A Dance for Him (25 page)

“Oh, Sebastian,” I murmur, sliding my arms around his neck.

He begins thrusting into me, staring into my eyes when he’s not showering kisses on me, on my lips, my neck, my breasts.

It’s so exciting just to see him again, to be looked at by those beautiful, ardent eyes, to feel his manly, muscular body on top of me …

Soon my moans grow more heated as I clutch at his back, which makes him smile and drive harder into me.

God, he’s so handsome when he smiles, I can feel my eyes grow wide every time I look at him, as if trying to take as much of him in as possible …

Finally I come again, with a cry that he stifles with his mouth as he fills me up with his seed …

“Well, I hope that made you feel a bit better,” he says playfully as we lie, spent, in each other’s arms.

“Oh, Sebastian. You’re wonderful, I don’t know how you do it.”

He smiles and kisses the top of my head.

“You’re very inspiring, darling girl. I’m very lucky, you know. Not just because you are the sexiest, most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, but also because you trust me enough to let me do all that I did to you … Which in itself is a beautiful thing.”

“How could I not trust you,” I murmur, as I snuggle up in his embrace.

And it’s true. He makes me feel so safe, so protected when I’m with him - which is definitely not something I’ve been used to feeling at all.

“I’m glad to hear that, Paige,” he says, his voice velvet, caressing, insinuating again. “Because I’ve got a lot more planned for this weekend …”

CHAPTER THIRTY

It’s getting easier being in class with Sebastian these days, now that we have a bit of a routine established, which allows us to be discreet without any misunderstandings occurring on either side.

The only difficulty, really, is not smiling too much when I see him pacing up and down the front of the class as he speaks, when I look at his handsome, sculpted profile, strong jaw and manly figure, and know that it won’t be long before I’ll get to throw myself in his arms again … and not brightening up
too
obviously when he steals a tender glance at me, which is actually pretty often.

Well, that and focusing on what he’s saying instead of checking him out and falling into an erotic daydream about all the things I’d like him to do to me, or for that matter all the things we’ve been doing with each other …

Our relationship’s never been more secret, but oddly enough I’ve never felt more secure. Sometimes, when I’m alone, I tell myself that I shouldn’t set too much stock on this, that it’s all too good to be true, that this can’t possibly have any long-term potential.

And yet, every time we’re together, he’s so sweet, so affectionate. He doesn’t behave at all in the way that I’ve come to expect over the years, given the horror stories I’ve heard from friends - guys not calling the day after, flaking out, being mean, flirting with other girls, constantly “needing space” when things get too intimate.

It’s funny how he’s supposed to be so wrong for me, being my teacher and an “older man” with a taste for sex that might seem unconventional and scandalous and degrading - perhaps even to some of these flaky guys.

And yet he’s the kindest, most gallant man I’ve ever met, when he’s not dominating me in bed - although even then he has an extraordinary talent for making me feel both utterly
used
and yet also strangely
taken care of
.

It’s almost too perfect to last, I can’t help thinking, but surely I can sometimes allow myself the pleasure of hope? …

It’s after class, and unusually for him he has to have a brief meeting with the chair of the department immediately after, so he’s arranged for me to meet him in the lobby in half an hour, so we can steal away for lunch, with perhaps a quickie before or after.

I’m just walking downstairs when I hear a vaguely familiar voice call out my name.

Lloyd perhaps
, I think, although that seems odd - he’s been keeping an amiable but distinctly polite distance since I told him I was spoken for, which I must say I feel much more comfortable with.

But when I turn around, I can’t help but think:
if only it was indeed just Lloyd
.

Because not only is it not him, it’s the creep.

He grins at me with his usual smugness.

“Aha, so I was right on all counts. Your name’s actually Paige, not Tiffany, and you are his student, just as I suspected. My God, imagine that, Sebastian Morland, golden boy and star hire of Arts and Sciences, all-round nice guy whom everybody likes, mixed up in a juicy scandal like this. And such a conventional scandal too …”

“Shhh,” I hiss, looking around to check that nobody from class is around - and fortunately, no one is.

Unfortunately, the need for discretion means that I can’t move away when he comes closer to me, even though every fiber in my being is repulsed by his proximity …

“I see you agree with me that it wouldn’t be good for anyone to find out about this,” he says, this time in a lower voice.

“How did you find out who I am?” I hiss.

He smiles. God, I could slap him, he’s so ridiculously smug.

“It wasn’t difficult finding out your name - dad couldn’t stop going on about how pleased he was that Sebastian’s new girlfriend Paige seemed to be a very nice girl. Anyway, since you have a university decal on your car, and since Sebastian seemed to have some sort of prior acquaintance with you when he was at the club, I figured that it might be worth it to check out his classes, see if you showed up …”

“And what do you want exactly?”

“I’m not a demanding man, Paige. In
certain
ways, I’m probably much less demanding than your Mr. Lover-Boy. It’s very simple, what I want. I want you to go back to the club for a night - this Saturday, specifically - and I want to see you dance. Both on stage and for me, personally. That’s all. It’s not unreasonable, is it?”

Of course it is
, I want to say. It was always just a job, but now - like everything else the creep touches - it feels dirty, shameful in a way that it didn’t use to.

In fact, I feel nauseous enough that I have to pull myself together and remind myself of what Sebastian said to me at the restaurant:
Don’t look scared. Don’t let on that he’s gotten to you, even if he has.

Aloud I say: “And why wouldn’t I just go and tell Sebastian you’re trying to blackmail me?”

He laughs.

“Feel free to, if you want to end up being at the center of a scandal that would basically end his teaching career. Because if you tell him about this conversation, you know what will happen - he’ll confront me, and I’ll know that you told him. In which case I’ll simply go straight to dad and tell him everything. He’s seen both of you two lovebirds canoodling in person, so it’ll hardly be difficult to convince him of what’s going on. Oh, and you might also want to note that university policy forbids
any
sexual relationships between faculty and students, and it’s considered especially
bad if the student is still in a class taught by the professor. I also believe he’s only up for tenure review next year, so he wouldn’t even have that for protection. Just so you know what is at stake.”

“But
why
are you doing this?” I ask, and I know it’s a ridiculous question to ask him, but it’s at least partly to stall for time while I think about how I can possibly get out of this.

He smirks.

“A … social experiment. Maybe I just want to prove something to myself. See what will happen.”

I shake my head disbelievingly.

“Seriously, why would you go to all that trouble for an experiment?”

“Why, would you prefer it if I were obsessed with you? Perhaps you do. Well, you are a very pretty girl, and I suppose I was always a bit miffed that you would so studiously attempt to avoid me. Does that make you feel better? I mean, I’m not sure why there’s all this angst here. I’m offering you a very easy deal, really, just think, I could ask for so much more, if you know what I mean. Or maybe you’d have preferred it if I asked for more?”

He leers as he says that last bit, and I can’t help cringing, even though I catch myself almost immediately.

“So you said this Saturday,” I interject abruptly, if only to keep him from going down that even worse train of thought.

“This Saturday, Paige.”

“I’ve quit the club, you know.”

“I do know that. However, I’m a regular, and I’ve brought up that possibility with management. It won’t be a problem.”

Fuck
.

“Can I have some time to think about it? Does it have to be this Saturday? Why not next Saturday?”

“This Saturday, Paige,” he repeats, staring me straight in the eye, like some kind of stupid movie villain. “This Saturday or never. This Saturday, or I go to dad with what I know. And no, I want an answer now.”

It’s hard to contain the visceral disgust I feel, and I’m sure he’s picked up on it as well, because he looks even smarmier than ever.

“It’s not that difficult, Paige. It’s just this one time. Do it, and you will be completely free of me on a permanent basis. A worthwhile exchange, isn’t it, assuming that you
do
want to get rid of me?”

“How do I know you’ll keep to that part of the bargain?”

“Well, you can’t know for sure, Paige, but I can tell you I’m generally good at keeping my promises. And as I said, this is an experiment, I will have my answer once you go through with it, in which case I won’t have much to keep me interested.”

“Fine. I’ll do it,” I mutter, disgusted with him, disgusted with myself.

“Good girl,” he says. “Give me your email address so that I can send you further instructions.”

I give him a withering look, as if to say,
what, really?
…

He shrugs, as though to say:
Do what you like, but remember what’s at stake here
.

And so I cave and give him an old email address that I still have access to, but which I don’t use any more, although it still forwards to my regular email address.