Page 57 of Bad Professor

We don’t mention the topic until Dexter is leaving. He stays with me for most of the morning, because he doesn’t have a class until the afternoon.

He’s a professor.

I’m one of his students. The realization takes away some of the fun and adds a fissure of pressure.

“I won’t,” he assures me, and I take a relieved breath. “We just have to keep it quiet.”

“I thought you didn’t like me to be quiet.” How can I make a joke about this? But Dexter loses the worried expression and smiles.

“I like it when you moan,” he says. “And I love how embarrassed you get when I mention it.”

I touch my cheek, which is warm and pink. And then I rest my hand on his chest. “But Dexter, maybe it’s not a good idea. We could wait until the semester is over, at least. And then I won’t take any of your classes…”

“I don’t think I can wait a day for you. Two months would be hell.”

“But if it makes sure your job is safe—”

Dexter cups my cheeks as he leans down and kisses me. Kisses me so thoroughly that my toes curl into the carpet. “Maybe you can wait,” he mutters. “But I can’t get enough of you.”

“You’ll have to,” I tell him, my tone surprisingly firm even after that kiss. “My girls.”

“I want to meet them,” he says, but I’m already shaking my head.

“Not yet. Not for a while. I can’t—it would confuse them.” It would confuse me. How can I tell my teenage daughters I’m sleeping with a man ten years younger than I am, and who also happens to be my teacher?

How can I tell them I’m sleeping with a man—period?

That’s what would be so difficult. As much as my body feels satiated, satisfied, and so much like a woman, Jade and Jordan wouldn’t understand.

Not yet. It’s one thing for Carlos to move on. I’m their mother and they wouldn’t understand.

Especially if it doesn’t work out with Dexter.

But it’s clear I can’t tell him that. Not when this morning, and last night, has been everything.

“Soon,” I promise, and even though Dexter looks like he wants to argue, he respects my decision. “I can’t just throw this at them. Not yet.”

“Do what you need to do,” he tells me, resting his forehead on mine. “What are the rules?”

“I have them for the weekends.”

“So I can’t have you Saturday or Sunday.”

“Friday nights, too,” I say apologetically.

“Painful,” he groans. “But all right. You make the rules, even though I can’t wait to come over and set the table with you again.”

“Dexter.” My cheeks pinked.

“Does that embarrass you? It shouldn’t.”

“It…”

“Does it tempt you? Do I tempt you?” His fingers slide over the swell of my breast, finding my nipple through the fabric of my shirt and my bra.

My insides curl with pleasure. “Yes.”

“Good. But Tilly…” Dexter looks at me seriously. “When we’re in class, and I can’t touch you, just know that I’ll want to. When I can’t talk to you, or even look at you, just know that I’ll be thinking of you.”

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