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A laugh bursts through my lips. “Oh, I’m quite sure it’s against school policy.”
The other things we like to do are against policy, too, but I don’t mention that part.
“Listen,” I continue, “Luke is the kind of guy who just has his shit together, and I don’t, so he’s helping me get my shit together.”
I knew Sage would be surprised by this development, hence why I waited so long to tell her. She’s the least judgmental person I know, but even I can understand how shocking this is.
“So, is he like your daddy now?” she asks with a laugh, and I shove her softly on the shoulder.
I twist my face in disgust. “Shut up. He is not my daddy, and it’s not like that. I told you.”
She laughs again. “I can’t picture anyone living with Luke.”
“Actually,” I say, dying to change the subject. “I get the feeling someone else lived in his guest room before me, but he doesn’t seem to want to talk about that.”
“Oh, really?” she asks. “I doubt he’d have a roommate without Adam knowing about it.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Luke likes his privacy.”
“True,” she replies. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t think you’re a mess.”
“I appreciate that.”
“So…” she says as she leans against the desk, placing her hands on either side of her hips, “tell me all about this doctor’s appointment and what it was like to have Luke in the room with you while you got probed by your obstetrician.”
My head hangs back as I laugh. I have to admit, it’s kind of nice to have someone else to relate to with all of this. Sage is in the second half of her pregnancy, which means she’s already gone through everything I’m about to go through, and it gives me a sense of comfort.
I tell her all about the doctor’s visit and my neurotic behavior. After a good long laugh back in the office, we open the club and Adam shows up to take Sage home. She’s cut her hours back a lot in the past couple of months, and it fills me with a sense of pride that she trusts me enough to pick up the slack.
After she’s gone, I take a little stroll around the club to make sure everything is going accordingly. I check in with the bartenders and then with the floor staff. Once done, I find myself meandering around less for work purposes and more for personal ones. I find myself watching the open playroom, and for the most part, it’s pretty tame tonight.
It’s funny how working in a sex club for the past couple of years has completely desensitized me to public sex and intimacy, which is what makes it so odd that today, on Lucas’s lap, had such a visceral effect on me. I thought I knew everything about my tastes, kinks, and my desires. I don’t get turned on by pain or bondage or even submission.
So it doesn’t make sense why every time I’m around Lucas and he talks to me and treats me the way he does, I feel like I want to crawl out of my skin and not in a bad way. It makes me feel so alive. It consumes me with desire and passion.
As I watch a couple in the corner, the woman chained to the wall, and the man swatting at her ass with a flogger, I know it’s not quite the same.
Is it him? Is it us? Today, he called me a brat, and not for the first time. Maybe that’s what I am. Maybe that’s what I want. Someone who doesn’t just tolerate me in my stubborn, rebellious ways but celebrates it. Someone who enjoys it, gets off on it, participates in it, and plays the role that I so desperately crave.
Maybe this is something I should be seeking in the bedroom with an actual romantic partner and not my English professor. But Luke makes it so easy.
It’s too good to quit.
I’m just worried about how long this can last and where it’s going to go from here.
Sixteen
Lucas
“Thank you very much for your time today, Dr. Goode. We’ve enjoyed this discussion and we’ll be sure to reach out to you after some deliberation,” the woman says, her face smiling on the computer screen.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I reply politely. “Thank you very much for your consideration, and I look forward to hearing from you.”
We say our awkward goodbyes through the web meeting app before the screen goes dark and I close my laptop. I rub my sweaty palms against my pants as I deliberate on exactly how that interview went. I mean, I felt good about it. I did my best. I said everything I wanted to say. I think I sounded pretty intelligent.
There was only one unenthusiastic guy in the meeting, but the rest seemed to enjoy my speech and my answers.
“Knock, knock,” a voice says as they open my office door. One of my colleagues, the professor of ethics and literature, Dr. Hanson, stands in the doorway with a polite smile. “How’d it go?”
