Page 74 of Wicked Little Secret
I hum, tipsy just from his lips on mine. “But you loved me moaning professor last night when you had me against the wall.”
“In the heat of the moment—yes. In the aftermath—no.”
“What happened to call me Professor Adler. Just Professor Adler.” I mimic his stern voice from the first day of class only to erupt in giggles. He’s run teasing fingers against the sides of my ribcage.
“That was in the classroom,MissOliver,” he scolds, gripping my hip. “Pillow talk is different.”
“Mmm… pillow talk. Tell me more, Professor.”
Laughter tumbles out of me all over again as he returns to squeezing my side, exposing how ticklish I am. Seconds of torture ensue, where I’m trapped under him, tangled in my wrinkled bedsheets, subjected to his payback.
On a Saturday morning like today, slivers of light peeking through my bedroom curtains, there’s not much else to do.
Once he’s had his fill, he settles beside me, still stroking my bare skin. Any part of me he can, as if he’s aware this could be his only chance.
“You know what pillow talk is,” he says huskily. “Though it wouldn’t surprise me if the guys your age skip that part altogether.”
“I have to be honest. Samson didn’t strike me as the type.”
His fingers travel up my stomach, past the swell of my breasts, reaching my shoulders… and the scrape on my collarbone. He spends a second studying the purplish mark that’s slowly begun to heal, and it’s in this moment that I pick up on the same darkness from Halloween night.
The side of Professor Adler I hadn’t anticipated.
“I didn’t realize he’d left a mark,” he mutters.
My hand covers his, forcing his gaze to mine. “It’s okay. You came in time. And I handled the rest.”
“The… rest…?”
“Let’s just say, Samson won’t be going to the police. He won’t ever mention it again.”
“What did you say to him?”
“It’s not important,” I say. “But he got the message.”
“He knows you’re done with him?”
A smirk quirks at my lips. “Jealous, Professor?”
“Professor?” He raises a brow.
“Theron. Happy?”
“I won’t be happy ’til you tell me you’re done with him,” he insists, his fingers curling at the base of my throat. He peppers me with more quick kisses, sending a warm current through the rest of my body.
I get what he needs. He needs to hear me confirm it’s over.
“Samson and I were never serious,” I say. “He was a means to an end.”
“How so?”
I pause a second, caught between my truth and the act I’ve put on. No one knows why I’m doing what I’m doing except for Mom. And Peaches.
As far as anyone else knows, I’mreallyfriends with Heather and the others. I wasreallydating Samson Wicker. I’m really in Castlebury to climb the elite social ladder and curry their favor.
Theron has no clue that as he poses his question, my memory takes over, and I hear Mom’s cries all over again.
“Gone!” she sobbed on the floor of our living room. “All because of them! They did this… he… he did this…”