19. Legitimate Competition
Chapter Nineteen
Legitimate Competition
Grant
This woman is making me crazed. I already knew that, but it’s never been more abundantly clear to me than now, as I sit at the professor’s desk in a group of silent study pods for an Intro to Readable Body Language research session, and my phone lights up with a text.
Don’t:
well, if my private study supervisor isn’t professor daddy
Part of me wants to bite. I need to know that all this tension is making her feel just as insane as me. I want to make her feel just as out of control as she makes me feel.
Me:
Are you plotting, angel?
God, I can hardly believe that’s the response that I send, but there it is.
Don’t:
I’m always plotting, daddy
you’re looking especially hot today
I feel the tops of my ears go hot. I shouldn’t respond, and I definitely shouldn’t encourage her, but I can’t help myself. It feels reckless, but I’m powerless to resist it.
Me:
Is that right?
Her gaze flicks up from her phone, locking with mine. I maintain eye contact, face neutral. There are half a dozen private study pods in this block, and she’s one pod back from my desk at the front. Her eyes look predatory in the shitty library lights.
Don’t:
yeah
I keep thinking of what we did in the lab
I know you do too
I almost groan out loud, narrowly stifling the sound.
Me:
Of course, I do. I’m not made of stone.
“Doctor King?”
My head snaps up at the vaguely familiar voice, and I all but slam my phone face down on the desk. I paste on a professional smile, though I can see Neve smirking from behind her classmate. “Yes, Miss Davis. Can I help you with something?”
She smiles, blue eyes darkening slightly as her pupils dilate. I already don’t like where this is going. “Uh, yes, but it’s not… class related.”
I quirk a brow, forcing my face to remain neutral despite wanting to frown or let her know politely that this isn’t the place for that. I give a questioning hum, shuffling the papers on my desk just to give my hands something to do.
“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to get coffee sometime?” She twists her hands in front of her, clearly nervous. “Outside of school time.”
I roll my lips in, arranging my features into something I hope comes across as conciliatory.
“Miss Davis, you’re my student.” I clear my throat as I watch her face fall.
I’m not trying to be an asshole—but I sure feel like it, especially when what I should be saying is that apparently that isn’t stopping me anymore, but she’s just not the student I’m willing to break the rules for.
“Unless you need specific assistance with something that’s related to your classes, it would be a conflict of interest.”
I’m the biggest hypocrite in the world.
She forces a smile that’s more confident than her voice when she speaks. “Of course. I just, uh—” She cuts herself off with a nervous laugh. “—I guess I wanted to shoot my shot.”
I offer a smile in return, and she returns to her seat.
I try not to laugh at myself, given the fact that Virginia Davis is probably closer to my age than Neve is.
On a scale of appropriateness, it would arguably be more acceptable, but all I can think about is the twenty-six-year-old sister of my friend and colleague who is driving me insane.
As if on cue, my phone screen lights up—I can see it, even face down, where the very edge of it hangs slightly over the lip of the desk. I turn it over.
Don’t:
wow, that was bold af
I didn’t realize I had legitimate competition
like, I knew there were other girls here who think you’re hot, I’ve heard them talking about you (which makes me crazy by the way) but daaaamn
Me:
Are you jealous?
Don’t:
of course I am, you know that
but I’m not surprised
still, I want to go full catfight on her
ugh, does that make me unattractive? Jealousy isn’t sexy
I quirk a brow, thumbing a response.
Me:
There is nothing unattractive about you. Is it wrong that I kind of like you being jealous?
Don’t:
no
I kind of like that you like it
and I’m only jealous to a degree, anyway
Me:
What do you mean?
When I look up, Neve is smirking. She catches my gaze for a moment, then looks away again, ostensibly typing on her laptop—but I know that really, she’s writing a response to me.
Don’t:
I’m only jealous to a point because I know I’m the only one who gets to ride your thigh in the lab
only I get to see you come all over yourself on a video call
only I get to watch you come in your pants while you tell me how crazy I make you
they might call you daddy behind your back
but only I get to be your baby girl
I very nearly growl in a library block of private study pods.
Me:
You’re being a brat. But then again, you know that, don’t you?
Don’t:
you like me bratting, daddy
means you get to dream up just how you’ll put me in my place
and maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you make those dreams a reality
are you going to punish me?
tell me you are
what will you do to me?
Me:
God, if we were alone. I’d haul you over my knee and turn that perfect ass red.
I’m so hard it’s painful. It’s also ridiculous.
I’ve never been much into impact play, but I crave Neve wearing my handprint on her ass.
I shift in my seat, trying to discreetly adjust myself, but it’s borderline impossible.
I’m afraid that if I so much as touch myself through the placket of my jeans, I’ll go off in my boxers again.
Don’t:
but we’re not alone, are we?
so what are you going to do?
I look up at her, raising a brow. She raises one in return, as if to say, “Your move.”
My jaw sets as I grit my teeth. Fine. If she wants to play this game, then I’ll play.
Me:
My office, after this study session. Daddy is going to put you in your place, just like you want, baby girl.
Neve’s snort is audible in the quiet room, but nobody except me seems to react to it. She doesn’t lift her gaze, but I know it’s deliberate. She’s playing me like an idiot, and I’m letting her. I’m practically fucking begging her. I’d feel pathetic if she didn’t make me feel so genuinely desired.
Don’t:
no way
that’s not part of our bet
unless you’re ready to admit defeat
I swallow the scoff that wants to sound in my throat.
Neve’s gaze flicks up to me. Her eyes are dark, and she’s leaning back in her chair.
I bet she’s fucking soaked—it doesn’t do me any good to think about that, but fuck do I want to taste her.
I want her all over me. I want her to ride my beard and soak my face.
I scrub a hand over my jaw.
Me:
Since when do you even care about that bet? As far as I’m concerned, that was just a way for you to lure me in, right?
Don’t:
lure you in? Ouch, daddy. You wound me
Me:
Don’t act like it wasn’t.
Don’t:
of course it was
but in answer to your question, no I don’t give a shit about the bet
but I want to see if you’re still too afraid to cross lines that scare you
because if you do, there’s no going back
Me:
What is me telling you to come to my office if not crossing a line? Because you know that I’m planning to fuck you in there.
Don’t:
that’s not the kind of line I’m talking about
I frown at my phone, confused. What the fuck is she talking about?
I glance at my watch. The session is over. I close my laptop, nodding to the students in their pods as they tidy away their stuff, but Neve stays seated, leaning back lazily in her chair.
I return to my phone, typing so hard the tips of my fingers go white.
Me:
Miss Hart, if you don’t come to my office after this study session, I’m going to have to punish you properly.
As students begin to filter out, she finally stands, phone in hand. I’m unable to take my eyes off her as she defiantly marches out of the room.
Then my phone lights up.
Don’t:
I look forward to it, daddy
remember, I told you I want you to make it hurt