by Gigi Thorne
He’s jealous—and I love that. It means he cares. It must mean he cares, right?
“I’m calling my former nanny, Louise. She was with me from when I was six to when I was sixteen. She’s really the one who raised me. She’s been sick, and I worry about her, so I like to check in on her daily.”
He takes my hand in his and squeezes it. “You’re a really good person to do that. I never knew.”
After I check in with Louise, I go to clear my plate, and I can’t help but giggle. “Can you imagine if anyone knew what we were up to? Professor Lowe and his naughty student.” Then I throw a glance over my shoulder. “Don’t worry, I’d never tell.” If I told, then he’d lose his job, and maybe, despite everything he’s said to me, he wouldn’t see me anymore.
He walks up behind me and hugs me as I slide the plate into the sink. “If it comes out, it’s all right. You’re legally an adult, and it’s not against the law. It is against the university rules, and I understand why those rules are in place, but you and me are the real thing. You’re worth any risk and any consequences.” He kisses my neck, then nibbles it. “And you have some reading to do for Monday.”
“Now?” It comes out as a whine. “But I can do it later. Right now I want to…you know.” I wriggle against him. “We need to do something to bring that swelling down.”
He cups my breast in his hand, and I melt back against him. “We will—when I say we will. Right now I’m about to show you what happens to naughty little students who don’t want to do their assignments.”
My punishment is not what I’m hoping for. As Carter would say, that’s why it’s called punishment. The bastard makes me wait in his living room, and he goes into his bedroom and fetches a package, which he opens in front of me. It’s a butt plug—brand new.
“I bought this for you.” He grins. “I was just waiting for you to be a bad little girl and earn your punishment. Fortunately, with you, it never takes long.” He pulls something else out of the package—a tube of lube.
I look at it with alarm. “I’ve never…”
“I know. That’s why we’re starting small. So I don’t hurt you when I take you there.”
And then my sadistic professor forces me to turn around and place my hands on the side table. He slides my panties off and kicks my legs apart. He rubs the lube on me, then slides his finger into my tight, clenching rear hole. I jump and squeal. “That burns! Please don’t, sir…”
“You shouldn’t have argued with me, Josie.” His voice is stern. He slides another lubed finger in and spreads them a little. It hurts, but the pain is delicious. I’m wet between the legs and stifling a moan of pleasure as he pumps his fingers in and out.
Then he withdraws them…and presses the hardness of the plug up against me. My rectum clenches, and my muscles tense fearfully.
“Please, sir! I’m not ready… Ooooh…” I whimper as he forces it into me, breaching the resistance of my cringing muscles. Pain and pleasure swirl together, pulsing inside my rear channel. “Oh God,” I gasp. “That feels…strange…but I like it, sir…”
“Now you’re going to read your entire assignment. And then I’m going to fuck you with the butt plug still inside you.”
He carries my textbook over to the kitchen counter, and I have to stand there and read.
“Sir, it’s hard to concentrate,” I plead.
“Bet you wish you’d just done what I asked,” he taunts.
I grit my teeth and force myself to finish the reading. Then the son of a bitch questions me on it to make sure I understood the assignment. The whole time, I feel my muscles clenching around the foreign object that’s stretching them unnaturally. And only when he’s satisfied does he slide on a condom and take me from behind. I clench the counter as he thrusts into me, his hands clamped down on my hips. My rear channel is stretched by the butt plug, and I feel so full with his cock and the plug inside me, and every thrust brings me closer to orgasm.
He pauses. “Who do you belong to, Josie?”
“You, sir,” I pant.
“Are you going to be a good little girl and do your homework when you’re told?”
“Yes…sir…” I gasp, but I’m probably not telling the truth. Because I love what he does to me when I’m bad.
My orgasm rises up and crashes over me like a tidal wave, shattering me, making me cry out. Explosion after explosion detonates inside me, and Carter groans with his own release, hugging me to him and shuddering with pleasure.
Chapter Twelve
Josie
I spend all day with Carter, just chilling out and doing homework and watching TV. And having sex. Lots of wonderful, mind-blowing sex. I don’t make it to Louise’s house until Monday morning, so to make up for it, I show up at five a.m. When I walk in, she’s sitting on her living room sofa, waiting for me. Today she’s not wearing a turban or kerchief; her hair’s grown back into a short cap of curls.
“Eep,” I say, when I see her.
“Eep indeed. Yikes, even. You’re busted. You should be sleeping, not cleaning my house. You can’t pass your classes if you never sleep.” She crosses her arms over her chest.
“I don’t usually get here until like seven o’clock!” I protest. She has her skeptical face on.
“Okay, six-thirty.”
She’s still frowning at me.
“Six a.m., and that’s my final offer.” But I ruin it by yawning.
She stands up, shaking her head.
“I know you’ve been coming here early every day cleaning, and it has to stop. You’re tired, sweetheart. You have circles under those beautiful eyes. I am much, much better now.” She twirls in a pirouette, and her floral housedress bells out, revealing her skinny legs. “See how much better I am? From now on, much as I love you, I only want to see you on the weekends. I will call you every day, but I want you concentrating on school.”
“But I can’t afford to hire anyone to clean for the next few days,” I protest.
“You shouldn’t be spending your money on me either.”
I snort. “Please. It’s my family’s money, which means it’s the retirement package they owed you. And you can’t stop me from helping you out. So there. Nyah nyah.” I would have gone on, but I can’t stop yawning.
“Go into my bedroom and nap while I make breakfast,” she says firmly, so I do.
She wakes me up at eight a.m. with breakfast. She’s always loved to cook and to bake. When she worked for us, there were endless cookies and cakes and pies, so sweet and delicate they melted in the mouth. After I finish devouring a stack of the world’s fluffiest pancakes, she scoots me out the door at 8:20 so I can be sure to make it to class on time.
I sit in the front row and keep a poker face all through class, even though I want to shout to the world, “See that hot guy up there? He had his tongue between my legs yesterday!” And Professor Lowe, or Carter, or Sir, is completely professional—while class is in session.
The next few weeks are a dream. I’m getting enough sleep, so it’s not hard for me to make it to class on time, and I get all my homework done. I’m not freaking out over my grades anymore. And Louise is putting on weight again and her hair is growing back and she looks rosy-cheeked and healthy.
I get my monthly trust fund and spend most of it, as usual, on Louise’s mortgage and her bills. She has been letting me handle her finances for her, and she has no idea that I’m spending just about every cent on her. That’s why I’m always broke. That’s why I tried to steal from Mrs. Wallace—I was absolutely starving.
And I don’t tell Carter either. I’m a big girl—I can take care of myself. And I want to keep our time together light and fun. I know he’s acting utterly devoted to me, but I’ve still always got that nagging fear of abandonment chewing away at me.
I lend Savannah a couple hundred bucks and tell her this is the last time. She still hasn’t paid me back what she owed me from before.
As usual, I run out of money pretty quickly. Thank God I’ve got m
y parent’s gas credit card, or I wouldn’t be able to drive to school.
One morning, when I’m talking to Savannah and her skanky new boyfriend, who I’m pretty sure is also her dealer just like Melody said, my stomach growls loudly.
“Eww!” she says really loudly. “That’s embarrassing!” Then in a quieter voice “If you’d just buy some coke from me, you wouldn’t get hungry.” Her boyfriend nods. “Want a gram?”
I grimace. “Seriously, Savannah. You’re dealing now?” So Carter was right.
She shrugs and scowls. “Just a little. Jeez, when did you turn into such a buzzkill? Is it because your boyfriend doesn’t like me?”
At my startled look, she snorts. “I totally see how he looks at you—and the way he looks at me. He drools over you and he can’t stand me. And since when are you so into schoolwork that you go for tutoring four days a week?”
“Since I’ll lose my allowance if my grades drop,” I say defensively.
She and her boyfriend exchange glances. I can’t stand him. He’s a dweeby thug type with a beat-up leather jacket and a permanent sneer stamped on his narrow face – perfect for Savannah to use to drive her parents up the wall. He claims his name is Thor. Sure it is. And he’s always on campus, even though he’s not taking any classes.
“See you later, buzzkill,” she says, and they walk off hand in hand.
But the next day, she brings me a hand-made lunch. “So your stomach doesn’t keep growling,” she says loftily. “Because that’s totally gross.”
It’s been prepared by her family chef, but it’s the thought that counts. And she brings me lunch a couple more times after that, and refrains from making any snarky remarks to Melody, because she knows it bugs me.
The spring semester’s halfway over. Melody’s getting an A in English Lit now that she’s allowed to do her homework in graphic novel form. Savannah’s reasonably civil to me, which is cool, although she’s also getting Cs and Ds in her classes, which is not cool.
I even get a phone call from Mom, checking up on me, and a package from Dad, with a ‘happy birthday’ card written by his secretary/mistress. It’s months late, and the gift is a purse that’s so hideous I try not to look at it for fear of going blind, but that’s okay—on a Sunday, I take it to the upscale consignment store where I’ve already pawned most of my clothing and get a few hundred bucks for it. The timing is excellent—I’m completely out of money, the fridge and cupboards are bare, and mom and dad aren’t due home from their separate vacations for another couple of weeks.
As I walk out of the store, Savannah hurries up to me.
“Hey! I just saw you selling your purse,” she says eagerly. I feel tension coiling inside me. “Remember how you said you were going to lend me five hundred bucks?”
“I never said that,” I say indignantly. “You owe me seven hundred already.”
“But I brought you lunch every day,” she whines at me.
“You brought me lunch for three days, which I appreciate, but I can’t spare any more money. I just can’t, Savannah.”
Her eyes fill with tears. “My drug dealer is literally going to kill me. I will be dead. Because I need money and you won’t lend it to me. I thought we were friends.”
My heart sinks. I was really looking forward to being able to buy some groceries. I need shampoo and conditioner. I’ve already used up all my mom’s, and I’ve started using my dad’s now.
“You’re dating your drug dealer,” I point out. “So why would he kill you?”
“Josie! I need this!” Her voice is an ear-stabbing whine.
I sigh. “I can give you sixty bucks.” I’ll buy food at the discount grocery and use up the rest of my dad’s shampoo and conditioner.
I reach into my purse and pull out a few twenties. Her hand shoots into my pocketbook and she tries to snatch my wallet.
“Hey!” I yell, grabbing her wrist. We start tussling. I realize her pupils are enormous and her complexion’s getting horribly splotchy these days.
“I’ll pay you back, just give me the fucking money!” she screams.
A police officer across the street hears her and starts heading our way. She sees him and glares at me, but she steps back, letting go of my wallet. “Give. Me. The money,” she grits out, and the look in her eyes is actually scary.
“Hell no. And you can lose my number. We’re done, Savannah. You need help.”
“You’re going to regret this,” she snaps, and after spitting out that cliché, she stomps off, leaving me shaken and sad.
She doesn’t show up to class on Monday, and I think that’s the end of it. But on Wednesday morning, when I’m about to walk into class, there’s a scowling man standing in front of the doorway.
“Josie Caldwell?” he says as students stream past us.
“Yes, and I can’t be late to class.” What could this be about?
“I need to talk to you about your relationship with your professor, Carter Lowe.”
Chapter Thirteen
I feel a chill to my very core. Carter will be fired. And if word gets out, he’ll never get another job at a college again. He loves to teach. I want to cry. And how will this affect his book publishing deal? It shouldn’t, because I’m a consenting adult…but will a publishing house want a scandal-tainted author, even one whose book sold really well?
My heart hammers against my ribs as he leads me down the hallway to the dean’s office, and ushers me in. He shuts the door behind me. Not only is Dean Porter sitting there with a haughty look on his face…so are my parents.
My mother is wearing a bright pink and black, form-fitting Pucci dress with plunging cleavage. Hey, she spent enough on a new rack, might as well put it on display. My father’s light blue suit was hand-made in Hong Kong and cost more than most people’s mortgage and car payment put together. They’re both so tan they almost glow.
“Long time no see,” I say breezily, to hide the hurt that stabs in my chest. “Months, in fact.”
“Is it true what they’re saying?” my father demands, his face flushed with anger. “One of their professors has been molesting you?” He glares fiercely at the dean. “When we’re done with you, you’ll be living in a cardboard box under a bridge.”
Dean Porter goes pale and swallows hard.
“We don’t know the facts,” he says. “She is a legal adult. If we find out that Professor Lowe manipulated or abused her in any way, we will prosecute him to the fullest extent of the law.”
My mother just shakes her head, her eyes brimming with tears. Because this has to be about her. “We’re so disappointed in you, Josie.” Except it comes out, “We’re sho dishapointed in you, Joshie.” She’s disappointed in me? She’s slurring her words before brunch!
My father shoots her a disgusted look, then gestures impatiently at me. “Well? What did he do to you?”
“You want the details, right here in front of everyone?” I smirk at him.
His face flushes a dull, dark red. “Don’t be disgusting, and watch how you speak to me.”
“I have nothing to say to any of you,” I say icily. “And I am now late to class.” I stand up.
My father leaps to his feet and steps sideways to block me. “You will take this seriously!” he barks at me.
I meet his gaze. “You lost the right to tell me what to do when you vanished for months at a time without bothering to so much as text me.”
“Laura was in touch with you!” he protested. That’s his mistress/personal assistant, the one who sent me the barf-arrific pocketbook.
“The only time she was in touch with me this entire semester was when she sent me that purse for my birthday, months late.”
To my surprise, he looks stricken. “I didn’t know I missed your birthday. And she said she talked to you every week. She kept me up to date on everything you were doing.”
“Check her phone records and you’ll see she was lying. Not that it matters. If your only relationship with your only daughter is through your
secretary, you’re doing a pretty poor job.” I glare at him, my cool demeanor cracking. Tears prick my eyes. “You’re parents by proxy—you always have been. You let Louise stand in for both of you, then you turned your job over to your mistress…excuse me, your personal assistant.”
“Don’t you even shay that woman’sh name!” my mother howls. “She’sh dead to ush!”
I glare at her. She’s the reason that Louise is drowning in debt, but Louise is far from dead. Not as long as I’m breathing.
“You’ve humiliated ush in front of all our friendsh,” my mother mumbles, fumbling in her purse. She pulls out a mirror and a handkerchief so she can dab at the tears running down her cheeks. Damn, she’s good. She also went to drama camp during her summers, and she can manufacture tears as well as I can.
I notice her makeup isn’t running. She came prepared for the occasion, with waterproof mascara and eyeliner.
She meets my gaze, trying to scowl ferociously, but the Botox won’t let her. “A Caldwell with a teacher? Whatsh next, a janitor?”
“Yesh, that shoundsh shwell,” I mock her. She quickly produces more tears and dabs at them with big, dramatic swipes of her arm.
“Josie, you’re right. I’m sorry. I wasn’t here to protect you.” The angry flush has drained from my father’s face, and he’s turning pale.
Then he catches sight of the look on Dean Porter’s face.
“Don’t you dare look at me like that!” he shouts. “Who are you to judge me?
“Well, among other things, I’m the man who cooked breakfast for his daughter and son this morning, then packed their lunch before dropping them off on campus,” he says, showing a surprising amount of backbone as he meets my father’s gaze. “I never let a day go by without talking to both of my children.”
My father looks furious and humiliated, and he sucks in a breath, about to expel a stream of threats and obscenities.
“Yo!” I yell at everyone, waving my hands. “Here is what I am prepared to say. My former friend Savannah Gibbons, who is using coke and dating a drug dealer who spends a lot of time on campus with her, got very angry with me because I wouldn’t give her more money, and told me she would make me sorry. She has previously accused me of having an affair with Professor Lowe. So you’re flinging a bunch of accusations at me based on the word of a drug addict.”
