Page 285 of Bad for Me

The professor gestured at me while he talked to security. Another officer came and helped the one take Trevor away. By then, we had drawn a crowd and Professor Murphy headed back to the classroom while a security officer walked up to me.

“Miss Davis, do you need to see a medic?” the officer asked me.

I shook my head. “I’d just like to go home.”

He nodded and took out his notebook. “Can I walk you in that direction and take your statement?”

I knew who Trevor was, better yet, who his father was to the university. He’d pin it on me and say I was the one that instigated it and I’d be in more trouble. I was already on probation with the university. Even getting fucked nightly couldn’t get me out of more trouble. My ass couldn’t take anymore. “Is that necessary?”

“I insist.”

I sighed, rubbing my arm where Trevor had grabbed me. In a trance, I followed the officer out the back of the building as he asked me questions and I answered them.

“Your statement, along with the security footage, should be all we need to take this before the dean.”

“I…” The dean? I glanced away. We were in a parking lot behind the tech building. “I thought we were headed to?—”

“Thank you, Steve, for taking care of Miss Davis,” Professor Murphy said as he shook the security guard’s hand.

“Of course, Murphy. She’s all yours.” Steve’s eyes moved down my body, then he smiled at the professor.

The professor walked over to a midnight blue Lexus and opened up the passenger side door. “Miss Davis, get in.”

He wasn’t asking. It was clear he expected me to do as he ordered. I glanced around the parking lot. Class was in session, and everything was quiet. I’d just been felt up by Trevor and my insanely hot professor who I’d fantasized about was telling me to get in his car. Not only had I fantasized about him, but in those fantasies, he was the one doing those twisted things to me.

“I have class in half an hour,” I said as I took a step back. This wasn’t right. I bit back a sob as my mind fought against what was in front of me.

He stepped up next to me and leaned down to my ear, his sandalwood and spice scent overwhelming me. “I told you to do something, pet.”

I closed my eyes, my entire body shaking. Had he just said that? Where was his accent? He sounded just like my tormentor. When I opened my eyes, they met with his. He smirked, and I nodded, stepping by him and sliding into the passenger seat. He popped his head in as he squeezed my knee.

“That’s a good girl.”

Oh, good god, I squeezed my legs together. While I’d often pictured his face on the other side of my mask, this was different. He had been the one to do all those things to me. The one that had claimed me for himself. The one who?—

I was still shaking when he slid into the driver’s side.

“I let your professor know that you were going to miss class,” he said as he pulled out of the parking lot and headed off campus.

I wanted to ask where we were going, but I didn’t know the rules here. He was usually the one doing all the talking, and I’d just respond to his questions with ayes, sir.Always more of a do as you're told when we were together. He was the reason I was barely sitting today, but every time I thought I couldn’t come harder, he proved me wrong.

I wrung my hands, very aware that my nipples were hard enough to show through the blouse I wore. My mystery man and my fantasy were all one and the same. What fucked up universe had I stepped into?

We drove in silence to the center of town and into the brownstone district. When I imagined what he was like outside of the classroom, the two-story brownstone he pulled into wasn’t it. I thought for sure he’d be in one of the stuffy apartments downtown, but instead this was homey, classic. I stared at the wrought-iron fence and jumped when my door opened.

“Shall we?” He offered his hand.

I hesitated. “Am I in trouble?” My voice shook even though I tried to stay calm.

He looked around, perhaps to make sure no one saw us. A student at a professor’s house wouldn’t be a good thing. “Let’s talk in the house.”

I took his hand, and he led me up the stairs and into the house. I followed him into his large chef’s kitchen. It was beautiful. Dark cabinets lined the walls with white quartz countertops and stainless-steel appliances. In the middle of the back wall, was a large six burner stove and a stunning range hood. For anyone that liked to cook, this kitchen was a dream.

“Have a seat.” He pointed to a barstool. “How’s your wrist?”

I sat and rotated my wrist, wincing. It hurt. I wanted to ask why he cared. He enjoyed inflicting pain.

He came over and sat next to me, taking my hand and wrapped a bag of peas in a towel and gently placed it around my wrist.

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