3
Unwinding with Becca was one of her guilty pleasures. There were very few people in this life that Spencer was comfortable cutting loose with. In fact, she could count those people on one hand. No doubt because of her mother’s critical treatment of her while she was growing up. Always picking at her, always disparaging her. Don’t be such a sourpuss. You need to smile more. Stop being so snippy. Hold your tongue. Nobody wants your opinion. Dress better. Boys don't like girls who frown all the time. The list went on.
What a wonder she made it to eighteen living in that household. The day she graduated, she was out of her mother’s house and crashing on friends’ couches. She saved up by working entry-level administrative jobs over the years, enough to do some backpacking around South America, then worked some more to buy her little home before entering the program she was in now.
Her mom could shove it. She had friends and a promising career, and people liked her badass fashion sense and straightforward attitude. Only, she didn’t let many of them in. Thanks, Mom.
“So what’s going on with Hot Professor?” Becca questioned, chucking a piece of popcorn at Spencer’s head. Her pink nails glistened in the light of the lamps she flicked on, warming the room with ambient lighting. “Still getting to know each other on the DL?” She giggled.
“Yes,” Spencer replied curtly, not giving her anything. If she gave her an inch, she would take a mile.
“Oh, come on. Don’t be such a wet blanket. I need details! ”
“Not after the way you behaved when I showed you our last emails. No way.”
Becca stuck her bottom lip out in a mock pout. “My response was perfectly measured against the situation.”
“Dancing around my kitchen singing, ‘ Spence is in love, hallelujah, hallelujah ’ is not a measured response.”
“Not in your world,” she mumbled around a mouthful of popcorn, “but in mine, it was an understated reaction. I didn’t even climb on your roof to shout it for all to hear.”
“Again, how did we ever successfully date?”
“We didn’t.” She shrugged. “That’s why we’re best friends instead of the hottest couple anyone’s ever seen.”
Spencer grabbed her largest throw pillow and launched it at Becca, narrowly missing the giant bowl of popcorn.
“Watch the nails!” Becca screeched, attempting to hold her hands out of the way of the fluffy missile and failing. “Okay, that’s it. You owe me now.”
“Smudged nail polish does not mean you get your email reading privileges back.”
“Agreed. But it means I get to go through your text messages with Mr. Good Butt. Either that, or you can repaint my nails.”
Spencer threw her hands up in defeat. “Not happening. You never sit still. ”
“Yes!” Becca yelled, punching the air in victory.
“So dramatic.”
“You know you love me. Now give me your phone,” she said, sitting straight up. She held out her hand and curled her fingers in a ‘ gimme-gimme ’ motion.
Spencer handed over her cell, sat back on her couch, and waited for the show to begin. It’d been over a week since she had started communicating with Brett in secret, and while they were getting to know each other, things had taken a more…salacious turn.
“Oh my god! This is like reading a porno!” Becca squealed.
“You’re the one who wanted to go through my messages.”
“Listen to this, listen to this?—”
“Becca, you don’t have to read it to me. It’s my conversation with Brett.”
“Shh! Listen: ‘ I need to hear you moan my name with your pussy against my mouth. I want to be buried so deep in your cunt, I can’t breathe. ’ Spencer. This guy is filthy!”
She couldn’t help but give her a coy smirk. “I know.”
“Never in a million years would I have guessed that Professor Sweater Vest had a mouth like this on him.”
“We’ll see if he can put his money where his mouth is. Or his mouth where his mouth is, actually.”
“You guys haven’t done anything physical yet? Has it all been this crazy hot sexting?” Becca’s eyes widened in disbelief.
“Pretty much. We both don’t want to get the other in trouble. He could lose his job, I could get kicked out of the program. So it’s all imaginary for the moment.”
“So a week and a half until he can, and I quote: ‘ fuck you so good you’ll be a sobbing mess tangled in my sheets?’ ”
“Yup.”
“How are you guys edging each other this hard? All teasing and no actual release?”
Spencer snorted. “Oh, I’m getting a release. No way I can read those words and not take matters into my own hands.”
“Thank heavens.” Becca flopped back down onto the nest of pillows she had constructed earlier on the floor. “I was scared you were going to spontaneously combust from all this heat.” She continued scrolling through their text exchanges, enraptured by the conversation.
“Okay, okay, give it back, Becca.” She held her hand out like a scolding mother asking for her child to spit out their chewing gum.
“Hold on, one more minute.” Her finger scrolled through the text chain, her eyes growing wider with each pass. Begrudgingly, she relinquished control of the phone. “Haven’t you guys only been talking for like ten days? ”
“Yeah, so?”
Becca arched an eyebrow. “It kinda seems like you’re running on rocket fuel.”
Spencer looked straight at her. “What’s your point?”
“I don’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all. You typically don’t rush into things, and you’re very particular about who you let get close to you. Make sure this guy is worth it.”
“ This guy ? You mean the guy you call Mr. Good Butt? Weren’t you rooting for us before I was?”
“Yes, and I still am. I think you would make cute little death-obsessed babies, but I’m still your ride-or-die. Like it or not, I’m always going to look out for you.”
Spencer shook her head. As much as she joshed Becca about their utter failure as a couple, she was fortunate to have her in her life. Becca always wanted what was best for her, supported her, and was always there, regardless of whether things turned out right or wrong.
She reached over and squeezed Becca’s arm. “Thanks. You know I love you.”
“Not as much as you love Professor Filthy Mouth,” she chirped, throwing the last handful of popcorn at Spencer’s head.
Tuesday. The worst day of the week. Most people thought the worst day was Monday, but they were wrong. Everyone expected Monday to suck. Everyone expected Monday to feel long. It was like the weekend’s hangover. But it was Tuesday people had to watch out for. Still early enough in the week that it felt like forever until Friday, and most people were still acting bitchy from the Monday blues. Wednesday—people were over the hump. Thursday—it was almost the weekend. Friday—time to party. But today was Tuesday, and Spencer doubted anything could make her feel like she didn’t want to carve her eyeballs out and leave them for the crows.
Except the fact that she was sitting in Brett’s psychology lecture.
They’d been texting and emailing nonstop since that day in his office. It was surprising how much they’d been able to learn about each other in such a short amount of time. Brett had been raised by a single mom and had to take care of her when their world fell apart with the loss of Brad. His dad wasn’t involved in his life—never had been. He shared how he loved his job, but the department heads were difficult to work for. When she asked him his drink of choice, he didn’t hesitate to say a peach daiquiri.
Class was almost over, so she pulled out her phone and scrolled through her texts with Brett. They never failed to make her feel all tingly inside. That he always wrote back right away, whether it was texting or emailing, made her feel important. Valued.
You’ve never had strawberry ice cream? Isn’t that a mandatory part of growing up?
Never. I was a black liquorice girl, through and through.
That’s unacceptable. I’ll have to take you for ice cream and prove what a good flavour it is.
You want to take me on an ice cream date?
You obviously missed out on it as a kid, so yes. I think I have a moral obligation now. Next you’ll be telling me you never had a childhood pet.
Wrong. Hamster. His name was Rufio and I loved him for all nine months we had him.
Only nine months?
Little bugger escaped his cage and climbed into the furnace one night. Found him a few days later… ??
RIP Rufio.
What about you? You seem like the kind of guy that would’ve had a turtle or a bird.
I have no idea how you pegged me for a turtle guy, but I do have a pet turtle. Her name is Mary Shelley and I love her. No birds. They freak me the fuck out.
Yet you were still so nice to Llewellyn about Jean-Luc Beakard. I like that about you.
And I like a lot about you.
Tucking her phone away, she noticed Brett wandering around the classroom, handing back their funeral process essays. Most of her classmates were reacting well, taking in their marks for their last class assignment, pleased with how they’d done.
Well, everyone but Llewellyn. Deep creases marred his forehead, and his brows were scrunched together so closely they practically touched. He was muttering something to himself as he flipped through the pages. She did her best to suppress a sigh. No matter what he did, Llewellyn never seemed to quite pull it together.
“Spencer,” Brett said quietly, handing back her paper. “Please see me after class.”
She looked down at her essay. A big red “A” was scrawled on the front. What could he need to see her for? Dale, the classmate next to her, looked over at her paper and then back at her. Spencer shrugged in an I-have-no-idea-what-I-did kind of way. Flipping through the pa ges, she saw nothing of note that would warrant needing to stay behind.
“Alright, everyone. Well done. I’ll see you next week for our last class. It’ll be a debrief, so no readings are necessary. Have a great rest of your week,” Brett sang, pleased with his students.
Spencer remained in her seat, waiting for the rest of her classmates to file out. Llewellyn was out of his seat, rocketing through the door with his head down, annoyance pouring off him like a bad perfume.
“If you wouldn’t mind joining me up here, Spencer,” Brett motioned her to the front of the room where he sat behind his desk.
Spencer pursed her lips as she joined him, plopping herself down on the edge of his wooden bureau. “You gave me an A,” she said, shaking her essay in front of his face. “Is there something more you wanted?”
“There’s a lot more I want, Spencer.” His tone was serious and needy. Her mood shifted from annoyed to curious.
“Like what, Professor?” She tempted him, leaning over to give him an eyeful of her cleavage. She adjusted herself on his desk so her legs were ever-so-slightly spread in front of him.
He cleared his throat. “You know what.”
“But Mr. Monroe, you need to say it. ”
“I want you,” he admitted. “I want to touch you, feel you, taste you.”
“But you won’t?” she pouted, spreading her legs wider. Her leather skirt rode up her thighs.
“Maybe I need you to convince me,” he said, one eyebrow raised in invitation.
“That can be arranged.” Slowly, she set one platform sneaker on the right armrest of his chair, then the other on the left.
Brett gaped at her, eye-level with her bare cunt.
“Oh. Did I mention I forgot to wear underwear today? Silly me.”
“You make a very persuasive argument, Spence,” he groaned, biting his fist.
Spencer let out a breathy laugh. “I think you’ll find I’m quite compelling when I choose to be.”
He looked at her and licked his lips. “Tell me what you want.”
No question in her mind—that was desire in his eyes. But he needed direction, and she was going to give it to him.
“Stand up,” she demanded.
Brett immediately stood, never taking his gaze off her cunt.
“Good boy. Take those two fingers”—she nodded at his hand with her head—“and put them inside me.”
Brett glided his fingers up the inside of her thigh, hesita ting before he put them where she really needed.
“Anyone could walk in, you know,” he stated, voice heavy with lust.
“Yeah, they could. But I need you now, Professor. I’m tired of waiting for your touch,” she fussed.
“I’m tired of waiting too.” He looked down at her cunt on full display. Slowly, he brought his fingers to her pussy and rubbed circles over her entrance.
“Eyes up here, Mr. Monroe,” she called, forcing him to meet her gaze. “I want you to look at me while I ride your fingers.”
“Anything you want.” He pushed inside her. “Fuck, you feel good, Spence.”
She let out a sharp breath at the friction. Delicious and just what she craved. He moved his fingers up and in, drawing out her wetness. She met his strokes with her own thrusts, fucking herself on his hand.
“Touch yourself, Professor.”
Brett wasted no time in reaching for his cock, rubbing it over his pants. “You want me to take it out?” he asked, leaning forward to kiss up her neck.
“Yes. Isn’t that why you held me back after class? To show me what I’ve been missing?” she teased, writhing against his hand.
He pulled his fingers from her, and she hated the loss of his skilled movements. Her cunt felt empty withou t him, and she desperately wanted Brett back inside her.
His hands were on his belt, fire in his eyes, and he slid the end out of the buckle. She needed to see him. Desperation was making her reckless, and Brett was right there with her.
“Mr. Monroe, I really believe this is unfair!” Llewellyn burst into the classroom with his head buried in his essay. “I think—” He looked up and stopped in his tracks, frozen to the floor.
Brett threw the end of his belt back through the buckle while Spencer closed her legs, slid off his desk, and tugged down her skirt.
Fucking. Llewellyn.
His backpack was half open, hanging off his shoulder. Papers were dangerously close to spilling out, and his—for fuck’s sake, was that a Star Trek lunchbox?—was banging against his backside, tethered to the strap of his book bag with a carabiner. How old was this kid?
Llewellyn took one look at the compromising position they had not-so-elegantly tried to hide, let out a screech, and bolted back out the doors.
“Shit,” they both echoed at the same time.
“I’ll go talk to him,” Brett stated, heading for the door.
Spencer reached out and grabbed his arm to stop him. “No, no. I got this.”
“I really should?— ”
“You’re too nice, Brett. I need to scare some sense into that little shit.”
“That may not be the way to go with Llewellyn.”
Either intimidation or sucking up to the walking inhaler. Those were the options. Oh, who was she kidding? Intimidation it was.
“I’ll meet you in your office after I talk to him,” she said. Sliding her hand down the arm she was still holding onto, she took Brett’s hand in hers, lifted his fingers to her mouth, and licked her arousal off of them. His jaw dropped.
“Give me half an hour.” She winked and headed out the door.
Now, she just had to find Llewellyn.
“I know what I saw!” Llewellyn yelled, clutching his backpack to his chest in self-defence.
It wasn’t like she was going to hurt him or anything, but she supposed her tone had been a bit threatening. He was sitting in the campus cafeteria. It hadn’t been that difficult to find him when she realized it was lunchtime. It was Llewellyn—he basically lived on fried chicken.
“How would you like to see my foot up your ass?” she snarled .
“I’m in the right! You can’t scare me,” he cried, cowering in his chair in the far corner. She shook her head. Lucky coincidence he’d chosen a secluded spot to eat. Didn’t need the whole student body overhearing her trying to coerce him not to talk about her little escapade with Brett on his desk.
“Listen, Llewellyn, you gotta hold your tongue about what you saw. We’re both consenting adults, and the semester is almost over. We need you to shut up and not go spreading this around.”
“What do I get out of this deal?” He set his backpack down on the ground.
“What deal?” Spencer asked, incredulous.
“Well, if I’m going to keep my mouth shut, then I should get something in return. You guys are breaking so many rules!” he squeaked.
She stared at him. Was Llewellyn clever enough to barter for his silence? Perhaps she’d underestimated him. Probably not, but she had to give him a bit of credit for not cowing to her demands.
Her eyes narrowed. “What do you want?”
“I know you talked to Mr. Hewitt and Ms. Channing about me. Now, they’re saying they might not pass me in my practicum. If I fail, I have to repeat the entire semester. I can’t have that! You need to talk to them again and tell them I’m a good embalmer.” He took a breath in and continued. “That I’m a great embalmer! And I should be hired to work there! I can’t come out of thi s program and have no job. If you don’t help me, I’ll tell the Dean all about you and Mr. Monroe and the little tryst in his classroom,” he huffed, crossing his arms.
Someone was proud of their little tirade.
“Llewellyn…” she started, feeling a touch bad for him. “There’s only a week and a half left of the semester and our program is finished. If, at this point, the directors don’t think you’re ready, perhaps you’re not ready.”
“You’re the one who convinced them I wasn’t ready! And if you don’t change their minds, I’ll get Mr. Monroe fired!” he cried.
“Keep your voice down, for fuck’s sake.” She dragged her hand over her face, willing herself to keep calm. “I didn’t convince them of anything. When I talked to them last week, I asked if more direct time could be spent with you going over the basics. I never once said you should fail your practicum.”
“I don’t believe you,” he said, glaring at her.
Spencer sighed. “Can we look at this objectively? Are you doing the best possible job at the funeral home?”
Llewellyn was quiet.
“And how are you doing in your classes? I watched you flounder in Safety, Sanitation, and Hygiene, and that was pretty basic stuff. How did you do in Anatomy and Physiology ? ”
“I got a C.”
“Okay. So you’re struggling in your practicum, and you’re struggling in your courses. Llewellyn, do you even want to be in this program?” This conversation hadn’t started out the nicest, but now she felt for the kid.
Brett’s bleeding heart must be getting to her.
“I…” Llewellyn started. “I don’t know.” He looked down at his hands, fiddling with the long strings on his yellow and orange pullover hoodie.
“Consider it. If you’re sure this is what you want to do, I’ll help you the best I can with the remaining time we have in the semester. Deal?”
He nodded his head, still looking down and playing with his clothing. “Deal.”
“Brett,” she called out, entering his office and closing the door behind her. “I have things under control.”
He rushed to her and took her hands in his. “What happened?” Concern coloured his brow.
“He was upset at first and tried to blackmail me, but I’m pretty sure I talked him down.”
Brett’s hands tightened on hers. His demeanor shifted, and an intensity took over his features that she’d only seen once before: when she was at the pub that f irst night and Chad was going to take her home.
“Llewellyn threatened you?” His tone was humourless. The grin that always graced his face was nowhere to be found.
“It’s fine, Professor, it’s fine,” she crooned, wanting to calm him down. “Do you think I can’t handle Llewellyn? It’s Llewellyn .” Spencer placed a hand on his cheek, and he leaned into her touch. “I’ve got it sorted.”
“I know you do. But if he pressures you again…”
She chuckled. “I’ll let you know.”
“Nobody gets to threaten you.”
“Down, boy. What are you? My big, bad protector?” she quipped, pushing at his shoulder.
“Something like that,” he smirked. Those grey eyes glinted with a sign of mischief, and Spencer wanted to take full advantage.
“How about you be my big, bad professor instead and teach me a lesson?”
“I’d rather have you teach me, darling.”
She melted at his confession. In her experience, few men were willing to admit they wanted the woman to lead, and she was always more dominant in her relationships. Women were much more open, but men always wanted to be the strong, in-control alpha male in the bedroom. This was a welcome surprise, though she’d had her suspicions. In all of their more stimul ating emails and texts, Brett always focused on her pleasure.
Spencer walked over to his soft leather desk chair and sat down on the edge of the seat, spreading her legs.
“Crawl to me,” she commanded.
There was no hesitation from Brett. He was on the ground and crawling to her in an instant, placing himself at her feet.
Putting two fingers underneath his chin, she lifted his head and made him look into her eyes. “You know what I want, Professor?” she asked.
He nodded, pushing up her skirt. Spencer grabbed his hands.
“Tell me.”
“You want me to eat you,” he said, running his five o’clock shadow against her thighs, inhaling the scent of her.
She hummed her approval. “Good boy. Now show me how hungry you are.”
Brett buried his face between her legs. His tongue slipped inside her slit, and she let out a gasp, arching back against the chair. She couldn’t help but clench her legs around his head. Hands on the inside of her thighs pushed them apart, holding them wide. He lapped at her, licking every inch of her aching cunt.
“You taste so damn good,” he panted between licks. “I’ve been dreaming about this pussy every night, fuckin g myself with my hand to thoughts of how it would taste. How it would feel against my tongue. How I could make you feel so good.”
Before she could respond, he drew her clit into his mouth and sucked. Sparks traveled down her spine. Her hands flew into Brett’s hair, pulling him against her body, urging him to give her more.
His fingers teased at her entrance briefly before delving inside her, pushing in and out, increasing the euphoric pressure building within her body. Rocking against his hand, she accidentally let out a loud moan.
“I would love to hear you scream, Spence, but this isn’t the place. You’ll have to be quiet while you fuck yourself on my fingers,” Brett said in a low voice, raw and dripping with sex and need. He put his mouth back on her cunt, pumping his fingers inside of her, adding a third. Her hips bucked as she urged him with her body to go harder, faster.
Spencer’s entire being began to quake.
“Brett,” she whimpered, grinding her pussy against his face. She wanted him to devour her completely.
He hummed in response, the vibration against her clit sending her over the edge. One hand reached up and yanked at her top, exposing her breast, squeezing it in his hand. Her body shook, and despite him still using one palm to hold her legs open, her thighs clamped against Brett’s head .
When she relaxed, he nipped at her skin, pulled away, and gazed up at her with reverence.
“Look at you. Fucking undone with pleasure. I’ve never seen something so beautiful.” His chin was still dripping with her arousal. Spencer watched him lick his lips before wiping his stubble with the back of his hand.
Pulling her off the chair and onto his lap, they sat tangled together on the floor of his office. Her skirt scrunched around her hips, and she felt how rigid he was against her exposed cunt.
“It’s time I take care of you, Professor,” she said in his ear, rubbing herself against his firm length.
Brett grabbed her hips with his strong hands and stopped her before she could get going. “We’ve played with fire enough for today, no?” He gestured toward his office door. Unlocked. In her rush to talk to him, she didn’t remember to secure it.
Spencer let out a frustrated sigh. “I need more, Brett. I need to make you feel good, too.”
His captivating laugh filled the room. She’d never tire of hearing his joy. “Spencer—pleasing you makes me feel fuckin’ great. Don’t worry about me.”
Her eyebrows knitted together. “Are you sure?”
“Trust me, when the time comes, you’ll be biting my pillowcase and begging for more.”
She arched a brow, sitting back on his lap. “You think you can top me, do you? ”
“Oh, I know I can, Spence.”
“That’s not really my normal MO, but the thought of you doing it is kinda getting me going…” She was picturing Brett on top of her, dominating, taking control. Her cunt fluttered at the idea. He must be special because being submissive wasn’t something she’d ever enjoyed from anyone before.
He nipped at her earlobe. “Why don’t you go home and take care of yourself while you imagine me fucking you from behind, pushing your head into the bed sheets, and punishing you with my cock?”
Holy shit.
Becca was right. He was Professor Filthy Mouth, and she was here for it. She wanted him to dominate her. First time for everything, right?
“Why don’t you come home with me and show me in person?”
He groaned. “Because, regrettably, I have to teach a class in twenty minutes. And I need to change my clothes,” he said, gesturing to the wet spot on his pants.
She chuckled as she peeled herself off of him, tugged down her skirt, and crossed to grab her bag by his office door. “How are you ever going to concentrate enough to teach when all you can think about is me at home playing with myself to the thought of you?”
He stood and leaned both hands on the top of his desk. “Fuck, Spencer. Are you really planning to go home and do that? ”
“My Professor said I had to. So I guess it’s my homework for tonight.” She turned and left his office, determined to find her best vibrator as soon as she got home.
She’d even snap a picture to send to Mr. Monroe.
From: Brett Monroe
To: Spencer Williams
So what about your family? I’ve told you about Brad. Do you have any familial trauma you’d like to share?
Here it was. The tell me about your family part of getting to know a new partner. Something she dreaded every time she dated someone new. But Brett had told her about his little brother, and that couldn’t have been easy. Time to stop being such a little bitch about it and share. She brought her knees up to her chin and started typing, curled up on her soft sofa.
From: Spencer Williams
To: Brett Monroe
I know you’re half teasing me, but you are a psychologist so…do I have to pay y ou per hour to share about the screwed-up relationship I have with my mom?
From: Brett Monroe
To: Spencer Williams
How about you send me those pictures you took? That can be your payment. You can unload about your mom, and I can…well…Everyone wins.
From: Spencer Williams
To: Brett Monroe
Gross. Don’t talk about my mom and self-gratification in the same sentence.
From: Brett Monroe
To: Spencer Williams
Apologies.
Also, you’re stalling.
He was right. She was stalling. Also known as being a little bitch. She hit reply and let the words flow out through her thumbs:
From: Spencer Williams
To: Brett Monroe
Okay, okay .
It’s not like anything horrific ever happened to me. My mom was very critical. That takes a toll on you, especially when you’re young and forming an identity. I just wanted to be me, but Mom always had other ideas.
She didn’t like my personality. I was always too snippy, too abrasive, too blunt. My rough edges needed to be sanded down, according to her. I think I heard some version of, “you’re too (fill in the blank here)” every day of my life, and what the consequence would be.
You’re too snippy, other kids won’t want to talk to you.
You’re too blunt, no one will be your friend.
Your face looks too sour, boys won’t want to date you.
You don’t dress girly enough. Why won’t you wear the clothes I bought you? You’ll be so much more attractive in these. No one is going to look twice at you dressed like that.
Then I came out to her when I was sixteen and let me tell you…that did not go well. She was pissed. I got pissed at her being pissed. Dad sat there like he always does, saying nothing, cowing to my mo m. I believe her initial response was something like bisexuality isn’t real, it’s a fad and it’s a phase, you’ll grow out of it. And when I didn’t grow out of it —when I started dating girls—she lost her mind. Not in the screaming, throwing things kinda way. More in the bury your head in the sand and pretend it’s not happening kinda way. I moved out when I was eighteen.
I don’t think we’ve had a genuine conversation since. Just curt pleasantries exchanged on the phone when necessary.
And that’s it. That’s my shitty mom in a nutshell. Overly critical, judgmental, never-good-enough-for-her mom. She never could smooth down my rough edges. I think she made me a lot rougher. Interesting how that works, isn’t it?
She hit send.
There. No one could accuse her of not being open. She liked Brett, and she wanted him to get to know her. Sometimes, it was tough opening up. Rough edges and all that.
She stretched out and waited for his reply, knowing it would be quick. Brett jumped at the chance to talk to her, a nd that simple gesture made her heart jump in turn.
From: Brett Monroe
To: Spencer Williams
Your mom sounds like she’d be challenging to grow up with. It’s difficult being critiqued as an adult, let alone as a child. Or trusting her with a huge part of your identity and having her ignore it. I’m sorry that’s what you had to deal with in your home. That should be a safe space for every child growing up. And I’m sorry your dad didn’t seem to ever stand up to your mom or take your side. You took a lot of flak from her, and your dad was a party to all that, even if it was passive. That doesn’t make it easier.
If it’s any consolation, I think your face is great. I love the way your eyebrows scrunch up and you purse your lips when you’re annoyed. Blunt is good. Although I wouldn’t even say you’re blunt. You’re straightforward. You don’t leave any chance for ambiguity if you want to know something. It’s admirable, and it takes guts. And the clothes you wear are super sexy. Although they can’t compare to my impeccable fashion sense. Perhaps you should try wearing a sweater vest now and then? Put it over one of those little camisoles you wear, or that sheer blouse you had on the other day. Or maybe over nothing at all?
Apologies. I’m getting majorly sidetracked.
Oh fuck. Did she just giggle at his email? No partner had ever made her giggle. She sounded like Becca, who was super cute and in every way what a giggler would look like. Her? Not so much.
This man did things to her.
From: Spencer Williams
To: Brett Monroe
Is it even possible for us to have a conversation without it ending up horny?
From: Brett Monroe
To: Spencer Williams
How do I not let my mind wander? You’re so fucking gorgeous and funny. I think about you all the time.
His mind was about to do more than wander. She meant what she said when she teased him before leaving his office earlier that day. Vibrators were played with. Photos were snapped. She definitely got off on the idea of sending said pictures to Brett. He was going to blo w in his corduroy pants. Her stomach fluttered as she typed up her last email for the night.
From: Spencer Williams
To: Brett Monroe
Attachments: (2)
Alright, Mr. Monroe. Open up the attachments and have your way with me. You earned it.
Spencer didn’t see Llewellyn for three days after he’d walked in on Brett and her. She received a call in the early evening that a body had been brought in to the funeral home, and she knew Llewellyn got the call, too. A 58-year-old man dead from a heart attack. Unfortunately, in recent years, she’d seen her fair share of heart attack victims. Much too common.
Llewellyn was waiting by the entrance when she arrived, his bike parked against the front of the building. She bit back the urge to remind him to park his bike in the back, where the public couldn’t see it. The last thing she needed to do was set him off after he’d already threatened her. Who knows what mood he was in today?
“Can we talk?” he asked as she approached the doors, joining her step-for-step .
“I don’t know, Llewellyn. Are you going to blackmail me some more?” she sneered. So much for the whole not-trying-to-set-him-off thing.
Be better, Spencer. Be more forgiving with him for the rest of the night.
“I’m sorry about that, Spencer. I need this to go well. I can’t start from scratch! My folks can’t handle me living with them for much longer. I can tell…” He got quiet.