Chapter Four
Lacey
“Welcome to Pop Culture Theory. I am Professor Gibson.”
I turn to the front of the room, avoiding Olly’s intense stare, and try to focus on class.
I can’t believe he heard me.
Embarrassment threatens to singe my clothes, but I suck in a breath and try to calm down.
I can write scenes in my head all day when inspired, but to live them in real life… I have no clue where to start. How am I supposed to seduce someone into sleeping with me when I blush twenty-four seven?
I shove the gummy bear in my mouth and hide the grimace. I hate the green ones.
Professor Gibson hands a pile of papers to students in the front row, who begin taking one and passing them on.
“This is the course outline. You will find a list of reading materials on page 3.”
Paper rustles as pages turn. I scan the reading list, and my pulse kicks up a notch. Four erotic romance titles are listed. That’s… unusual.
Olly and I share a surprised look.
“You want us to read porn?” someone guffaws.
Snickers and muffled laughter fill the room.
I frown at the man-baby sitting in the middle row. This type of juvenile reaction made writing under a pseudonym necessary.
“I expect critical thought, not judgmental bias, in this course,” Professor Gibson barks. “Yes, romance is part of this curriculum. A billion-dollar industry would qualify as popular culture, don’t you agree?”
The snickers stop.
My brows inch up, impressed.
“Page 7 has a list of assessment questions.”
I turn the page. Several statements stand out—challenging patriarchal structures, empowerment… sexual liberation.
I can feel my lips tighten and my nose scrunch in a grimace. Sexually liberated is definitely not in my real-life vocabulary.
But it could be… as soon as I figure out how to be the protagonist of my own story.
My laptop screen flashes with a new email notification. Ignoring my self-inflicted repression for a moment, I open up my inbox to find Giselle’s name at the top. Her response to my genre-switch suggestion makes me grin.
La la la. My fingers are in my ears, and I’m not listening.
Can’t hear anything about switching genres...
I have an idea, something to get you back into the swing of things. There’s a box set going out later this year with a few names you may have heard of—James, Knight, Meyer.
Anywho, I sent them a sample of your work, and they are impressed.
You have a spot in the box set if you can get an outline to them by the end of the week—and they like it.
This could be the break you’ve been looking for. Pay off those student loans and do this full-time! Their audiences are enormous! We’re talking 15K+ newsletter lists.
I let out an audible gasp.
Olly turns to me, and his eyes narrow in concern. “What is it?”
“Giselle…” I point to the screen.
Olly reads the screen over my shoulder. “Holy shit.”
“I know.” All of the authors she listed are my idols. They turned a hobby into a full-time gig—just like I want to.
“What are you going to write?” he asks, keeping his voice lower to not disturb the class.
I scan the rest of the email. “It’s a collection of stories about turning the good boy bad.”
Olly bites his bottom lip and smirks. “Sexy.”
I grin. Of course my cock-loving best friend would like that idea.
But the reality of the boring work I’ve been putting out lately kills any future career plans. “I have to complete an outline by the end of the week. That’s not enough time.”
“Don’t you have something unpublished you can use?”
I shake my head. “Nothing that would classify as turning a good boy bad.”
Unless I picture Olly as a sweet, unassuming good boy, watching me crawl on my knees toward him…
Nope.
“What about Naughty Professor?” Olly whispers, his gaze raking down Professor Gibson’s body with so much heat it makes my skin simmer. “I can suck those details out tonight.”
Olly’s meaning sinks in, and my stomach clenches at the image that assaults me—Olly on his knees, Professor Gibson’s head thrown back.
Instantly, I’m back on my bed, a purple toy sliding between my thighs and Olly’s name on my tongue.
I ignore that train of thought and look at the professor.
He’s tall and thin, black hair neatly trimmed around his ears, unlike Olly’s wild locks. Glasses frame his face, giving him an older, wiser presence, but he only looks to be in his midthirties.
He’s cute.
A new kind of curiosity surges through me. If the professor really thought romance was a form of sexual liberation, maybe he would be willing to help liberate me…
“I will,” I say, surprised at the confidence in my tone.
“You will what?”
“I will… try.”
It takes Olly a moment to process what I’ve said, then his eyes narrow. “No.” Olly shakes his head, his expression stoic. “You can’t fuck your professor.”
“Says who?”
“It’s against the rules or something.”
I gape at him. “You were planning on doing it yourself two minutes ago.”
Olly’s lips are thin, jaw clenched. Irritation radiates from him, contradicting the carefree ambivalence he usually exudes. “Fine. No one fucks the professor.”
I grip the armrest of my chair, the plastic rough on my hand. “Not fine.”
“You told me to take what I want.” My tone is harsh, irritation flaring beneath. Giselle needs a manuscript, and I need… to not want to spend my time waiting for my phone to ring in case it’s a video call from my best friend.
“I was talking about a fucking gummy bear.” He looks at the professor and scowls, swearing under his breath.
“What’s wrong with you this morning?” I snap.
His jaw works from side to side, his fists white-knuckled on the desk as he looks off to the side of the room.
Minutes pass before he lets out a sigh. He taps his knee against mine. “Wrong side of the bed. Forgive me?”
Warmth thrums along my outer thigh where we touch and soaks into my skin. I ignore it. “Okay.”
His knuckles brush mine.
Instinctively, I flex my fingers, and he slips his between, sliding back and forth in a slow, hypnotizing rhythm.
“Is he what you want?” Olly’s attention is on our joined fingers.
“He’s what I need.” My eyes drop to Olly’s mouth and quickly dart away before he catches me staring. “You were right. Writing about sex isn’t enough anymore. I can get some experience and a plotline at the same time.”
If I can actually seduce my professor.
I huff out a quick laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but Olly doesn’t smile.
Disappointment sits heavy in my chest as the lecture ends and we walk out of the building and into the midday sun. I don’t expect him to throw confetti and make a huge deal, but I haven’t had sex in forever, so this was kind of a huge deal.
“You don’t think I can do this, do you?”
It’s obvious by his reaction that he thinks I’ll make a fool of myself. He’s right. I’m too inexperienced, too shy. Of course I can’t seduce my professor. What am I thinking?
“Hey.” He lifts my chin with one finger, tilting my face toward his. “Any guy you let in your bed will be on his knees wondering how he got so lucky.”
I blink away the unexpected surge of emotion heating my eyes. “Oh.”
“And if you want the professor, you’ll get him.” Olly gives me a playful smile. “Until then, I sent you some inspiration.”
He slides his phone into his pocket as mine buzzes and winks as he walks off to his next class.
I open up the new message to find a photo of a swollen cock head resting on a cum-covered tongue.
I use one hand to cover my burning cheek and save the photo with the other.
I need to seduce the professor ASAP.