Page 69 of Bad Professor

“Your cock,” I whisper.

“Louder. You know I like to hear you.”

“Your cock,” I say in my normal voice. “Your cock,” I cry suddenly, the words spiraling into the night sky, then clap my hand over my mouth.

Dexter laughs and pulls me close. “What did I do before you?” he asks, leaning down, his mouth so close to mine.

“Have less sex?” This time it’s me who leans in, balancing on my tiptoes to press my lips against his. I meant it to be a peck, a brush of my lips against his, but his lips part and deepen.

Dexter’s voice isn’t the only thing that makes my insides tighten. I can’t get enough of the way he kisses me—like he’s putting his entire being into it. Like he’s an artist creating his best work. Like kissing me is the only thing in the world that he wants to do.

It’s the only thing I want to do right now. Even right here in the street with people walking by with muttered complaints to get a room. Or giving a wolf whistle, as Dexter kisses me on and on.

But all too soon, Dexter pulls back with a groan.

And we turn at the next set of lights and walk toward the university.

The campus is spread out throughout downtown and misses out on the secluded aspect of a smaller campus, but tonight, it feels like it belongs to just the two of us.

Fallen leaves skitter along the sidewalk, the chill breeze brushing the back of my neck and making me wish I’d brought a hat. Street lights make circles on the ground. In the distance, I can hear a group of students—probably drunken ones—laughing and shouting.

Dexter is quick to look toward every noise, but it doesn’t bother me that we’re here. It’s stopped bothering me weeks ago, that Dexter is a professor and I’m his student.

I just didn’t realize it until now. He’s simply Dexter now, who happens to be the professor of a class I’m taking. I’m more concerned with the age difference—which hasn’t been any problem, except in my mind—and how my daughters will react when they meet him.

It’s now a when, not an if. Dexter is now a part of my life, and I’m ready for him to become a bigger part.

And I’m almost ready to tell him I’m in love with him.

Although the thought of that gives me more of a chill than the cool breeze.

So does the fact Dexter dropped my hand once we neared the university campus. Our unconventional relationship may no longer bother me, but Dexter has proven tonight how he still worries about it.

“I’m a student you bumped into out at a bar and I need my essay back to change something,” I tell him.

Dexter turns to me with a frown. “Are you okay with this?”

“I am,” I say as truthfully as I can. “Let’s just go, okay? And then we can go home.”

The building that houses Dexter’s office isn’t far, and no one is around as he unlocks the door and gestures me inside. It’s on the second floor and it’s tiny.

But it’s him.

The office is full of books. I’ve been to his apartment twice, and I thought there was a lot there, but this is like a library stuffed into an eight by ten room.

“Just give me a minute,” he says, going to his desk to rifle through the papers.

“Who’s here at this time of night?” I ask, turning in a circle to take it all in. The room even smells like him—spicy musk scent, the coffee he constantly drinks, and the cinnamon gum he chews. The plant I bought him a few weeks ago sits by the window. He had told me he had nothing alive in his office or apartment and I had bought him plants for each.

It’s nice to see that they’re still alive.

“Security wanders around, but there shouldn’t be anyone in the building. We’re not supposed to be here.” There’s a note of worry in his tone, and I’m surprised I’m not more nervous. Breaking the rules was never something I did as a child or when I was married to Carlos. I was a good girl in everything I did.

Lately, I haven’t been feeling too much like a good girl with Dexter.

He makes me feel like it’s good to be bad.

“Isn’t it a little exciting that we’re here?” Dexter looks up. “A little… sexy…”

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