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For the entire week now, he had been doing things out of character. Pleasuring himself in front of a student. Saying fucking sorry. And his latest insanity? Actually saying yes to meeting her on hours they would be least supervised…and anything could happen.
After a discomfitingly sleepless night (or despite it in this case), the professor still woke at exactly a quarter to five on a cloudy Sunday morning. It was his least favorite day of the week, but he had long learned to make do.
His morning routine took up ninety minutes of his time, followed by an hour’s session at his personal gym. After this was desk toil: assignments and essays to grade, correspondence to reply to, and journals to read and analyze.
Seminars and conferences were supposed to take up the remaining hours of the day, but there were rare occasions when the rest of the world refused to cooperate. This week’s Sunday was such a day, with most of his professional acquaintances opting to honor Sabbath the way the Lord meant to, thus leaving his calendar glaringly empty.
With nothing to keep him from dwelling on his fuck-ups, the professor found himself brooding over the latest cause of disturbance in his otherwise orderly life. Diana had sent him a text message last night, thanking him for approving her schedule request. It was, they both knew, also an invitation. To flirt. Play sexual games. Stay fucking connected.
And fuck yes, but the invitation had worked, and it had him typing as fast as he could.
A thank-you text won’t cut it. I want you here with me, on my lap, your pussy impaled on my dick.
That was what he had typed.
But what he ended up sending was: You’re welcome.
Two words that were supposed to be the right thing to do, but it sure hadn’t felt right, and it still didn’t, with the silence from her end driving him crazy and making his Sundays even more intolerable than they usually were.
What if his rather impersonal reply had her entertaining stupid thoughts? What if he had hurt her without meaning to, driven her to someone else’s arms, like that boy Lars?
Too many goddamn what-ifs, but he somehow managed to control himself from doing anything stupid.
Sinning, at the very least, could wait until Monday.
Her
Diana couldn’t believe what Bernie was saying.
Sick? The professor had called in sick?
Looking around, she saw that the rest of the class appeared as bewildered as she was, none of them able to picture any kind of illness daring to befall on someone as intimidatingly and vibrantly virile as the professor.
The TA left as soon as he had their worksheets distributed, and for several moments all Diana could do was stare at the piece of paper in her hand.
Back when she still lived under her mother’s thumb, she neither thought of Mondays as manic nor mundane. Instead, they were Morbid Mondays to her, with Diana forced to attend board meetings and pretend she was okay with Esther’s illegal maneuverings. Mondays were also for social dinners and playing nice with whichever latest bachelor Esther believed to be rich, foolish, and docile enough to pass as her future son-in-law.
Since last Monday though, she had started thinking of the first day of the week as magical.
Magical Mondays.
That was how she had thought of it, rather whimsically she knew, and it was all because Monday meant being able to see him. Hear him speak. It meant being able to bask in his presence.
But now this.
Diana: The TA just told us you called in sick. :( Are you okay?
Matthijs: Better now, because I know you’re worried about me.
It was so rare to catch the professor in the mood to play, and her heart skipped a beat despite knowing this couldn’t mean anything.
Diana: I’m okay with foregoing tomorrow’s consultation so you can rest some more.
Matthijs: Don’t you know by now, my darling? The sight of you is a better cure than a gallon of antibiotics. And the feel of you…makes me fucking immortal, baby.
Him
The professor’s alarm woke him at half past four the next day.
While a dull, miniscule throbbing still nagged at his temple, his body no longer felt sluggish, and he was even able to leave the bed without tripping over his own feet.
Twenty hours ago, it hadn’t been the case at all, with the flu causing the professor to all but crawl just to make it to the en-suite.
Then again, none of it should’ve happened if he hadn’t been so damn careless in the first place.
The last time he had done something as stupid as this, everything had still been new and unfamiliar, his bitterness still raw enough to make him rebel against the drastic changes his life had to accommodate.
But he had no such excuse now.
No damn excuse except for the fact that his thoughts had been so damn entangled because of her and…
