And that was the true hitch in our dynamic.
“She’s in my graduate class and my TA for the undergraduate lecture.”
“You are well past the incident with Lisa, then,” Zaid said. I hesitated to answer. It was true that I was over it, at least in the sense that I was letting myself get close to someone again. But I knew I shouldn’t trust myself around anyone, including Mara.
“I’m concerned with the situation,” Zaid said. He sat up. “This is the first woman I’ve seen you mention as more than a one-off scene partner. Since what happened with Lisa and Eric.” He shook his head. “I know you. You like this woman. I trust that you are only doing what you believe is right. But this does not change the fact that your colleagues, the dean, your other students, will see it as an abuse of power.”
Zaid was right. “I know.”
“You would risk tenure for this woman?”
And that’s what I was doing, wasn’t it? We were playing with fire. Seeing Jessica at the Afterglow was proof that this relationship with Mara was not to be taken lightly. But perhaps we could lie. Blame our evening out on an academic tryst.
But it was more than that. Much more.
“I haven’t finished the opposing argument,” I said, knowing that Zaid knew what I meant. He had always found it amusing, and arrogant, that I chose to write these papers in staunch opposition of my own students. I, too, found it amusing, a way to take away from the boredom of daily life. But with Mara, I had no drive to finish it. She had found a topic I could not argue against. Not with her.
“Be vigilant,” Zaid warned, and he finished his coffee. “The dean won’t be so forgiving.”
Zaid left to meet his future wife in the woods of Mount Charleston, and I stayed on the patio, the sun blinding on the water, baking my skin. There were many aspects to consider before meeting Mara and the rest of the humanities department at the Visiting Speaker Showcase.
***
The university theater’s lobby was packed with academics and fans alike. The speaker was someone I was uninterested in, having seen this person speak before—a bit of a show-off, and only here because he was friends with the director of the department—but Mara wanted to attend. And she wanted me to go too.
And tonight, you’re Dr. Evans, Mara texted.
From across the room, I glanced up from my phone and looked at her. If I was to go, as she wanted, then we had to play the game by my rules. Tonight, as any time we were around other academics, I was Dr. Evans. And she was Mara. Nothing more than my pupil. My student. My protégé.
Sir works too, I sent.
I like the sound of Dr. Evans, she responded.It sounds so… Powerful.Like you.
The damn woman knew how to get to me.
And what shall I use my power for? How shall I torment you?I sent.
Any way you want, she responded.As long as it’s all of me.
I shoved my phone in my pocket in time for another professor to greet me and dive into small talk about the projected spring catalog, asking whether or not I knew if I was to be granted tenure by then, as if it weren’t a question ofifbut ofwhen. If only it were that easy. I thanked the professor for the confidence but explained that despite my extensive publication portfolio, I had to go up for review like everyone else. Including Dr. Smith, who had walked into the lobby. As was almost required of our kind, she went straight for the open wine bar and helped herself.
Why should I?I sent quickly.Explain it to me. Have you been bad, pet?
It was hard to resist the interaction, the teasing, when I knew that later, we would leave at separate times, but we would end up somewhere together. Be it her apartment, the Afterglow, anywhere. As long as I got to see her.
I forgot my panties, and I purposefully didn’t grade those papers. I was too busy. Touching myself. Thinking of you.
I smirked, and started to respond, when another text from her came in:How will you punish me, Dr. Evans?
Mara was in her typical tight pants and a plain shirt with a cropped blazer, but knowing that when she turned, I would see no evidence of panties on her perfectly round ass, was enough to make my mouth water. Her face was flushed, as if she had finished a light run, her hair daintily hanging around her face. She turned away, afraid to let anyone see where she was looking. At me.
This wasn’t ideal, not in the least. But we could both pretend.
Perhaps crossing boundaries, breaking those rules, was fine. For now.
I texted her:You are a naughty minx, daring me to use you again. Your ass is mine. Divine. Red. Beaten.
She lit up when the text came through, quickly checking her phone even in the middle of a conversation with another student. She smiled at her phone, her mouth open.
