by Jess Bentley
The stairs creak as I walk down them, running my hand along the oak bannister. I stop for a second. Is Mr. King still here?
I hear my dad’s voice. “Thanks for coming back, King,” he says.
“It’s my pleasure,” he says with that low rumble. “Good to see you again, and I’m glad that we had a chance to talk about this opportunity.”
“Me too,” my dad says thoughtfully. I hear them coming to the front hall, and while part of me wants to run back up to my room and hide, the other wants to lay eyes on Mr. King again. I wish I could hide and watch them.
“Jordan,” my dad says. “You’re up.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I was just coming down to get a glass of water.”
“Funerals are exhausting,” my mother says. “Were you able to nap?”
“For a little while.” I look away. I want to memorize the way Mr. King’s body looks with his clothes stretched over his muscles. Most guys I know don’t work on their bodies, but you can see his six-pack and pecs through his shirt. The forearms are tanned, with golden hairs, and the definition of his muscles makes me want him to take off his shirt and see more. “I decided to go to Paris,” I say.
“Paris is beautiful,” Mr. King says.
“Sure, it’s beautiful,” my dad blusters, “but you don’t want to go there now, do you?” His eyebrows knit together. “Not after everything? You don’t know what could happen.”
“Anything could,” my mother says sagely, nodding her head. “Now’s not the time to do such a thing. Isn’t that right?” The last statement she directs to Mr. King.
“Paris is an incredible city,” he answers her. “I might be heading there myself for business. If she were to get in any trouble, I’d be happy to help her out.”
“That would be great,” I squeak.
My mother looks to me, then to Mr. King. “I’m sure that won’t be necessary, as it’s a moot point. Where would you get the money, anyway?”
“I’m getting something from my best friend in her will,” I say. I’m feeling increasingly self-conscious in my shorts and shirt. “I don’t know how much it’s going to be, but I’d like to go as a tribute to her.”
“I don’t know about that,” my dad says.
“It’s a lovely idea,” Mr. King says at the same time. “I should be going, in any case.” He hands me a business card, and I clutch it in my palm, its crisp edges against my skin. “In case you decide to go to France, you know where to reach me.”
“Thank you,” I say. This time my words aren’t squeaky, just soft and breathless.
“Anyhow, great to see you,” my dad says to him. “Nice remembering old times and looking forward to new ones.”
“Most definitely,” he answers, his smile widening again. “And you too, Margaret,” he says to my mother. Then he looks at me. “Jordan.” The way he says my name thrills me to my core again, sending tingles through my body.
Did he just wink at me?
To read the rest of King, click here!
Christine
Brrrrrrrrrrrr…
Brrrrrrrrrrrr…
Brrrrrrrrrrrr…
I pull one eyelid open, just far enough so I can find my vibrating iPhone on my nightstand and smack it into submission, then I close my eye again with a groan.
The next time I get the brilliant idea of having a night on the town with Ashley and Alicia – on a school night – I can only hope someone thinks to smack me, too.
Brrrrrrrrrrrr…
“For fuck’s sakes,” I mumble, sitting up and grabbing my phone at the same time. Someone better be dead. Or close to dead.
Christine, check your Facebook now!
It’s a message from Ashley.
Okay, so I adore Ashley, I really do, but she tends to overreact to everything. Recently, she hooked up with some sex god and her stories about their sexual exploits just cannot be true. No one actually fucks in the back of a stretch limo. That’s something you read in a Hustler magazine, True Confessions of a Sex Addicted Housewife or whatever.
Whatever she’s freaking out about can wait. It’s probably a cute puppy video that she’s tagged me in. She and Sex God have been talking about adopting a Corgi puppy and so it’s pretty much all she’ll talk about right now.
I push myself out of bed. It may be stupidly early in the morning, but my alarm is gonna go off in five minutes; might as well get up now. Political Economy G53 class waits for no one.
Well, okay, maybe my teacher would start without me, but damn, I wouldn’t want to miss a minute of his class anyway. Forget Ashley’s Sex God Come to Earth, my poli-sci grad teacher is fucking hot. I think the person who invented the term “Sex on a Stick” was thinking about Anders Trask when they did. He is, quite possibly, the sexiest human alive.
Huh, maybe I should tell Ashley and Natalie to write a piece about him for Blush with the headline, “Hottest NYU Professor Ever.” But seriously, with Professor Burgemeister with his hairy mole on his nose as his competition, that’s not saying much…
I hurry through my morning routine, making sure to put on my sexiest red thong and push-up bra in my arsenal. I know, I know, you aren’t supposed to fuck your professor, but have you seen Professor Trask? Seriously, you’d be wearing your red push-up bra too, just sayin’.
Oh, and if I get to class early, I can snag one of the front row seats and then maybe sniff my way through class. I don’t know what that man bathes in every morning, but I wouldn’t be surprised if it was called Sexy Hunka-Hunka Love No. 5.
Or, you know, something close to that.
As I wind my way through my morning commute, I start getting texts from Alicia and Natalie. Christine, you have to go on Facebook!
Huh. Maybe Ashley posted a really, really cute video of corgi puppies. They are adorable, but seriously, this level of gushing is over the top.
I ignore them and instead flip over to my text messages. I haven’t heard from George yet. Usually he texts me first thing in the morning and we compare notes for the day, deciding if there’s a way to meet up somewhere during the day.
I fire off a quick text. He’ll probably text me back during my first class and tell me he overslept. Again. Good ol’ George. He’s not much to look at but he’s stable and he has his whole career mapped out, something we have in common. Other than his inability to get his ass out of bed every morning on time, he’s as dependable as the day is long, one of the things I like best about him.
He’s…comfortable. We don’t light up each other’s lives, but who needs that? I don’t. I have my education and my friends and my one-bedroom apartment on the Upper East Side. I’m content.
I hurry up the steps of the 4th Street Political Science building, checking my iPhone again. Still nothing from George, but a new message about Facebook again, this time from an old high school friend I haven’t seen since we graduated together eight years ago. Now that’s weird. It’s not like we’re besties, and she’d just feel driven to have me watch the Cutest Corgi Video Ever. What the hell is going on?
Fine.
I flip over to the Facebook app on my phone. I’ll take a peek real quick before class starts. I don’t dare look during class ‘cause Professor Trask has this super strict policy about no smartphones out while he’s teaching, and as much as I’d love to have him take me over his knee and spank me, I’d just die of humiliation if he actually called me out for breaking his rule during class.
Except, my Facebook app just spins and spins. Oh right, no signal. I forgot. This building has shitty signal because it was built in the 1800s when three-foot marble slab walls seemed like a good idea.
I glance up and spot the door to Professor Trask’s office is just a little ajar. Apparently, he didn’t pull it closed behind when he left.
I do a quick glance up and down the hallway. No one coming. No one would ever know…
I slip inside, leaving the lights off; I don’t want anyone to see me in here. I make my way over to his computer, the blue welcome sc
reen dimly lighting the office. I’d never make it over to the campus library and back before class started, but I can log into the computer, pull up Facebook, ohh and ahh over the corgi puppy video, and still make it to class on time.
Right? Right. Plan Execution Time.
I slid into the rich leather office chair, the Sexy Hunka-Hunka Love No. 5 scent drifting up to my nose as I log in. I feel my thong getting wet just from the scent and take a second to sniff extra deep. Oh yeeeaaaahhhhhh…
I need to schedule some extra time with my vibe tonight. I could not be hornier than I am right now. I might even be willing to do that threesome that George keeps hinting about. I just need to get some!
Logged in, I pull up Facebook. I check the time again – 15 minutes until class starts. I better read fast.
And then I see it – the post I’m tagged in. By George. Instead of texting me this morning, he’d been tagging me in a post on Facebook.
Well, at least I know he wasn't sleeping in, ’cause at this very moment, he’s doing a Facebook live video of him…
And a stripper.
Like, an honest-to-god stripper, the kind I’ve never even seen in real life.
And he’s…oh my god, he’s putting dollar bills down her G-string as she shakes her ass in front of his face. He’s whooping and hollering as the music is pumping in the background.
Numbly, I realize that someone else has to be holding George’s phone in order to get this shot. Is it Adam? Adam is George’s best friend and try as I might, I never could like him.
I realize that I must be in shock. Why does it matter who is holding the camera? My boyfriend of six months has just smacked the ass of another stripper, this one with only pasties on, her tits bouncing everywhere as she does a lap dance for George. He turns and grins at the camera.
“Take this as me breaking up with you, Christine!” he shouts over the music and laughter around him. “I want a real woman who knows how to fu—”
Which is when everything goes black.
To keep reading Christine Vs. Professor, click here for Christine Vs. Professor!
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About the Author
Jess Bentley is a contemporary romance author who adores writing about adventurous young women--and the hot sexy men who love them. She spends her days reading and writing, tending to her flower garden and growing vegetables, as well as playing the guitar.
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About the Author
Mona Cox is the pen name that Alexis Angel uses to write steamy contemporary romance when she is co-writing with other authors.
Mona represents the bygone times of all of us. When we were independent, carefree, and the world was still new and waiting to be explored. When we didn’t have bills and responsibilities and the biggest thing on our minds was finding that perfect dress to wear on the date with the perfect guy and how long we wanted to wait till we let him take it off.
Whenever possible, Alexis seeks to co-write with others as she seeks to learn and grow as an author.
Mona releases weekly and to keep track of who she is working with which week, sign up to her Mona’s Moaners newsletter at http://eepurl.com/cBaG5D or email her at [email protected].
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