Chapter 16
Sixteen
Lucas
“ T hank you very much for your time today, Dr. Goode. We’ve enjoyed this discussion and we’ll be sure to reach out to you after some deliberation,” the woman says, her face smiling on the computer screen.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I reply politely. “Thank you very much for your consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you.”
We say our awkward goodbyes through the web meeting app before the screen goes dark and I close my laptop. I rub my sweaty palms against my pants as I deliberate on exactly how that interview went. I mean, I felt good about it. I did my best. I said everything I wanted to say. I think I sounded pretty intelligent.
There was only one unenthusiastic guy in the meeting, but the rest seemed to enjoy my speech and my answers.
“Knock, knock,” a voice says as they open my office door. One of my colleagues, the professor of ethics and literature, Dr. Hanson, stands in the doorway with a polite smile. “How’d it go?”
“It just ended,” I reply with a sigh .
This is only her second year on campus, but so far, I like her. She’s not too talkative. She’s very bright. She works long hours like I do. So essentially she’s the female version of me. And we’ve become work friends.
“I think it went well,” I say, “but there are so many fucking applicants I don’t see how I could possibly have a chance.”
“Oh, stop,” she says. “You’re educated and passionate about the topic. I don’t see why they wouldn’t take you.”
“Thanks,” I reply.
“That’s not what I came in here for, though,” she adds, crossing her arms in front of her chest. “Are you submitting any students for that grant?” she asks.
“Oh, shit, I forgot about that,” I mutter to myself.
It’s a grant that covers two years of tuition for a student in our class we find promising. The only requirement is that the student be a full-time English major with plans to either teach or write professionally after they graduate. Immediately, no one comes to mind.
At least no one that qualifies.
“I doubt it,” I reply with a shrug.
“Yeah, me neither,” she says. “But I didn’t submit one last year either, and apparently the administration is cracking down. It starts to look bad on our entire program when we can all admit that we don’t have any promising students.”
I let out a disgruntled sigh. “Yeah, I get it, but…” My voice trails as one face comes to mind.
“Looks like you just remembered someone,” she says, noting my expression.
“Yeah,” I say in a mumble. “You remember me telling you about that paper one of my students turned in a few weeks ago?”
“Of course. Are they an English major?”
My mouth turns down into a frown. “No.”
“That’s the problem,” she says. “No one wants to be an English major anymore.”
Damn it, Sadie , I think. It really was the best paper I received in the whole quarter. Hell, it might be the best paper I’ve ever received, period, but that’s how it is with Sadie. It’s like she does it purposely just to piss me off. She has so much potential and chooses to waste it on a business degree, so she can run a sex club.
Not that there’s anything wrong with a sex club or running a sex club, but with skills like that, she could be doing so much more.
“Yeah, I’ll give it some thought,” I say.
“Good luck,” Dr. Hanson replies before disappearing through the door.
As she slips out into the hallway, she almost runs headfirst into the redhead walking straight to my office.
“Oh shit, sorry, excuse me,” Sadie mumbles awkwardly.
“No worries,” Dr. Hanson replies.
As Sadie slides into my office, I feel myself starting to tense. She’s never been in my office before, and there are a lot of people currently in the building, so I hope she’s not here to try anything or cause a scene.
“Hi, Dr. Goode,” she announces casually. “I was hoping you had a moment to talk about this week’s assignment.”
I clear my throat. “Of course, Miss Green, come in.”
She glances behind her before closing the door. I may not love this job, but I don’t want to lose it. And it’s not like having a private meeting with a student is inappropriate, but I feel guilty anyway. The people on the other side of this door might suspect something, and that haunts me as she takes a seat in the chair opposite me.
I stare at her expectantly.
“Relax,” she says. “I really am here to talk about the assignment.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. “What can I help you with?”
She digs into her backpack and pulls out the reading for this week—an excerpt from The Scarlet Letter . But before she asks about the reading, she pauses and smirks at me.
“Who was that?” she asks. “She was hot. ”
I clench my molars together as I glare at Sadie. “That is a colleague and a professor. If she’s hot , I didn’t notice, and it’s honestly inappropriate to even make mention of it.”
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on, you’re lying if you’re telling me you didn’t notice how hot that woman is.”
Shaking my head, I turn away from her. It’s clear she’s not going to talk about the assignment. Of course, I noticed how hot Dr. Hanson is. I’m not blind. But that’s where the attraction ends. Beautiful is just that—nothing exciting or worth pursuing. There’s no real chemistry between us.
“Is she single? You should ask her out,” Sadie presses, resting her forearms on my desk. Having her this close, I admire the freckles across her cheeks, which are more exposed when she doesn’t wear so much makeup as she does at night.
“Again, inappropriate.” My gaze drifts downward briefly to the cleavage pushing out of the top of her shirt. Quickly, I glance away before she can notice.
“I’ll behave,” she lies. She never behaves.
Regardless, I will be punishing Sadie tonight. The spankings have become an almost nightly ritual.
She mouths off to some degree, and I either put her over my knee or over the couch or table. And then I spank her until we’re both satisfied. And that’s it. It’s an addiction, and I know it’s not just me.
I love spanking Sadie far more than I would have ever expected to. And I may never understand why.
Sometimes, I do it fast and hard, and sometimes, I do it slowly. Each time is different, but they are all exhilarating.
It never goes beyond that. I mean, sure, I get hard every single time. And I imagine all the filthy things I could do to her if she let me. But it ends with the spankings, and we both walk away.
I don’t know what Sadie does behind closed doors. But for me, I enjoy the resistance. I don’t touch myself. I don’t jack off thinking about her. I just let the erection fade away and count the minutes until the next time my hand meets her ass. At some point, something’s got to give. I know that. But for now, I’m enjoying it for what it is, and I think she is too.
“What’s wrong, Dr. Goode. You seem tense. Sounds to me like you need to get laid,” Sadie says, and I immediately tense.
Letting out a discontented sigh, I glare at her. “I sure hope nobody from the administration can hear you on the other side of that door.” She leans back, crossing her arms with petulance, and my palm begins to itch.
“And deny you the opportunity to punish me?” she says cheekily.
“Enough,” I mutter.
As she snickers to herself, I force myself to look away.
“Besides,” I say lowly. “I get laid plenty, thank you very much.” I keep my voice quiet, although I’m quite certain there’s no one on the other side of the door who could hear us.
Sadie scoffs. “You do not. I’ve been in that house for over a month now, and I haven’t seen any sign of a woman.”
It’s true; I have been under a little bit of a dry spell lately, but I choose not to share that with her.
“That’s out of respect for you,” I say, which is a lie. I don’t know why I haven’t called anyone over in a while.
Even if what Sadie and I have isn’t romantic, it would feel like a betrayal of sorts.
She puts her hands up. “Oh please, don’t deny yourself on my account.” Her tone is laced with sarcasm as if she knows that none of this is based on truth.
Sadie and I have never spoken about sex before, regardless of our new, strange arrangement. Never mind the fact that I have heard her moans and whimpers, and she’s felt the rigid length of my arousal against her side as she lies across my lap nearly every night. Still, our relationship is not sexual, and it has to stay that way.
“No shame, Dr. Goode. It’s been forever for me, too,” she says, and suddenly my interest is piqued. Why does that make me feel a sense of relief ?
She arches her back, stretching on the chair. The hem of her T-shirt lifts, exposing her soft, white belly. My eyes trail downward, focusing on her belly button peeking between the fabric.
And even though she’s now approaching thirteen weeks along, I don’t see much difference in her figure. I can’t help but wonder what she’s going to look like as her belly begins to round.
And the longer she lives under my roof, and the more we get to play this strange little game we’re playing, the more intrigued I am by Sadie’s body. I know it’s wrong, and I have no intention of doing so, but I can’t help but wonder what I would find if I were to peel back every layer of clothes.
Do the freckles on her face spread across her chest?
What do her breasts look like beneath that bra? If I were to cup them in my hand, just how much would they overflow?
How warm is the space between her thighs? And what would it feel like to bury my hand between them?
Suddenly I’m fidgeting in my seat, realizing that I really do need to fucking get laid.
“What about, uh, what’s his name?” I ask with a hint of displeasure in my tone.
“Jax? He hasn’t been in since I told him about the baby.”
“You haven’t spoken at all?” I ask.
“We’ve talked mostly through text or Messenger. And he has offered to pay for everything,” she says as if that makes up for his lack of attention. Or the fact that he’s not been around for anything, not for either of her two doctor appointments like I have. And he likely won’t show up for anything now.
“I feel weird calling him now,” she says, “especially for a hookup. Or even a date. But man, I’d like to…”
I feel my spine straighten and my muscles tense at the idea of him and her together. He doesn’t deserve her. She should know that. Not even for just sex.
“What about you?” she says. “Why don’t you call Miss Hot English Teacher out there and see if she wants to go on a date?”
I don’t glance up at her as I reply, “I don’t date, Miss Green. ”
“Then how do you get laid?”
“You are overstepping again,” I grumble.
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever, punish me later. Answer the question. How come you don’t date?”
I let out a sigh. “Because I’m not interested in a relationship, if you must know. I don’t want a girlfriend or a wife or a family. I enjoy my life the way it is. I’m married to my work, and I’m not ashamed of it. As for sex, which, again, is an inappropriate conversation for us to be having, I have sex and plenty of it, thank you. But it’s nothing more than a means to an end. It’s about pleasure and intimacy but requires nothing long term or monogamy of any sort.”
Staring at me perplexed, she lets her mouth fall open. “Oh my god!” she murmurs to herself with wide eyes.
“What?”
“You’re a playboy!”
With a huff, I furrow my brow. “I am not a playboy.”
“Yes, you are!” she replies with a laugh.
“Keep your voice down,” I scold her, but she doesn’t listen.
“That was probably the most eloquent way I’ve ever heard it expressed, but you’re essentially just a manwhore, Dr. Goode.”
“I am not a manwhore,” I reply in an angry whisper. But even I can’t keep the humor from my voice as I say that.
“You little heartbreaker!” she says with a smile. “You just love ‘em and leave ‘em.”
I fight a smile and shake my head. “That’s not what I meant.” But she’s enjoying this far too much. Leaning back in her chair, she smiles at me as if I’ve just let her in on the world’s greatest secret.
“A regular literary lothario,” she says with a grin.
“Knock it off,” I mutter.
“A classical Casanova.”
“Ha ha, joke all you want,” I say. “But at least I’m not texting people Moby Dick like a teenager. ”
“I literally was a teenager!” she laughs. “It’s not like I do it now.”
I clear my throat, resting my elbows on my desk as I stare at her. “And what exactly do you do now?” I say. I do not entirely know why I’m approaching this subject this way.
“I don’t know,” she says with a shrug. “Usually just text somebody ‘wanna come over?’ and that does it. And what about you? What is the academic way to express ‘wanna fuck?’“
I bite my bottom lip as I ponder the question, fighting a smile. “How about…I would emphatically appreciate the gratification of your company?”
She cracks up laughing. “A bit stiff, don’t you think?” she asks.
And even I can’t help myself now, laughing loudly and not caring who might hear us. “Very,” I reply. “To answer your question, I text ‘wanna come over?’ just like everyone else.”
Her laughter dies down, but her smirk remains. “Good to know,” she says without tearing her gaze away from my face.
Suddenly, I find myself looking a little too deeply into her response.
After a few moments of silence, I stare at the paper in her lap, trying to shake myself out of the spell she put me under. “You said you were here to discuss the assignment.”
“Oh shit, yeah,” she replies. As she grabs her paper and launches into her questions about the piece, I can’t take my eyes off her mouth, or wipe the smile from my face.