A Dance for Him Read online

  In any case I’m a bit at a loss for what to do - obviously it wouldn’t be very discreet to just go up to him and chirp “see you in class”!

  But it’s not just a question of what I should or should not do. Seeing Dr. Morland, especially when I’m not expecting to see him, has always tended to get me all fluttery and confused, and today’s no different …

  Fortunately my problem is solved for me by his reaction, or rather lack thereof. He sees me, but just goes on talking to the other guy as though he didn’t know me, even though his friend would have known that he’d just spent over an hour with me in the VIP room.

  It’s understandable, if mortifying. After all, it’s not like he could introduce me as a student!

  And yet his eyes are following me, even as he’s talking to his friend, seemingly unperturbed - in fact, it’s me he’s making eye contact with as he goes on chatting.

  Actually, “making eye contact” is a massive understatement - he’s holding my gaze in a very deliberate way, as though he wanted there to be no question that he was looking at me. Of course, maybe he just wants to indicate that he’s looking out for me? …

  Fuck, he’s making me wet again. Surely he must know what he’s doing to me, especially after that session in the VIP room!

  In my haste and confusion I can barely find my car keys in my bag, and when I do it’s all I can manage to not fumble and drop them as I attempt to unlock the door. I can feel my cheeks flaming as I turn to look at him one last time - and yes, he’s still looking at me with that same intense, concentrated gaze - before I scramble into my car and flee.

  Because - Brandi’s teasing and my fantasies notwithstanding - I know I can’t possibly have him, can’t afford to even think that I’ll ever have him …

  CHAPTER SIX

  It’s finally Wednesday, the day I get to see Dr. Morland in class.

  He didn’t write or attempt to contact me in any way - not that I really expected it.

  What could he have written, after all? “Hi Paige, I had a great time in the VIP room the other day. Are you there every Saturday? Because I’d like a repeat performance. Best regards, Sebastian Morland.”

  Ha! I don’t think so.

  I mean, yes, I’ve been hot and bothered all weekend, although I keep telling myself I mustn’t expect anything to come from our encounter on Saturday night. Maybe a hot fling at most, and I can’t say I would mind that. But I’m sure there won’t be anything more than that.

  If there’s one thing I’ve learnt over the years, it’s that expecting too much from other people is a sure prescription for disappointment, and I’m sure he’s no different in that respect.

  Oh, I’m pretty certain he desires me and would like to fuck me. Which is just fine but that doesn’t mean anything in itself. I mustn’t, mustn’t, mustn’t fall in love with him on any account.

  I know he couldn’t possibly have introduced me to his friend the other day, given the circumstances, but there’s no way I could ever fit in that preppy crowd even if I’d run into him in a more conventional setting. He comes from old money - a world that I couldn’t even begin to understand.

  Even on the off-chance that we did more than hook up, it would never last.

  How could it?

  So I keep telling myself, don’t expect anything. It’s funny, before all this happened I was quite happy to fantasise about him whenever I took care of myself.

  Since that happened, though, I’ve been a bit more cagey about that. It’s not that I haven’t been getting horny and masturbating - in fact, if anything, I’ve been much hornier than usual - I just feel that I shouldn’t think about him when I do, if only because I don’t want to get too stupidly attached to him for no reason other than my imagination and post-orgasmic hormone levels …

  I was just beginning to calm down a little about the whole thing until this morning, when I awoke from an erotic dream about him.

  A very detailed erotic dream, in which we were making out against his office door. I’d just unzipped his pants and was about to go down on him when the alarm went off and I woke up (damn!).

  Which is why I’m about to show up in his class, all flustered and frustrated. Not where I want to be emotionally when I see him, but well, what can I do? …

  He’s already at his desk when I get there, as is most of the class. I’m usually earlier than this but I wavered for way too long over what to wear, deciding finally to be just slightly suggestive, with a knee-length pencil skirt and a low-cut top.

  My heart’s pounding as I walk past him - I glance at him a few times but he remains steadfastly buried in his notes.

  Normally he looks up and smiles and says hello, so I’m not sure that this is a good sign …

  I make my way over to my usual seat in the middle of the second row, put my bag down, and then proceed to take off my coat.

  I don’t do this facing him, for reasons of deniability, but there’s no question I’m doing it a little more languorously than usual, mostly because I’m hoping he’ll look up and be reminded of my less innocent striptease the other day.

  It works.

  Well, at least, he does look up, that much I can say.

  He’s still staring at me when I sit down, his gaze more piercing, more searching than ever, as though he was trying to figure me out.

  It’s different from his usual stare though. Normally his eyes soften and he smiles, but he’s serious, almost impassive today - his lips are slightly parted and his nostrils are flaring, but I can’t tell if he’s cross with me or if he’s trying to not show any emotion.

  This time I’m the first to break our mutual gaze, as I shrink down into my seat and get my pen out - it’s the midterm today.

  I’ve no idea whom I’m dealing with right now. Before Saturday I’d only seen a kindly, benevolent dreamboat in him. On Saturday he was still kindly, in a way, since he rescued me from the creep, but I also saw a different side of him in the VIP room that I’d never seen before - sexual, intense, almost predatory.

  I adored the first Dr. Morland even from the very beginning, but the second version is the one that seriously makes my knees weak. Which is probably bad news.

  But even that version would be preferable to this one, because at least I could read him then …

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  God, I can’t stop looking at her. I suppose at least I am managing not to grin like an idiot the way I normally do, but I couldn’t possibly do that, not after what happened the other day.

  It’s a good thing today’s the midterm, I’m not sure I could have taught a class in my current state.

  Not after Saturday.

  I haven’t been able to stop thinking of her since then. What’s worse, I don’t know what I should be thinking …

  I’ve been jerking off to thoughts of her every night … and not always just at night. She was so beautiful, so brazen, so perfect. At one point she got on her knees in front of me and swished her long blonde hair over my crotch, and I thought she was going to give me a blowjob. She didn’t, but I’ve been thinking a lot of the way she looked then, imagining what would have happened if she had.

  Who would have thought her capable of it? Pretty little Ms. Paige Lytton. That sweet, ethereal, deceptively innocent-looking girl, my best student by day, a strip-club temptress by night.

  The deliberate way she took off her coat earlier - I wonder if that was an allusion to our encounter. She usually shows up early to class, it’s unlike her to make a dramatic entrance.

  And if she was indeed trying to get my attention - what was she trying to say?

  You’re a disgusting perv, Dr. Morland, remember how you came three times for me on Saturday?

  Or: Remember Saturday, Dr. Morland? There’s a lot more where that came from …

  But there’s no point trying to speculate. Given the unexpectedness of Saturday, it’s clear that I’m completely incapable of reading her - she was easily the last person I’d have expected to be at the club.

>   There’s nothing I can do about it in any case, at least not until the end of class. Besides, everyone’s here now, a few perfunctory words and I can hand out the midterm questions and the blue books.

  I can’t bring myself to walk in front of her, so I hand out copies to the students at each end of the classroom, but not in the middle, then walk back to my desk.

  But there’s only so long I can go without looking at her, and so I steal a glance, careful to keep my face as impassive as possible.

  She’s looking at me, a slightly questioning expression on her lovely face. She’s back in innocent mode again, so pretty and professional and proper, except that now I know better, don’t I? I’ve had her tits in my face, her nipple in my mouth, had that sweet ass of hers dry-hump me to orgasm three times running. Before the last one she actually took my hands and placed them on her body, so I could feel that soft skin, that pliant flesh …

  Fuck, just thinking about it is causing my heart to pound violently. Look down at your laptop, Sebastian, not at the little seductress, the last thing you need is a boner in class, even if it is the midterm.

  It’s funny, it’s not that I haven’t worried about her telling on me, but I can’t say I’ve spent a whole lot of time thinking about it.

  I know it would look really bad if the administration heard about it. Professor goes to strip club, blows hundreds of dollars buying private lap dances from a student - fuck, talk about tabloid material.

  Practically speaking, she’s got my career in her hands right now - she could so easily ruin me just by going to the dean, or even just by blabbing to an indiscreet friend.

  Of course, instead of worrying, I’m about to give her more rope to hang me with.

  Maybe I’m just being self-destructive. It’s not like that has never been said of me before.

  But my job’s the last thing on my mind.

  She’s the first thing on it.

  It’s not just that I want to fuck her, that I’ve been dreaming about fucking her even more than I used to (and that was pretty often, ha!).

  It’s also that I can’t bear the thought of her with anybody else. I know I don’t really have any right to object - I’m just her professor, after all - but the idea of her going back there galls me.

  In the past I haven’t been able to resist glowering at her male classmates who’ve tried to hit on her, but that was nothing. Nothing at all compared to this.

  Saturday night was hot, but ever since then I’ve tormented myself with the thought: how many other men has she done this with?

  And how many more will she do this with in the future?

  It’s true that she probably finds me more attractive than her average client. She was so wet that day. Surely that wasn’t faked.

  But who knows?

  I can’t say I’ve very much experience with strip clubs, apart from the occasional bachelor party outing. They’ve never been particularly appealing to me. A bit sad, I find them. I like my women to actually want me.

  God, that outfit she wore on stage, though. And that song! … I’m sure it’s just coincidence, but fuck. Talk about hitting close to home …

  I suppose I’ll know soon enough, but I suspect this will easily be the longest two hours of my life …

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  He won’t look at me - he’s been steadfastly looking at his laptop screen the entire time.

  Perhaps he’s sending me a message: Sorry, Paige, I’m not interested in looking at you.

  Fuck. I didn’t realise till now how addicted I was to those longing, languishing glances of his, those moments when we lock eyes and it’s like nobody else around us exists, like time has stopped altogether …

  It’s funny, I get looked at all the time at the club and it doesn’t do a thing for me - it’s just work, something to get through.

  Dr. Morland, on the other hand, makes me feel alive …

  And yet he is no different from the others, why should I feel differently towards him?

  They, too, would not acknowledge me outside of the club, I’m sure …

  Fuck. I can’t stop thinking about him. I keep looking up at him every few sentences to see if he’ll be looking at me, but he hasn’t been, it’s really depressing.

  He’s staring so hard at his laptop screen that he probably wouldn’t even notice if the students started passing notes around ...

  I guess I shall just have to write a really good essay, make him sit up and notice me again. After all, I think that’s why he noticed me the first place, over all these other cute (and much posher) girls in the class - Veronica, Felicia, Jasmine - who stare adoringly at him pretty much the way I do …

  I’m now done with my midterm. In fact I was done with it about five minutes ago, but I’ve been pretending to look through it meticulously - I’ve skimmed through my answers like about five times now.

  Because I intend to be the last to leave. I don’t know if he’ll say anything, but if he doesn’t, I’ll just take it as saying we are done, and that what happened on Saturday should never been mentioned or alluded to again.

  It’s always good not to expect too much. Poor old mom adored dad, she thought they were going to be together forever.

  This was very optimistic, as it turned out - within five years, he ran off with another woman and moved out of state. Apparently he did at least pay child support (though not always on time) but apart from the occasional birthday card I haven’t heard from him for the most part. I keep telling mom she needs to date again but for some reason she seems to still be stuck on him. It’s sad ...

  Oh for heaven’s sake I wish Jasmine would just leave already. She's the only other person who hasn’t left, and she’s at his desk trying to fucking make small talk as she turns in her paper.

  Go away, Jasmine, I think venomously as I drum my fingers on the table in an effort to calm myself down as she chatters away, touching her hair and doing all the things I do when I talk to him ...

  Fuck, she’s pathetic, I’m pathetic, we’re both pathetic. I’m not going to wait around for this any more.

  I gather up my things and proceed to Dr. Morland’s desk, where I wordlessly drop off my blue book, making a gesture as if to say “please don’t interrupt your conversation”.

  Oh right, now he looks up at me … He’s gone all red, and he looks almost distressed as he reflexively straightens his tie.

  Why?

  “Ms. Lytton,” he says. “Can I speak with you? There’s something I need to talk to you about.”

  He’s now staring at me with his old intensity, it’s like Jasmine isn’t even there.

  She takes a look at both of us, scowls at me in particular, then says “well see you then, Dr. Morland” in that sickly-sweet voice of hers before flouncing out.

  Don’t let him put you through that emotional turmoil again, is all I can think as I nod curtly in reply to his request. I mustn’t allow myself to be so emotionally dependent on him. He’s just my professor, I have no right over him, and he has no obligations towards me.

  It’s a thought that nevertheless doesn’t stop my heart from feeling as though it’s going to pound its way out of my chest …

  “Ms. Lytton. Can I see you in my office?”

  “Sure,” I say coolly.

  I don’t want him to affect me, I don’t want him to know he can affect me, I keep telling myself.

  He springs up from his seat, his eyes still fixed on me as he gathers up his laptop and the pile of blue books.

  “Please,” he says, indicating with his free hand that I should go before him.

  I’m glad to be able to do that, if only because I don’t want him to see my agitation …

  We go up the narrow stairs, to the cluster of offices in the department building. He’s looking at me every time I turn back … Fuck. I know I probably shouldn’t look but I can’t help it.

  When I get to his office, I turn expectantly, waiting for him to unlock it, and he does - all the while standing behind me so that
he has to reach from where he is, past me.

  He doesn’t actually touch me but he’s so close to me I can smell his manly scent and feel his body heat from behind me, and for some reason it crosses my mind, without my really consciously thinking about it, that this is about as close as he could come to embracing me without actually doing so.

  Especially since he could easily have unlocked the door from beside me …

  He pushes the door open and indicates to me again that I should go in first.

  I trot in.

  “Please, have a seat, Ms. Lytton.”

  I don’t know what it means that he’s reverted to calling me Ms. Lytton again, if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Of course he couldn’t call me Paige in front of Jasmine, but now that we’re alone …

  I sit down in the chair across from him, and he takes his usual seat after setting his stuff down on the desk.

  “So, Dr. Morland, what is it you wanted to see me about?”

  A pause, as he looks at me earnestly, searchingly, his brow furrowed. It’s almost touching, the way he looks, it’s making me feel tender toward him all over again.

  Which is really irritating me.

  “I think you know,” he finally says.

  “Is this about Saturday?”

  “Yes.”

  For some reason I suddenly feel defensive.

  “I have a perfect right to do what I’m doing.”

  He sits back in his chair, inscrutable again, steepling his hands.

  I look at them as I wait for his reply, only to lose myself in the sight of them. There’s something hypnotic about those strong, masculine hands - hands that felt so good on my body that night …

  Fuck, I have to pull myself together so that I don’t start giving him bedroom eyes right there and then.

  “And so you do. I’m not denying that.”

  “I’ve met them before, white knight types, they think we need to be rescued. I don’t need to be rescued, I have a scholarship but it doesn’t pay the rent. This does, and I get to put something aside for the future. I love what I’m studying, but I’m quite aware that with a degree in Eng. Lit. I won’t get a job quite as readily as someone in engineering would. The last thing I want to do is end up with student loans, especially if I decide I want to try for law school or something.”