16. 16
16
Tilly
I t must be a joke.
When he walked in, I thought it was some kind of joke.
I asked the guy beside me—he looked no older than Jade, with long hair that desperately needed a cut and couldn’t meet my eyes—what class this was.
He had to ask his friend, and then someone farther down the row pulled up the code.
It is the right class—the History of Fantasy Literature and the Rise of Tolkien, taught by D. Maclean. This is the class I signed up for, the one that I’ve been so excited to take.
And now I find out that Dexter is the professor.
He’s staring at me with the same expression of shock that I must have on my face.
Not only is Dexter the man I had a one-night-stand with but now he’s going to be teaching me the history of the fantasy genre.
Dexter has been my fantasy for the last few days. I’ve touched myself thinking about him, and now…
Can he see it on my face?
Dexter’s expression softens and he nods at me, but no other reaction. How did he do that? How can he look at me after what we did, and nod ?
Obviously he’s so used to this that it doesn’t faze him.
It’s fazing me. I’m very fazed.
Dexter turns away from me, facing the other side, prompting more students to call out their favourite quotes from the movie.
I want to crawl under my seat but that would only bring more attention to me. Already, a few students are glancing over with expressions of curiosity.
I’m the oldest person in the class.
And the only one who has had sex with the professor.
I’m only guessing on both of those but it really feels like it. Only one would make me feel incredibly out of place. Out of my comfort zone. But two?
I take a few deep breaths and try to focus on what Dexter is saying.
Focus on Dexter, because all I can think about is how I was astride him, and he was deep inside me when I told me to touch myself.
His mouth between my legs. The feel of his hair between my fingers.
Your pussy is mine.
I squeeze my legs together.
The lick of desire is instantaneous and quick to consume me. I walked into this class with the usual first day of school nerves and end up practically trembling with want for the professor.
I’ve never looked at a man and wondered what it would be like to make love to him. But that’s all I can think of as I watch Dexter —what would it be like to have him again? And remember what it had been like to be with him.
Images of our night together flash through my mind on repeat, and the memories of how it felt—how he felt inside me, under me, between my legs—turns me on more than anything ever has.
The lick of desire is now an inferno, and all I can do is sit there and wait for it to end.
It doesn’t help that Dexter was made to command a crowd. He holds the class in the palm of his hand, attention fully on him, as he teases with smiles, funny stories, striding across with long legs.
He looks so very good in those jeans.
I’m sure I’m not the only one turned on by the sight of him.
Dexter is smart, articulate, and passionate about what he’s teaching. Within a half an hour—it would have been less had I not been so stunned to see him—I want to pick up every Tolkien book he’s ever written and read it straight through to find the hidden meanings that Dexter alludes to.
Seeing him in his element like this makes him even sexier.
I can barely breathe.
I’m going to fuck you so good you’ll beg me never to stop.
How can the man who said that to me a few nights ago be the same one describing how Tolkien’s works came to be published?
He’s good at lecturing. That shouldn’t surprise me. Nothing should surprise me more about seeing him here in the position of authority.
There must be rules about sleeping with teachers. And university professors.
Am I going to be kicked out? Failed on principle? Should I leave?
That can’t be possible. This man—this intelligent, eloquent man avidly talking about the role of Samwise Gamgee in the books versus the movies, cannot be the man who made me come five times.
No one knows. No one knows.
I keep telling myself that for their entire two-hour lecture and it’s the only way I manage to stay in my seat.
But I know. And I can’t stop thinking about it.
I know now that I couldn’t text him because I was afraid. But seeing him here, right before me suggests that there was no need to be scared of him or what it could be. Maybe this was fate.
What are the chances of me being in school and Dexter being one of my professors?
He’s my professor . Fate can’t be so mean to give me something that I can’t have.
I still want him.
When the class is finally over, I waste time putting away my laptop, slipping into my jacket so that most of the students have already filed out.
Dexter stands at the front gathering his papers.
Taking a deep breath, I summon whatever courage I have left and walk down the steps. “Professor,” I call.
He looks up. “Dexter,” I say in a softer voice, unable to stop my smile.
“Tilly.” His expression is guarded and the way he says my name is nothing like how he whispers it the other night. “What are you doing here?”
“I… I go to school here.” I have a backpack full of books and my laptop. That should be obvious what I’m doing here. I reach the bottom, my final steps faltering at how he looks at me.
There’s nothing resembling how he looked at me the other. No gentle softness. No hunger.
“I didn’t know you were a professor,” I say hesitantly.
“You didn’t?” His voice is an accusation and it confuses me.
“How could I? You never said a word about what you did. I don’t even know your last name.” Maclean , I say to myself. Professor Maclean. I know it now.
“So you’re really in this class?” Dexter’s shoulders slump and I catch my breath at his obvious disappointment. Everything I wanted to say to him curls back into my throat. “I thought you just came to see me.”
That doesn’t sound like it’s something he wanted. He doesn’t want me to be here, didn’t want to see me.
Is it because I didn’t text him? Is he angry about that?
Or was it the sex? Was it bad? Was I bad? Is this all one-sided?
Was I not enough for him?
I frown helplessly. “I’m in this class?”
“You don’t sound too sure about that. I had no idea you were a student here. You said you were—”
“Old?”
I’m too old for him. Everything he said was a lie. I don’t need to hear anymore. I wrap my arm around my waist.
“It’s not that.” Oh, but it is. It’s what everyone is not saying when they look at me. I’ve had a year to get used to it but it still stings. “I’m surprised to see you again. I didn’t think I’d hear from you.”
“I didn’t text,” I say, hating the note of apology in my voice. “I was—”
“Good.”
The sudden coolness in his tone is like a slap to the face. I take a step back. “I thought…”
I have no idea what I think. That he liked me? That he wanted to hear from me, like he said in the note? That it might be something more than one night?
No to all.
Don’t be so stupid , Carlos’s voice says in my head.
“I’m your professor. You’re my student.” Bitterness laces his words, like I’ve done something wrong. “Do not tell anyone about this.”
“I wouldn’t…”
“Pretend it never happened,” he says in a low voice. “Forget about it.”
“Dexter…”
“I’m your professor. That’s it.” I can’t read his expression and I don’t want to. “I hope you enjoy the class. If you’re still interested in taking it.”
“You want me to drop the class?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You’re not saying much of anything?”
“What do you want me to say?” He looks around and lowers his voice. “It was a mistake, okay? It was one night and I’m not letting it end my career.”
I suck in my breath. “You think—”
“I don’t think. I’m not saying anything. It was a mistake, Tilly. Please respect that.”
I stare at Dexter for a long moment, composing myself so he doesn’t see how his words gut me. Carves out my insides and leaves me hollow.
I was a mistake. That night meant nothing. All my thoughts, memories and fantasies are just that—fantasies. It was a mistake.
I turn and walk away.