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Kneeling down next to her, I run a hand softly over her head. At first, she flinches, trying to push me away. But then, as I do it again, she leans into my touch.
Once her tears have subsided, I stand back up and rest my hands on my hips.
“Get up.”
She sniffles before glancing up at me. “I can’t do this,” she cries.
“Yes, you can. Now, get…up.”
When she doesn’t move after a moment, a look of defeat washing over her, I reach down and pet my hand softly over her head again, this time touching her as if I’m admiring her.
“One thing at a time,” I say as our eyes meet. “And first, I want you to show me you can get up.”
Her hand reaches up and takes mine. Then, slowly and with a shaky breath, she rises from the floor. When she’s on her feet, she stares at me as if waiting for the next step.
“Good girl,” I say. “Now, go sit at the table.”
“But—”
“No buts. Go sit at the table. Now.”
She subtly nods before moving around me to the dining room table. I pick up her shirt from the floor and bring it to her as she sits down in front of her breakfast. Draping the shirt on the back of her chair, I stroke her head again.
As I stand next to her, I feel her lean toward me, and I let her. Her head rests against my side, and she breathes loudly as if trying to keep the tears from returning.
“I want you to eat,” I say. “I know you can do that for me.”
Again, she nods. With a sniffle, she takes the spoon and picks at the fruit first. She doesn’t eat much, but it’s something, and it’s enough for me. I’ve never gained such satisfaction from watching someone eat before, but I swear I could sit here and feed Sadie all day. I want to watch her fill her belly. I want to see her full and sated.
This is inappropriate. I realize that now. This relationship between us is not the way a professor should be acting with his student, but as long as we’re not having sex, then I’m innocent. I just have to resist any sort of sexual temptation, and I’m fine.
When Sadie sets down her spoon and takes a sip of juice, she places her hands in her lap and lets out a sigh.
“Good job,” I say.
It’s quiet for a moment, and I start to anticipate what she’ll say even before the words leave her lips.
“Will you…” She swallows. “Will you come with me?”
Inappropriate.
That word rings so many times in my head that it starts to lose its meaning. I mean, we’ve already crossed into this forbidden territory with living together and the spanking, so what harm is me driving her to her doctor’s appointment?
If anyone were to see me accompanying my student outside of campus—especially when she starts to look pregnant—I’d lose my job.
Oh well. I never liked this job much anyway.
“Of course.”
“Thank you,” she mumbles. “I’m sorry for freaking out. These mood swings are…”
“You don’t need to apologize,” I say, clearing my throat and picking up her dishes. “Just get your shoes on.”
“Yes, sir,” she replies with a hint of humor.
But I don’t laugh because it doesn’t feel like a joke, not anymore. I don’t know what’s happening between Sadie and me, but we are falling into roles I don’t entirely understand. Roles that feel natural and wrong at the same time. And it’s something I don’t know if I’d stop, even if I could.
Thirteen
