Page 21 of The Professor
A sudden vision popped into my head. Chelsea standing by the window just days before and staring out at the flowering shrubs. She’d been so bloody tempting. Utterly beautiful in her unique, fire cracker, untamed way. The urge to fuck had been the strongest I’d ever known, yet somehow, I’d resisted. It had taken every last shred of willpower not to rip her clothes off and ram into her wetness—and the woman had been wet, I could tell by the desire dripping from her eyes.
Damn it. No wonder I’d pounded the anonymous pussy at Sure Thing. I’d been riled up. Desperate for it. Luckily, the woman I’d chosen hadn’t seemed to mind and had taken it all, and from what I could tell, come spectacularly.
Blood rushed to my cock, stiffening it, but I beat the sensation down. I didn’t have time to fantasize about Chelsea, I needed to get to the west side of the city, to Rose Cottage.
After locking my laptop in the safe along with a pile of essays that had been handed in, I took a bus toward Dean Court. The sun was still high, but many people had finished their day’s work and were spilling from pubs onto the street with pints of beer in hand. They laughed, chatted, and didn’t appear to have a care in the world while standing beneath the gloriously colorful hanging baskets.
I’d been like that once. I’d trusted the system, believed in the judges, the jury, and justice. I still believed in justice, hell, it was a goddamn religion to me. I just didn’t trust other people to dole it out…at least not every time.
I alighted at my stop and headed north, stopping at Waitrose to grab a chicken wrap and a drink. That would have to do for now. I then walked up to Rose Cottage and let myself in, with a key, through the back door.
It wasn’t a cottage at all, it was a large Victorian home complete with five chimney breasts, mock Tudor beams, and a long-lawned back garden the birds loved in winter. It was also home to nine sex workers.
“Hey, Professor. How’s it hanging?”
“All good, Trixie. You?”
“Good, got a new tat, what do you think?” She dropped the shoulder of her pink t-shirt to display an inked dolphin.
“Nice.”
“They are my soul animal, dolphins, they bring me luck.” She fluttered her long fake lashes. “I believe I was one in my last life.”
“Don’t see many sea mammals around here, though?” I popped the ring pull on my cola and took a sip.
“No, but one day, when I get out of Oxford, no offense, I’m going to live by the ocean and see them every day.”
“That sounds like a plan you should stick to.” I pointed at her. “You hear me?”
She grinned and tossed her bleached-blonde hair over her shoulder. “I’m gonna do just that. Bank balance is growing thanks to Rose Cottage.”
“Good. Anyone else here yet?” I glanced at the wall of screens we used to keep an eye on the place.
“A few. They ordered pizza.”
“Ah good, thanks. You be safe, okay.”
“I always am when I’m pulling tricks here.”
I smiled and headed toward Galahad’s meeting room. Once upon a time it had been a drawing room and had a wide bay window and deep fireplace. Now it had a huge mahogany table, ten chairs, and a TV screen on the wall. It also had a gun safe, a decent one, too heavy to lift and practically impossible to get into. A few years ago, Mitch had added a bed in the corner, his shift work meaning he’d grab a few hours’ kip anywhere he could.
The door wasn’t locked, so I let myself in. “Hey, guys.”
A chorus of hellos from Mitch, Grant, Dalton, and Phil. There was a pizza fest going on, and the air was heavy with the scent of cheese, tomato, and herbs.
I pulled out a chair and sat. “Anyone else coming?”
“The twins are just moving some furniture for Katie, upstairs.” Mitch shoved half a slice of pepperoni pizza into his mouth. “Should be here any minute.”
I nodded and opened my wrap. “All the girls okay?”
“Bridget had a bad punter,” Phil said.
I frowned. “What happened?”
“The twins were there in a flash. He got his marching orders.”
“What’d he do?”
