Here are the first THREE chapters of THE PROFESSOR for you to enjoy if you're sitting nursing a hangover.
Chapter One
Chelsea
I’d wanted him for so long. Years now. And in the name of the dear Lord, the man could have me. He could take me, strip me, and do what the hell he wanted with my needy, ripe young body. I’d become convinced a hard, fast fucking from my professor was the only thing that would satisfy this gaping hole of need in the core of my soul.
I looked around Oval Lecture Theater. For good reason, I’d picked a seat right at the very back, in the shadows, there was no one at my side or behind me. Hell, I was practically invisible.
Which was just as well now that I’d slipped my hand up my skirt to press on my swollen clit. I always attended Professor Andrew Deacon’s lectures without underwear, just in case, you know, he decided to dismiss the other students, lock the door, and tip me over the front bench to bang the crazy out of me.
No, that would never happen, the crazy was there to stay. Crazy for him. If he speared his cock into me it would just fuel the fire, I was sure of it.
My mouth dried as I circled my aching clit. He was looking up at me from all the way down there. He’d spotted my presence. I held in a moan—if just our gazes connecting felt so good, what would it feel like if we were sweaty and naked together? Our bodies connected.
If I’d surprised him by being there he didn’t show it. He kept running through a complex murder case that hadn’t stood up in court. The defendant had been a famous football player, the evidence stacked against him, yet he’d been acquitted. This didn’t sit well with the professor, I could tell by the line over his forehead and the way he gripped the lectern so tight his knuckles paled. The man appreciated justice in a big way. Heck, he yearned for it.
Which was hot. Oh yeah. I continued to masturbate, my belly taut and my pussy damp. I could smell my arousal. This wasn’t the first time I’d done this, in fact, I’d lost count. It was over twenty times, that was my best guess.
“So despite an overwhelming body of evidence,” the professor said, glancing around at the undergraduates who were all enraptured. “Stokes was cleared of all charges.” He turned and gestured to the screen behind him. “And the key things to think about are, were the jury frightened of riots, being that he was a black man and incredibly popular?” He paused, letting his words sink in. “Or perhaps a few gullible members of the jury believed the defendant’s lawyers’ closing statement, maybe there was intimidation, bribery, we’ll never know.”
A young man on the front row put up his hand.
“Yes?” The professor pointed at him.
“It doesn’t seem fair.”
“You’re right it’s not fair.” The professor stared right up at me, his jaw tense. “A person who is guilty of a hideous crime should always be punished. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.”
Fuck, the man was so sexy when he got passionate about his subject. His wide shoulders tense under his suit jacket and his deep, husky voice echoing.
I bit on my bottom lip; my orgasm was building to release. But could I control the rush of pleasure? Could I trust myself not to cry out and fill the lecture theater with gasps of his name? He was in the same room as me, for fuck’s sake, the object of my obsession was right there!
“So while we’re studying crime, criminal behavior, and the justice system on this course, we must always remember the loopholes, the holes in the net. It’s vital we learn from cases like this.”
Oh, his voice, it went straight to my pussy as if it were an actual vibrator. My pen fell to the floor. I ignored it rolling on the wood.
He looked my way again, his eyes flashing. “And we can all thank whatever god we believe in that Stokes walks this earth no more. Dead and buried in the cold, dank ground where he belongs. Brutal mugging that went wrong apparently.”
I came. It was a sweet yet intense orgasm that curled my toes in my shoes and caught my breath.
He paused but kept staring at me, his mouth parted, ready to speak but no words coming out.
I was pulsing down below, my inner thighs tight and bliss traveling over my nerve endings. Did he know what I was doing? Had he guessed I was coming just from looking at him?
My cheeks reddened, and I snatched my hand from beneath my skirt and sat back. I was breathing fast, my breasts rising and falling behind my orange t-shirt. I didn’t have to peek downward to know my nipples would be like two bullets directed at him.
He cleared his throat, appeared to have to pull his attention from me, and then changed the screen behind him. “This week, your task is to read…”
I zoned out and closed my eyes. I’d read everything before, when I’d done this undergraduate course. It was imprinted on my brain, the way every interaction with Professor Andrew Deacon was.
After a few moments a bell sounded, dragging me from my erotic little haze. I reached for my pen then stood and straightened my skirt.
The other students were filing out. One girl was speaking to the professor, and I scowled at her fitted red pants. I hoped she didn’t think she stood a chance with him, because she didn’t. She wasn’t his sort, and besides, if he was going to have a fling with a student it would be me. That was the only scenario my obsessed brain could comprehend.
As I walked down the steps, my damp thighs sliding against each other, I watched him finish the conversation with the other student. She nodded, gave a cheery goodbye, and rushed off.
The screen went black, and he picked up his briefcase. “Chelsea, I was surprised to see you here.”
I stopped, held my notebook and pen across my chest and considered him. His features were interesting rather than classically handsome. A nose that was perfectly straight but could be thought of as slightly too big. Thick dark brows, and deep-set intense eyes. His skin was tan, his jaw line stubbled. His mussed up heavy brown hair was cropped around his ears, the right of which held a tiny diamond earring. “Why? Why were you surprised to see me here?”
He chuckled and stepped closer. His height and width seeming to block out light.
I inhaled the scent of his spiced cologne. It was always strongest in the morning.
“You know why. You’re a postgraduate, Chelsea, you’ve done this course.”
“I particularly liked this lecture.” I licked my bottom lip, tasting the strawberry gloss I’d recently applied, and smiled. “And it’s relevant to my thesis.”
“Ah yes, that.” He nodded seriously. “You’re the only student on the course who has not yet handed in a provisional outline for me to read before you get down to the bare flesh of the research.”
Bare flesh, hell yes, I could get down to that with him. I shifted from one foot to the other and had to stop myself from suggesting something carnal. I wanted to see his bare flesh, every last inch, trace my tongue into every dip and rise and discover his flavors.
“It’s victimology based, right?” He tapped his index finger on his bottom lip. There was a small perfectly round scar by the knuckle; it was red, the dime-sized injury gotten in the last few weeks.
“Victimology, yes.” I nodded. “It’s the area I’m passionate about.” I gazed into his eyes and drew out the word passionate.
He swallowed then cleared his throat. “How about you drop it off at my office later, I’ll give it a read through tonight.” He paused. “Ah, no, I can’t read it tonight I have something on, but drop it off anyway, I’ll get to it as soon as I can.”
My jaw clenched, teeth gritting. What did he have on tonight? I hoped to hell it wasn’t a date. I’d seen that English literature professor, Miss Slutty Shoes, talking to him the other day. If he and her were a thing I’d…
“So about five.” He checked his watch. “Come to my office. I need to make sure you have the foundation right for this piece of important work. It saves time in the long run.”
“Five o’clock.” I nodded. “See you then.” And before he could step toward the door, I did. It was always best to have him walking behind me, that way he could see my wriggling ass. He could think about fucking it, spanking it, kissing right the way over it, down my cleft to my asshole if he wanted. All he had to do was say, and I was his, all his. Forever.
* * * *
Andrew
I watched Chelsea Taylor walk ahead of me. The woman was sassy all right, sex on a damn stick, and she smelled like all of my favorite flavors of ice cream rolled into one sweet, peachy scent that hit me every time she was near.
And her ass. Fuck. What I could do with that. Each taut cheek was the perfect handful. Her flesh would be pale, too, but would it be freckled like her face? And would her pubes be as red as the curls on her head? I wanted to know, I needed to know. It was a powerful urge that I could barely keep under control…but I had to.
Following her, I pulled in a deep breath; heat was flooding my groin, and a hard-on was not what I needed when I had to walk across campus to my office. That was uncomfortable and not a good look.
“See you later,” she said in a high-pitched girly voice that seemed to strum the chords of my testosterone all the more. “Have a lovely afternoon, Professor.”
She turned right, whereas I was going left. For a moment I lingered and watched her riotous hair swing from side to side. It was in a high ponytail, thick and shiny, and dropped to the curve of her lower back.
I clenched my left fist. Fuck, it would feel good in my hand, held firmly, tugging it until she gasped. I wanted to do that from behind, as I sank into her tight, twenty-something pussy and made her come around my cock.
“Damn it,” I muttered when she went out of sight. Now I had a full-blown erection. The woman was as dangerous as she was beautiful.
There was a staff toilet opposite, so trying not to walk stiffly, I negotiated the busy corridor, swiped my key fob and let myself in.
“Thank fuck for that,” I muttered. It was empty. I needed a minute or three to myself. My senses were flooded by her. Everything about her was fixation material.
I dashed into a cubicle, dumped my briefcase on the cistern, and released my throbbing cock. This was insane, but I had no choice.
With my nostrils flaring, each breath deep and urgent, I fisted my shaft. It was a greedy fucker, my cock. I’d jacked off two days ago after seeing Chelsea from a distance, laughing with a friend, the breeze pressing her thin summer dress to her body and leaving very little to my imagination. I’d also had a wet dream the week before about her; about me and her. I’d been up close and personal with her pussy, my tongue working her clit while she bucked into my face. My bedsheets had needed changing.
I tipped my head to the ceiling, eyes closed, and worked my shaft faster. I had to bang this one out before anyone else came in to use the next-door cubicle.
I pictured her rosy-cheeked face in the Oval Lecture Theater. Had she been doing what I thought she had? Touching herself? Making herself come right there and then? I’d been able to see her right shoulder shifting.
It was daring, blatant, filthy thing to do, but I wouldn’t put it past her. Chelsea Taylor was a spoiled little rich girl who had always been given exactly what she wanted, when she wanted it.
But did she want me?
The way she looked at me, stood a fraction too close, licked her delectable lips right before she smiled at me, made me think that maybe she did.
“Ah, yeah.” I worked my cock. I was hot, sweat peppering my forehead and underarms. I thought of her pussy, of her fingers stroking her clit as she listened to my lecture. She was seated at the back, in the shadows, she could have gotten away with it.
She had gotten away with it.
“Fuck.” My balls retracted, and I wished it was her pussy gripping my cock and not my own fist. Her hot, wet delicious pussy that I’d have gushing with girl cum within minutes if were let loose with her.
I clutched the top of the cubicle. It creaked, and I climbed the last steps to release. The agony of not being with her was as acute as the need to climax. Then it was there, and I let a groan of relief wash over me. My palm was flooded with my warm cum, and a modicum of tension left me, but by the time I’d wiped up my mess it was back.
The only thing that would truly satisfy me was her. Fucking her pussy, her mouth, her ass, and hearing her crying out my name every single time she orgasmed.
That was what I wanted.
I blew out a breath and went out of the cubicle, washed my hands. Then carrying my briefcase, I made my way over the lawn toward my office.
A young guy was walking in front of me, head down, hands in his pockets. He reminded me of Bailey Jones. Not that I’d see Bailey Jones walking around, a drug dealer had murdered him the previous year. A drug dealer, Ray Icke, who hadn’t been brought to justice by the law courts, despite having not one but four murder charges brought against him and two violent rape cases.
Lack of evidence. A missing witness. Charges dropped suddenly and suspiciously. It all stacked up to mean one thing.
A job for Galahad.
My office was still and quiet, the wooden paneled walls absorbing the sounds from outside. The window was west-facing, and the sunlight pouring in danced with dust motes.
I strode past the bookcase and printer and sat at my hefty wooden desk. The top was made of dark-green leather, and on it sat a laptop and three stacks of papers I needed to read.
I stroked the small round scar on my hand, a cigarette burn mark I’d gotten in a tussle, and reached for my phone. “Hey, Dalton, we still on for tonight?”
“Too fucking right we are, he’s breathing his last breaths and walking his last steps right now.”
“Yup.” I scanned the room, my attention settling on a picture of Sadie at eighteen. She would always be eighteen.
The usual darkness in the pit of my stomach swelled, threatening to swallow me whole. Vengeance, revenge, reckoning, reprisal, retribution, payback, they were all emotions that rattled around inside me—ate at the very depths of me. If I didn’t let them raise their heads from time to time with my Galahad crew at my side, I wouldn’t be able to breathe.
Tonight was one of those times.
“We’ll meet at Filly’s, eleven, he eats there after doing his rounds.”
“Filly’s, that place on Old Knight Street, right? The shitty end.”
“Sure, that’s the one.” Dalton paused. “Grant is coming, too.”
“Why? This is a two-man job. We can handle it.” I stood and went to the window, tension pulling at a muscle in my shoulder.
“I know, he says its personal, like. Asked me to ask you.”
A tabby cat was stalking a song bird that was searching for grubs under a bush. The cat’s movements were stealthy and its focus absolute. The poor bird had no idea of its fate—that a plan had been formed to end its life.
“I haven’t seen Grant for a while,” I said, not wanting to create friction but at the same time not wanting to see the guy who’d nearly got us all caught a few months ago.
“He’s had some time away, with his family, like, but he’s got his head back in the game.”
“You sure? ’Cause this is a real dangerous game if he starts making mistakes, not just for him, for Galahad, for all of us.”
“I know, Andrew, for fuck’s sake, I know. He just asked me to speak to you.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Okay, okay, bring him along. I’ll see you later. Outside Filly’s at eleven.”
“And you’re cool with Grant?”
“If he’s cool about the job?”
Chapter Two
Chelsea
It was five minutes to five, and I was fifteen steps from Professor Andrew Deacon’s office.
Some stupid part of me thought I could smell him from here, not only that, I imagined I could hear his heartbeat and the sound of his breathing.
My own heart was skittering along at ninety miles an hour. I’d been inside his office before, but never alone. There’d always been a few of us called in for additional information about our criminology course.
I shoved my hand into my top and hoisted up first my left and then my right breast. Might as well have some of my best assets on show. Perhaps I’d even tempt him to let go of that fierce self-control he had—goddamn, it was like a fucking steel fist.
And he was using self-control not to kiss me, ravage me, fuck me wildly, I was sure of it. A girl knows these things about a man. The way a look lingers and personal space is invaded. And do men think women can’t feel the heat of their stare, heck, my ass was on fire earlier when I’d strutted away from him in the lecture theater. I’d bet good money my wriggling sashay had given the professor a raging boner.
I took a deep breath and walked up to his office door. His name was neatly written on a brass plaque next to it. I knocked twice.
A knot formed in my stomach, and I pressed my thighs together, a tug of anticipation attacking my pussy.
“Come in.”
Stepping inside, I paused for a moment. He’d removed his jacket, and it was slung over the back of the wide chair he was seated in. His stylishly creased gray linen shirt was undone by three buttons, showing a hint of body hair and the tip of a tattoo I’d never been able to study. The sleeves were rolled up to reveal wide, strong, tendon-rich forearms.
I shut the door and resisted the urge to lean back on it. My spine and knees were a little weak. The man was drop-dead gorgeous, and he seemed to fill more than just his physical space. The room was him. It smelled of him, his essence was everywhere—intelligence, strength, passion, bravery—and I wanted to bask in it, bathe in it, and let it seep into every pore in my body.
“Ah good, you’re here.” He steepled his hands on the desk and let his gaze slip from my face to my chest. A line appeared between his eyebrows, and he cleared his throat. “Let’s see it.”
“See it?” I took a step closer and thrust my chest a little farther forward
He raised his eyebrows. “Your notebook, Chelsea, for your research thesis. Let’s see it.”
“Ah yes, that.” I slapped the file down on his desk beside a picture of a pretty young woman.
He didn’t pick my notes up, instead he watched me.
“Girlfriend?” I asked, thinking he really did have a taste for younger women.
“Sister.” A tendon flexed in his jawline.
“She’s beautiful.”
“I know.” He nodded at the chair opposite. “Sit.”
“I’d rather stand.” I turned and went to the window. A cat had caught a bird and was batting it with its paw, teasing it, toying with it as feathers flew.
I reached up and tugged out the scrunchie that was holding my hair high. My curls fell over my shoulders and down my back, and I secured the scrunchie on my left wrist.
“Give me fucking strength,” he muttered.
“Pardon?” I turned around. Had I heard him right?
He snatched up my file. “Luck,” he said, spinning his chair away from me in a fast, jerky movement. “You can’t rely on luck to get this right, Chelsea.”
“I know.” I walked up to the edge of the desk and peered over his shoulder.
He flipped open the pile of papers.
“I never rely on luck for anything,” I said.
He didn’t answer and read my notes.
“I didn’t think you had time to do this today?” I butted my legs against his solid desk and found it was the right height to hit my pussy. I pressed a little more, enjoying the heated dampness that was growing.
“Turns out my evening plans are much later than expected.” He continued reading.
“Oh, I see.” What plans? God, it was eating me up not knowing. In fact, I had to know. “Are you—?”
He held up a finger, silencing me.
I stood stock-still, my pulse loud in my ears, my aching pussy trembling as I remembered my earlier orgasm while watching him lecture. If I thought I could get away with it now, watching him read and standing so close to him, I would grind against the desk and eke out a quick one.
“You need to increase the sample size or explain why you are using such a small group.” He flipped the page again.
“Okay.”
After a few minutes he spoke once more. “And you’ll need to add clear definitions into a glossary.”
“I can do that.”
He turned his chair and handed the file back to me.
“But do you think it’s okay?” I asked. “Passable?” I pulled back from the desk, my belly clenching and my skin tingling.
“It has legs, sure, it just needs to be perfectly presented.”
I flicked my hair over my shoulders and nodded. “I appreciate your help and advice, Professor.”
He stood and set his hands on his hips. His brown leather belt had a snake’s head for a buckle. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “Help and advice.”
I cocked my head. “Do you enjoy your job?”
“Sure.” A tendon flexed in his jaw, and once again he looked at my tits. It was blatant this time, he wasn’t even hiding his study of me. “I like it. A lot.”
I sent a quick prayer heavenward that my nipples were hard and poking through my bra. “I was wondering, now that I’m a postgraduate, if I could call you Andrew, or is that too forward?”
“I get the feeling you’re in the habit of being forward.”
“Don’t ask, don’t get.” I half shrugged and bit on my bottom lip.
“And daddy gives you everything you ask for, so I guess it’s learned behavior?”
I frowned. My father was the last person I wanted to talk about when my body was primed for a decent fucking or at least a conversation to get myself off to later. “Andrew,” I said, setting back my shoulders. “My father may be rich, but he has never bought me a certificate or qualification. I can do that for myself. I have a damn good brain, amongst other things.” My cheeks were flushing, they always did when the family fortunes were brought up. It was all well and good having money, but money couldn’t bring people you loved back from the dead.
“So you’re going with Andrew now?” He raised his left eyebrow.
“Do you have a problem with that? We’re both adults, consenting adults.” I let my gaze dip down his body, to his groin, ogling him the way he had my chest, then I turned to the window again.
The cat was trotting away, its limp prey captured in its mouth.
“We are consenting adults,” he said from suddenly very close behind me. “That is a truth.”
“I prefer to deal in truths.”
“So do I. It’s the foundation for everything.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” An excited swarm of butterflies attacked my belly. This was a new type of conversation between us.
“So tell me one?” he said, his voice low, almost a murmur. “Tell me a truth, right here, right now.”
I could feel his breaths beside my ear. If I leaned back my shoulders would hit his broad chest. Oh, how I longed to feel that, to be so close to him, but I didn’t move. There was a spell wrapped around us, and I had no intention of breaking it. Not when it was something I’d longed for during so many lonely nights.
“What kind of truth?” I managed.
“Tell me,” he murmured, “what you were really doing at my lecture this morning?”
I swallowed, my throat suddenly narrow. I’d just told him I didn’t lie. That I believed in truth. And truth meant a lot to my professor, I’d learned that about him for certain.
“What do you think I was doing?” I asked, my voice breathy and the rest of the world fading away.
“Apart from listening to a lecture you could have stood up and taken in my place because you are perfectly qualified to,” he said softly. “I think you were touching yourself.”
My breath hitched. Fuck. He had me.
“Imagine you are in a court of law, Chelsea, the truth is required, no, the truth is vital to the next thing that happens.”
The next thing that happens? Was he talking about a courtroom or here and now in his office? “Is there a law against that? Against a person touching themselves?”
He was quiet for a moment. “Well, you weren’t indecently exposing yourself, so I guess you’re clear of any crime there.”
I didn’t speak, my vision had blurred a little, my brain was a riot of emotions and my clit swelling. I hoped my arousal wouldn’t trickle down my thigh. I was still pantyless.
“Though it wasn’t a victimless crime,” he said, his fingertips moving a strand of hair from my collarbone and back over my shoulder. “Was it, Chelsea?”
“Victim? There was no victim.”
“Of course there was, you had someone you were thinking about, didn’t you, while you jerked yourself off?”
I spun to him, my chest brushing his. To my surprise he didn’t step away, but then nothing about this exchange was predictable.
“There was someone making your pussy wet,” he said, his face so close to mine our noses were almost touching, “Someone making your nipples hard and stealing all of your dirty thoughts. Be honest now.”
“Yes,” I managed. “There was.”
“A guy on your course?”
I shook my head.
“Some bloke you’ve got a crush on?” His lips flattened as though he really didn’t like the idea of that.
“No.” God, my heart, it was going so fast I feared for its survival.
“So who? Who is he, or is it a she?”
I could see every whisker on his upper lip, and there was a miniscule freckle beneath his right eye I hadn’t noticed before, like a tiny tear. “Not a she.”
He nodded. “So what guy do you think of when you touch yourself, Chelsea, tell me?” He nipped my chin between his thumb and forefinger, his flesh warm on mine and also a little rough. “I need to know.”
* * * *
Andrew
Damn it, the woman was beautiful, and my entire body actually hurt with the desire to claim her. To hear her cry out my name and spasm in ecstasy beneath me.
“You.” Chelsea’s eyes flashed.
It was the word I longed to hear spilling from her seductive pink lips.
“You, Professor…it’s you I think of, every time. Every single time I touch myself your face is all I see.”
She’d said the last sentence so slowly it was impossible not to let every word sink deep into my psyche.
I gritted my teeth as I was flooded with the urge to rip off her clothes and fuck her hard right there on my green leather desk.
“And how long has this been the case?” I managed.
“Why do you want to know?” Her eyes were brimming with lust and her breaths were shallow.
I knew she wouldn’t object to anything I decided to do. She was hot and ready for it. I locked my knees, stiffened my spine. I had to stay in control even though every fiber of my body was telling me to throw caution to the wind and fuck a student. Pound into her sweet body in a frenzied release of passion that would blow both of our minds.
“I suppose for about two years now.” She shrugged.
“Two years?” I nodded slowly; my erection was becoming painful. “That’s a long time.” I shifted from one foot to the other; it didn’t help.
She smiled as though she knew about my discomfort. Hell, of course she did, she’d dragged her attention down my body, settling it on the wedge of flesh straining within the confines of my pants. There’d been no hiding.
“The thing is, Professor,” she said and touched my wrist, the one that was lifted between us
I was still pinching her delicate chin.
“Have you ever thought of me when you’ve jerked off?”
“That’s hardly an appropriate question for a student to ask her professor.”
“This entire conversation is rapidly become inappropriate, don’t you think?”
She turned her face, and I dropped my hand back to my side. Her profile was beautiful. Almost pixie-like with her delicate freckled nose and angular jawline. Her bottom lip was fuller than the top, and her eyes the palest blue that somehow made her even more delicate.
That’s right, she was delicate. This pretty young woman with sassy backchat would never cope with my particular brand of fucking. I’d break her. She’d snap, she’d be scarred for life. What the hell was I thinking? I was too rough and ready and badass for her.
Which of course she didn’t know. In her eyes I was an esteemed professor, suit-wearing, law-abiding, a fine upstanding citizen who paid his taxes. She’d created a version of me in her mind that was so far from the truth it might as well have been on another planet.
“You should go,” I said, reaching for her file of papers.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Go?”
“I’ve reviewed your thesis proposal, what else did you think was going to happen?”
Once again, she dropped her gaze to my groin, folding her arms as she did so and shifting her glorious tits upward. “I didn’t think anything else would happen, but it has.”
“How do you mean?” I shoved the file at her. I needed to cover some of that temptation up.
She stared at it for a moment, her lips pouted, and then took it and held it to her chest.
“Nothing else has happened?” she snapped. “Unless you questioning me about my self-pleasuring habits doesn’t count.”
“I only asked if what I suspected was true.”
She suddenly stepped up close. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes narrowed. “Yes, and you made me answer truthfully. I was completely honest, bare-bone honest with you.”
I didn’t reply. God, she was even hotter when she was frustrated and horny. I could practically feel the waves of anger crashing from her, and each one carried a hefty dose of lust with it.
Just the way each wave of need was crashing through me.
But I had to put a halt to this. It couldn’t happen no matter how much I wanted it. She might be a spoiled little rich girl, but I would wreck her for every other man she’d ever date…the man she’d go on to marry. And that just wasn’t fair on any poor sucker.
“And you, Professor.” She jabbed her finger close to my face.
I thought she was going to stab the end of my nose.
“You gave me absolutely nothing. Nada. Zilch. Sweet fuck all in return.”
I chuckled. “I’ll give you something.”
“What? Tell me.”
I paused then, “Whatever you think this is, I’m the worst decision you’ll ever make.”
“So it’s my decision.” Her eyebrows twitched. “My decision to make? Good or bad?”
“No.” I laughed. “No, it really fucking isn’t.”
I swear she stomped her foot before huffing and marching to the door. She slammed it behind herself with enough force for a framed certificate to fall off its wall hook and smash on the floor.
I guess that served me right for bringing her into my office and not giving her what she wanted.
Chapter Three
Chelsea
“Dad, I’m home.” I stepped into the vast kitchen that looked over an outdoor pool, a croquet lawn and then ancient woodland. There was no one around, so I dumped my bag on the marble island and went to the fridge to grab a bottle of Evian. My rage at Professor Andrew Deacon had not subsided on the journey home. He was a prize asshole. Fucking gorgeous asshole, but still…
“Ah, Miss Chelsea, you are returned from your studies. How was your day?”
Tina bustled in holding a pile of laundry, and I forced myself to smile. “All good, thanks. How has your day been?” There was an irritated edge to my voice, I couldn’t hide it.
She paused. “There is always lots to do in this big house.” She frowned. “Are you well?”
“Yes, fine, just coursework trouble, you know how it is.”
“I have no experience of such things.” She shrugged. “Your father will be home soon, he went to a lunch meeting.”
“Ah, one of those, okay.” Lunch meetings always involved expensive claret and rump steak.
“And there is chicken and salad in the refrigerator.” She walked away. “If you are hungry, Miss Chelsea.”
I glugged on the water. Hungry for food? No way. I was hungry for cock, and only one would do, but now the chance to get up close and personal seemed even farther away.
The Professor had had the perfect opportunity to fuck me over his desk hard and fast. We were alone, the rest of the university emptying for the day. For goodness’ sake, I wasn’t even wearing panties. How much easier could it have been for him to bend me over, kick my ankles apart, and shove his impressive erection into my sopping pussy?
“Miss Slutty Shoes.” I wrinkled my nose. That was the only reasonable explanation for him being able to resist me. He was seeing her. They were exclusive, and he didn’t want to spoil the stupid, pointless, fluffy thing he had going on with her. What he didn’t know was I could give him so much more…of everything.
If only he could stop looking at me like I was a student. I was twenty-seven, all woman and completing a postgraduate course. It put me in a totally different zone to the other students who had barely started their university education.
Didn’t it?
The sound of tires crunching on the gravel caught my attention. I went to the window.
Dad was home and getting out of his chauffeured Merc. His sports jacket strained over his increasingly rotund belly, and his jowls wobbled as he walked to the house. I worried about his health, and so did his doctors, but he wouldn’t be told. Some men believed they were invincible, immortal, and Hank Taylor was one of them.
“Hey, my pretty little Chelsea,” he said, wandering into the kitchen then embracing me.
“Hi, Dad. Good lunch?”
“Lunch meeting!” He waggled his finger at me. “Business meeting. Always things to do, you know.”
“You’re supposed to be retiring.”
“All play and no work makes Hank Taylor a very dull guy.” He laughed, though it was always strained these days. “How was uni?”
“Same old, same old.”
He frowned, his bushy eyebrows drawing together. “You have to get your head down, young lady, this research thesis will open doors for you.”
“If it doesn’t, I’m sure you’ll open them for me.” I finished my bottle of water and dropped it in the recycling. “You know people in high places, right?”
“That is not the attitude.” He burped. “Oh, sorry.”
I frowned. “But a fact.”
He reached for a crystal tumbler and poured whisky. “A fact your brother could have made good use of.” He used the glass to gesture around the vacuous kitchen. “If he were around.”
I scowled. “Vince has made his choices.”
“Crap choices, Chelsea, utter crap. We gave him everything, all of his life he had a silver spoon sticking out of his mouth. The best private schools, he’d traveled the globe before his twenty-first birthday, hung out with the stars, trekked Antarctica, all at our expense, and now…now he’s just fucking gone when we need him most.” He knocked back a mouthful of drink. “Gone off with those…those lawless troublemakers who all deserve to be slung in jail and the key thrown away.”
I rubbed my temples. This was a familiar rant after a few drinks, and I had no answers for my father.
“They just do what they want, the law means nothing to them. Why he had to get mixed up I have no idea.”
“I’m sure he’ll see his mistakes and come back,” I ventured. “Eventually.”
“You live in a fantasy world.” My father slammed his glass down. “He’s sworn an oath to The Beasts, even had their goddamn logo tattooed on his back.”
“How do you know?” My eyes widened. I hadn’t seen Vince for eleven months, and he hadn’t answered my calls either. I was desperate for news. “Did you see him?”
“No, course not.” He rolled his eyes. “But I have been keeping an eye on him. What kind of father would I be if I didn’t?”
“Where is he?”
“With his big tough motorcycle club.” The scorn in his voice was snake-like.
“Here? In Oxfordshire?”
“No, from what I hear he’s been in Wales and now headed north. That’s what they do, they roam around looking for trouble.” He poured another drink. “Your mother would turn in her grave.”
My mother being mentioned always felt like a slap to the face when it came out of the blue. Although this wasn’t completely out of the blue. My father used her, the memory of her, to express his disappointment in Vince often enough. Maybe, if I was being kind, it was because he’d lost them both so close together.
“I have work to do.” I reached for the tote bag that held my thesis, or the very start of it anyway. “I’ll see you later.”
“Sure thing, sweet pie.” He held up his glass. “I’m proud of you, you know.”
“Thanks, Dad.” I made my escape before he went from being angry with Vince to gushy about me and then emotional about Mum. Tina could tend him if he needed anything other than a long sleep to digest his lunch and the alcohol.
I went to my room, a luxurious space in white and pale pink. French doors led to a balcony that this time of year was hung with a pretty lilac clematis that wound over the balcony. I dropped my bag on the outdoor table and sat heavily. I could really do with my brother right now. Not to talk to about the professor, he wouldn’t understand that in a million years, but to cope with Dad and his increasingly heavy drinking and march toward a coronary. We’d be orphans soon if he carried on.
Vince and I had been close growing up. He was only two and a half years older than me. Building tree houses had been fun, so had horse riding, kayaking on the Cherwell, and hiking in the Berkshire Downs with our three King Charles spaniels.
But when Mom had died suddenly, Vince had become angry more than sad, he’d been bitter and resentful of everything, and then he’d just vanished, leaving me at home to cope alone.
I missed him, the old him, every day.
But he wasn’t coming back. He’d jumped on the huge Harley he doted on and gone off with like-minded guys. The sort who lived hard, lived by codes, and lived the way they damn well wanted to.
The last time I’d seen him he’d had his knuckles tattooed and was dressed head to toe in leather. My father and he had a row that must surely have been heard from space. I’d kept out of the way in my bedroom, muffling their anger with a pillow over my head. The fury spurting from each of them was intense, their battle with words as harsh as blows to the jaw and guts.
My heart had pounded, my tears had flowed, and then eventually, after a final insult, Vince had straddled his bike and ridden away.
I hadn’t seen him since, and it broke my heart all over again.
* * * *
Andrew
“Hey, Andrew.”
I looked up at the sound of Dalton’s voice and dropped my smoke on the pavement, ground the toe of my boot onto it. “Hey.”
Grant was with him, tall with blond hair poking from a black baseball cap. It was clear he was nervous to see me.
As he should be.
“Didn’t think we’d see you again.” I pushed away from the wall and shoved my hands into my pockets. I’d changed to black jeans and a black rollneck. A bandana patterned with the Union Jack sat at my neck, ready to be lifted to conceal my face if necessary.
“You said you were cool with him being here.” Dalton frowned.
“Know what, I didn’t. I said I’d be cool if he was up for the job.”
“I’m up for it.” Grant scowled. “And shit, I’m sorry, I take full responsibility for fucking up last time. My bad, man.”
“Too right it was.” I stepped up to him and jabbed his chest with my finger. He needed reminding who was in charge here. “And you put the whole fucking crew at risk. Something happens to us, who dishes out justice, huh? Then where will this country be?”
“I know, I know.” He glanced at Dalton. “Maybe I should go.”
Dalton sighed. “What do you reckon, Andrew?”
I held my palms out. “Nah, you’re here now, stay, and it’s only one asswipe to deal with. With three of us, what can go wrong?”
“Murderer and rapist, right?” Grant balled his fists. In his day job he was a banker, did stocks and investments and stuff. “All women.”
“Yep, all young women.” Dalton yanked down his cap and pulled up his bandana that matched mine. He worked as a doctor and ran a hospice, helping people when they were having the worst time imaginable. If anyone understood how precious life was, it was him, and that also meant the gravity and enormity of taking a life wasn’t lost on him either. “Let’s go.”
We started to walk back along Old Knight Street. We’d do a recce and make sure Ray Icke was eating alone the way he usually did. We also wanted to check there weren’t any of his runners around—we didn’t want complications.
Grant definitely didn’t need complications. If he cocked up, he’d be out. No coming back. We had to have rules for our own protection.
“Yeah, he’s alone,” Dalton said as we strode past the near empty late-night café.
“No one else around either,” Grant added. We ducked into a side alley only a few steps from the entrance. “Not that I can see.”
“No, this place is as empty as it gets.” I was pleased about that. Sometimes the city was buzzing late evening, but it was a Monday, so we’d hoped it wasn’t a party night.
“Got a plan?” Dalton asked me.
“The usual plan.” Out of habit I touched the gun in the waistband of my pants; the cool metal was pressed up against the hollow of my back. “Make sure he knows who we are and why we’re here and then ensure it’s not too quick. He didn’t let his victims off without suffering.”
“Got ya.” Grant nodded and shuffled from one foot to the other. His clean-shaven face was in shadows, and his eyes sparkled with anticipation. “We can do that.”
“Cover yourself.” I heard the café door bang and then footsteps.
“Want me to do the honors?” Dalton said.
“Sure.” I nodded. My heart rate had picked up, and for the first time in hours, thoughts of Chelsea flew from my mind. I had to concentrate.
“Hey, man,” Dalton said, stepping onto the street. “You got the time?”
“Fuck off and get a watch.”
I stiffened, so did Grant. We were Rottweilers ready to attack. Our professor and banker personas long gone.
“What’d you say to my friend?” I stepped up, next to Dalton.
“Yeah, that wasn’t polite?” Grant was at my side.
“Who the fuck are you?” Ray Icke shoved his hand into his pocket. “Get off my turf.”
“Your turf?” I said. “Sounds like you could get us some weed, eh?”
“I told you, fuck off. I’m closed for the day.”
“Ah, that’s a problem,” I said. “’Cause we’re not closed.” I didn’t give him time to withdraw a weapon, just threw a left hook at his chin and sent his head snapping backward.
Blood spurted to the right, and his eyes widened. My speed had surprised him.
And Grant was equally quick. He grabbed Ray’s arm and dragged him into the alley so we could have some privacy.
“Get the hell off me. Don’t you know who I am? You’re dealing with the real fucking deal here and—”
“Shut the hell up, Ray Icke.” Dalton delivered a blow to Ray’s guts, doubling him over.
“Argh.” He groaned and staggered backward then hit the damp brick wall. “How do you know my…?”
“Name?” I asked, shoving my hand into his pocket and withdrawing a handgun. “How the hell do you think we know?”
“I don’t fucking know, otherwise I wouldn’t have asked.” He straightened and glared at me.
“Okay, so how about the names of the women you’ve murdered and raped, remember them?” I studied his gun; it was nice. Perhaps I’d use that to kill him, save using up one of my own bullets.
“I didn’t murder or rape no one. Those charges were dropped.” He managed to look indignant despite his precarious position in a dark alley with three big guys who had come searching for him.
“Ah, I see.” I nodded slowly. “You think because your clever lawyer created some reasonable doubt and you employed a dash of witness intimidation you got away with it.”
“Nothing to fucking get away with. I’m innocent.”
“Is that so?” Dalton asked. “So how come we don’t believe you? How come our own investigations say otherwise?”
“Fuck your investigations, they don’t mean shit.”
“They do when we believe them, when a whole group of us believe the facts and can see the lies.”
“A whole group of you? What are you? Some kind of vigilante wannabes?”
“Got it in one.” I raised his own gun so it was pointed at his chest. “You’re smart as well as a fucking asshole.”
“I’ve had enough of this shit, it’s been a long day.” He glanced in the direction of the street. “Get out of my way.”
“You’ll go when we say you can.” Dalton was blocking his way, also holding a gun now.
“Yeah, we still got questions,” Grant said, his gun flashing in the shadows.
Ray’s eyes were wide and his shoulders tense, but he still tried to maintain an air of cool. “Look, guys, sorry about the time thing, yeah, I’m fucking knackered, and if you want some weed I’ll go get it now. I’m only a few streets from my pad.”
“We don’t really want weed.” Dalton shrugged.
“And we’ve all got really nice watches.” Grant flashed him his Rolex.
“So what do you want?”
“We want justice, we want what those women’s families want, to see you dead and buried and rotting. Not a breath of air in your lungs, not a lying word left in your sorry mouth.”
“I’ve got a kid, okay, and a woman.”
“Who will be better off without you,” Grant said, his eyes flashing above his bandana.
“I…I…” Ray looked from Grant to Dalton and then me.
For a moment I thought he was going to try and run, but then he slumped against the wall and his eyes misted. “I’m sorry okay. I’ll turn my life around, I’ve been trying to. I can go straight and make amends. I’m so sorry, real sorry, man.”
“Sounds suspiciously like a confession?” I tipped my head and studied him. “Is it?”
“Whatever? I’ll say whatever you want me to.” He held up his hands in surrender.
“It’s too late for words.” Grant raised his gun so the business end was pointed a few feet from Ray’s head.
“Yeah, this conversation is over,” Dalton said, aiming at the murderer’s chest. “Words can’t bring those women back or undo your sins.”
“Get ready for the heat,” I said, my finger on the trigger. “Lots of heat.”
“Heat?” Ray appeared confused.
“Yeah, it’s gonna be hot as fuck in Hell.”
“What, no, wait, please I—”
“One. Two. Three.” I shot.
So did Dalton and Grant. All three bullets hitting Ray at the same time. We’d never be sure which one killed him, but dead he was. Before he even hit the ground.
Another score for Galahad and the good of mankind.
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