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Clicking play, I wait as the story begins with a giant snake and a murder. I’ve never been into normal, popular things—I’ve never had a normal life, so watching these magical children, I’m surprised by the darkness and relatability here.
Snuggling deeper beneath my blankets, I imagine him unable to sleep, watching it with me, tracing his fingers in my hair. Now that he’s finally touched me, more like now that he devoured me with his hands everywhere like he couldn’t get enough—thumbs circling my nipples, fingers in my mouth, inside my pussy. Now that I know being with him is even hotter than my imagination, I want more.
My toes curl, and I’m ready to shut off the movie, slip my hand in my panties, and have a new sexy fantasy with him when my phone buzzes. Turning on my side, I lift it to see another annoying text from Natasha.Do you have it yet?
I can picture her thin lips pressed into an impatient line, and I quickly reply.Should be close enough in another week.
Just typing the words sends a thrill through my chest. One more week, and I’ll have him. He’s so close to losing control right now. I have one last card to play, and he’ll be mine. Pressing my lips into a smile, I will miss his sexy internal battles. Such a good professor.
WTF is taking so long???
Her reply makes me sit up and growl, tapping furiously.It’ll take as long as I need. This was your GD idea. I don’t even know if it’s here.
211 Faculty Row. GO FIND IT.
Grinding my jaw, I toss the phone on my bed, pissed at her bossy text, her shouty caps. If she wanted the book so badly, she could’ve come down herself or hired a thief to steal it back. Oh, wait, that would require money and manpower, two things she has in short supply right now.
Sitting on my hands, I resist shooting back a snarky reply. Instead, I consider her order. I would like to see him before Tuesday. Glancing at the clock, I see it’s almost midnight…
Hopping up, I pull on black sweatpants and a black hoodie. I’m a professional. I can sneak over to his house in the dark and tell him I couldn’t sleep. Maybe we’ll watchGoblet of Firetogether. Maybe we’ll make our own fire.
The fact I have no idea how it will play out squeezes my stomach, making me smile.
Tennis shoes on, I head out the door, jogging down the stairs and out into the night.
Students are milling around the quad, so I stick to the trees, hanging back when a couple or a group of friends passes on the wide sidewalk lining the lawn in front of the fraternity houses.
Faculty housing is further back, behind the academic buildings, with a row of Bradford pear trees lining the sidewalk that runs in front of them.
Rick sent me the details on this small block of private residences the week I arrived. Two of the houses are empty, as most of the faculty lives in town or on Miranda Beach. The one on the end belongs to a professor in the history department. The one beside it is a married couple who have no children, and on the end is Dirk’s, 211 Faculty Row.
Hesitating at the tree line, I look up and down the street. It’s pretty late, and all the lights are off, which makes this even better for me. Hustling into the trees, I quickly slip around to the back of Dirk’s residence, to a small, fenced-in yard.
Hopping the fence, I duck into the shadows under the covered patio, pressing my back to the wall and waiting. I’m breathing fast, but I don’t hear a sound. No one is stirring or seems to have noticed. Why would they? It’s a college campus on a Friday night. Nothing to see here.
A metal door with a window is in the back, and I carefully place my hand on the knob, turning it slowly and hoping he doesn’t have a house alarm activated. As I expected, it’s locked, and I chew my lip, thinking.
Straightening, I pull the hood off my head and just knock. Seconds slip past as I wait, and I cup my hand to peer through the glass. A single lamp is on beside a leather couch, but it appears no one is home.
Sneaking around the side of the house, I check the driveway.Empty. Stepping up on a box, I look through the windows on the garage door.Empty. My brow furrows…Where is he?
I didn’t expect this, but it’s actually a golden opportunity. If I do manage to get through these doors with him, I’m not going to want to spend time searching when I could be fucking him. That means I have to break in and do my searching now.
Hesitating a moment, I scratch my neck as I think about the kind of man he is. Defying external appearance, he’s supposed to be a computer geek, which means he might have security cameras, an intricate system protecting against intruders. At the same time, he’s on campus, in this cloistered environment.
He’s not expecting me.
With that in mind, I go to the door, reaching overhead, feeling all around the jamb. Nothing. Stepping back, I chew my lip, looking for unusual ornaments. Not even a plant. He does, however, have a mat, and lifting it up…Voila!
“Oh, Professor Winston,” I shake my head affectionately, picking up the hidden key. “You know better.”
It slides easily into the lock, and in one turn, I’m in his world. It’s like walking into your teenage crush’s bedroom for the first time, getting to know if he’s a clean freak or a slob, learning if he puts his dirty clothes in the laundry bin (almost—a small pile is on the floor), learning if he cleans up after himself in the kitchen (yes—I’m impressed).
Walking down the short hall, I go to his bedroom, straight to his closet. His clothes are arranged on hangers or folded neatly on shelves. The faint scent of his citrusy cologne hangs in the air, and I pull off my hoodie. Taking a thin, navy sweater off a shelf, I pull it over my head, burying my face in his clean scent. His closet is too neat, and I have the devious urge to rearrange it all.
Instead, I fold my hoodie and put it where the sweater was, then I drop to my knees, feeling around behind his shoes, searching for a safe or a fireproof box. Nothing.
Standing, I turn and scan his room, looking for a desk or a filing cabinet or any type of place books might be stored or hidden.
