Page 34 of Damaged Professor

But… Dylan has worked so hard to be in the position that he is. The amount of degrees that he had to get, not only for his own history majors, but to be qualified to teach it… And the amount of work that he had to do to become a tenured professor... It's a lot.

And his books.

He had been so proud when he told me about them that I went out and bought a copy of each one. I’ve only just started the one about the rural urban legends. But the confrontation with Sara has put me out completely, and I cannot focus. But I can tell that it will become a staple of my collection once I finish it.

But his book isn’t really the issue, as much as I try to focus on it.

I don’t know if I should call it quits with Dylan or not.

Actually, no. That’s not it either. I know that I should call it quits with him. I just don’t want to.

Still conflicted over it, I finish off my can of soda, and then get up in search of a stronger drink. I’m not going to any of my classes today so it should be fine to crack open a beer, right? Even though it’s early?

A knock on the door interrupts my dilemma. My head snaps up like a rabbit that's just been spooked. I know for a fact that Nichole is at class because she’s been posting about her project partner for the last hour.

So… Who else would it be?

By a stroke of luck, my silver chevron curtains are closed. I’m able to almost sneak up to the front door, where I quietly brace one hand against the wood and peek out through the peephole.

My heart shoots straight up into my throat. It’s Dylan!

Shit. What am I supposed to do with this? I could just ignore him and pretend that I’m not home but… I’ve been ignoring his texts and his calls since my encounter with Sara the day before. The fact that he came all the way here just to make sure that I’m okay… I would be a prick if I just ignored him.

And I’m a grown ass woman, right? I can deal with this. I can make the right call.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door. “Hey. Guess I can’t claim to be sick now that you’re here, huh?”

“I was worried about you,” says Dylan. He steps quickly into my house, and I close the door behind him, trying to minimize whatever damage might be caused by him coming here. “You weren’t answering me at all, and then you didn’t show up for class—”

“Someone saw us,” I blurt out. “Another student.”

He freezes. “What?”

“Sara Brown. She lives across from you, with her parents I guess, and she saw me go in and leave your house the other night.” The words rush out in a blur. I thought that it would be hard to tell him, but I’m just relieved that he’s come by, and we can get it over with. “She thinks that I’m sleeping with you for my grades.”

“You would never,” says Dylan, aghast.

I nod. “And you would never let someone do that. But it doesn’t matter. We were supposed to try and keep this on the down low, and we haven't even been at it all that long, but someone already knows. I stayed home—” I gesture to the apartment around me, leading him over to the loveseat, which I drop down onto with a thump. “Because I was trying to figure out what I should do about it.”

“This isn’t something that you need to be handling on your own,” says Dylan, settling between my legs. He leans forward, bracing a hand against the back of the loveseat, and then reaching out to tuck a loose tendril of sandy blond hair behind my ear. “You need to be handling this with me. It involves both of us.”

“I know,” I tell him, miserably. “I know. I just was scared to tell you.”

Dylan assures me, “You never have to be scared about telling me anything, do you understand that?”

The corners of my mouth twist up into a smile, but before I can tell him how utterly sweet that is, Dylan’s kissing me. It’s hot and heavy in a matter of heartbeats, his tongue swiping over my lower lip and then his teeth sinking in right after. As soon as I gasp, lips parting, he delves into my mouth, licking over every inch of me that he can reach.

One of my hands presses against the back of his neck, holding him close to me. I don’t want to part, even though my lungs are already burning out in need of more air. He groans, hands sliding up to tangle in my hair, and finally pulls back, gasping. We stay close enough together that I can feel his hot, wet breath rolling over my face, and then we’re kissing again, even deeper this time.

If our positions were reversed, I would curl up in his lap, but there’s something incredibly inciting about having him over top of me, too. The space between us is small and closed in, our bodies making it seem that much warmer. I let go of his hair with one hand, grabbing onto his wrist instead. With a tug, I’m able to get it down onto my collar bone instead.

Dylan takes it from there, dropping his hand down even further to stroke over my chest, fingers tugging at the front of my black, lacy tank top. Without a bar on my nipples are hard against the thin fabric, and when he catches one of them between two fingers, I let out a soft, wanting sound and arch up into the touch.

Our mouths part again, but only so he can press his lips to the curve of my jaw instead, licking and nipping at the skin, then moving back to the sensitive spot just beneath the lobe of my right ear. Heat runs through my skin, my blush bright and dark, my breath coming in heavy gasps.

His hand drops down again, and then pushes up under the hem of my shirt. The black fabric bunches up around his wrist. His palm is hot against my own skin when he gropes at my tits, running his fingers over tender skin the same way that he laves his tongue over my skin.

My hands slip into the back pockets of his slacks, tugging him closer. I spread my legs a little bit wider—and then I realize that his car is parked out front, and I live in the middle of student central. Reluctantly, I push him away.

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