him to let me go back into the club.
But the truth was, I didn’t want to. That wasn’t my scene, and I felt extremely uncomfortable being there, even before I’d been groped on the dance floor.
I typed out the text.
Hey. I ended up leaving. Wasn’t feeling the best. Caught an Uber. I’ll call you in the morning. Be safe, please.
I hit send and rested my head back on the seat, seeing the streetlights passing by in a blur. I closed my eyes as a headache started to form behind them, a soft groan leaving me.
I felt my cell vibrate and looked down to see a text from Sherry. I was surprised she’d been able to hear it, what with the deafening noise of the club.
Sherry: Why didn’t you tell me? I would have ditched Craig and taken you home.
No, it’s okay. You were having a good time. That’s not my scene anyway. I felt out of place lol.
I hit send and saw those three little dots pop up on the screen, letting me know she was replying.
“Get ahold of her?”
I looked at him. “Yeah.” I swallowed, my throat dry from the drink and how hot it had been in the club.
Sherry: I wish you would have gotten me. You’re okay though? Safe? Promise to text me when you get home and call me first thing in the morning.
I smiled. She really was a good friend, yet here I was in the car with our professor, having gotten a little too tipsy, and lying to her about what was really going on.
I promise.
I didn’t know what was going on, but what I did know was that I was glad Professor Goode had shown up when he did. I thought of what could’ve happened if he hadn’t been there, and it made my stomach twist into knots.
I looked over at him again. His jaw was set hard, almost severely so. Stubble covered his cheeks, and his focus was trained on the road. He looked angry, what with his hands tightly wrapped around the steering wheel, his body rigid, tight.
My body heated despite the situation.
I found myself turning and looking out the passenger-side window, knowing that I should’ve been smart and asked him what he’d been doing there. But all I did, instead, was close my eyes, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep.
All I wanted was for this night to be over with. Then I could figure out with a clear head what in the fuck was actually going on.
8
Professor Goode
I curled my hands tightly on the steering wheel and forced myself not to look at her, to make sure she was okay. She was in my car, with me, away from the motherfuckers in that club. I should have been relieved, but all I felt was more tension.
She hadn’t asked any questions. She should have. She should have been demanding I tell her what the hell I was doing, why the hell I was there.
I could see out of the corner of my eye that she was playing with the edge of her shirt, looking out the passenger-side window. A part of me wanted to pull over and demand she tell me everything was fine, that this was okay.
Even if I couldn’t step away from her.
But I didn’t pull over. I kept driving.
She finally spoke, her voice soft. “How do you know where I live to take me home?”
I pulled to a stop at a red light and glanced over at her. She was looking at me, a glossiness to her eyes, her expression letting me know the alcohol was still moving through her strong. I didn’t know how much she’d had to drink, but I didn’t like seeing her this way.
I didn’t admit that I did know where she lived, that I’d seen her record, that I knew everything about her. Instead I looked straight ahead and pressed on the gas as the light turned green. “I’m not taking you to your house. You’re coming home with me,” I finally said after a prolonged moment.
I could see her looking at me, assumed her eyes were wide. But she said nothing, didn’t argue, didn’t insist I take her home. I stopped at another light and glanced at her.
“You have nothing to say? No questions on why I am taking you to my house, why I was at the club? How I was there at just the right time?”
She still didn’t speak, and I saw by her expression that she was thinking about how to answer. I wanted her to be honest with me, but I wouldn’t press her. She’d talk to me eventually. She’d see how she was meant to be mine, how this very moment was the start of us.
The rest of the ride to my place was done in silence. I pulled into my driveway and cut the engine, just sat there, gripping the steering wheel and staring straight ahead.
“You asked me why I wasn’t curious about why you were taking me to your house instead of mine. Her voice was soft, and I could hear a little slur in it.
I looked at her then. “You drank tonight.” It wasn’t a question. Her intoxication was evident.
“A mistake I’ll probably pay for tomorrow morning.”
More silence ensued.
She took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. “I didn’t stop you, stop this, because I didn’t want to.” She looked at me then. “I don’t want to go home, don’t want to be alone.” She licked her lips and looked down, the fall of her hair obscuring her from my view momentarily. “Because this is where I want to be.”
My heart thundered rapidly. I kept my expression stoic even though she wasn’t looking at me, but inside I was pleased, really fucking pleased.
And as much as I wanted to finally take her, claim her as mine, the fact she’d been drinking put the brakes on all of that. I just wanted to take care of her.
Our first time wasn’t going to be laced with alcohol, clouded by intoxication. The first time I took Grace as mine, she was going to be fully with it, completely immersed.
Because I didn’t want just this one moment. I wanted forever.
* * *
I helped her inside my apartment, shutting the door behind us but keeping my arm wrapped around her waist. She was tipsy and tired, and all I wanted to do was put her in my bed and wrap my body around hers, keeping her close, letting her know that I wouldn’t ever let anything hurt her.
I lead her down the hall and into my room. She sat on the edge of the bed, bracing her hands on the mattress on either side of her. I crouched on my haunches and took off her shoes, letting my hand skim the arch of her foot.
She was so small compared to me, almost fragile.
I glanced up at her to see her watching me, her eyes heavy-lidded, her expression drowsy. I didn’t stop myself from reaching up and brushing a lock of her hair away from her shoulder, letting my fingers move gently along the soft skin of her neck.
She closed her eyes and exhaled, and I forced myself to pull my hand away and stand.
“I’m sorry you have to see me this way,” she whispered, slurred.
I pulled the blanket down and helped her lie in the bed, covering her up and standing there for a moment watching her. Her dark hair was fanned out along the white pillowcase, a stark contrast that had me wanting to reach out and touch her.
Instead I headed toward the door, stopping and looking back at her. I watched the rise and fall of her chest beneath the duvet and looked into her face, which had taken on a relaxed expression as she slipped into sleep.
Tomorrow should be interesting, given the fact I had no intention of hiding how I felt. She needed to know what my intentions were, what I wanted with her.
The real question was, would she be on the same page as me? Would she want the same things I did?
9
Grace
It was the feeling of warmth on my face that had me slowly opening my eyes. Everything was blurry for a moment, and I blinked a few times, my vision finally clearing as I stared out the window. The apartment was high up, and I could see buildings off in the distance. I had no doubt traffic was a flurry below, but I heard nothing but the sound of my easy inhalations.
I felt my brows knit, a moment of confusion settling in because I wasn’t sure where I was. But then it all came rushing back.
Professor Goode.
The Olive.
Sitting in his car and admitting things I probably should have kept to myself.
I groaned softly, lifting my hand and rubbing my forehead. I had an awful headache, one that was beating right behind my eyes.
The scent of everything he was washed over me, through me. I actually found myself turning my head more into the pillow, closing my eyes, and inhaling deeply.
Dark and woodsy.
Potent.
Masculine.
Everything Professor Goode was.
I was crazy, lying in his bed, in his apartment, wondering how in the hell I was going to get through this humiliation.
I forced myself to sit up, my feet dangling off the bed, my toes barely touching the cold wooden floor.
I rubbed my feet together, looking down and realizing I had no pants on. I pushed the blanket fully off me, breathing out a sigh of relief that my panties were still on and that I was still wearing my cardigan set.
One drink and this was the result, this was how far I’d dropped in my morals.
I tried to remember if I’d slept with him. God, if I had, this would get so much worse. This would be a nightmare, even if the thought of being with Professor Goode was everything I’d ever fantasized about.
I looked behind me, half expecting him to be in the bed with me, and felt relief but also a surge of disappointment that the other side was empty. I reached out and rubbed my hand over the pillow, the sheets cold to my touch, almost crisp and severe under my fingertips. It was clear he hadn’t slept beside me all night.
The sun streaming through the curtains, although muted, had my headache pounding harder behind my eyes. I heard the sound of my phone vibrating and got up to see it sitting on the dresser across from the bed.
