Page 5

5

I’M EITHER REALLY STUPID OR REALLY FUCKING SMART

JACK

I had my suspicions that Quinn was who I thought she was the moment I laid eyes on her being all but dragged across the food court by her dog—which was actually pretty adorable if I am being completely honest.

I had briefly hoped that I’d crossed paths with another single parent, but when she divulged the fact that she was Maggie’s nanny, that solidified to me that she was the very person whose name has been on everyone’s lips for the last month.

Longer, actually.

I’d heard the rumors about her losing her job with the Kaplan family and was honestly pretty surprised to see that she had Maggie with her. That’s what threw me off at first.

I knew it was a bad idea to engage, to go as far as I did by not only agreeing to have lunch with her but with the intention of offering her a job.

Knew, but didn’t fucking care.

She’s a student. I am a professor.

Nothing good can come of this.

Of course, she’s worked for other professors—but I imagine none of them were so viscerally attracted to her in such a scary way.

And the fact that Quinn Ivor comes with baggage these days… concerning baggage was something that I couldn’t seem to find it within myself to care very much about while I was trying to convince my blood how very bad of a time it was to rush to my cock.

In the middle of the outdoor food court.

In front of the student center.

Surrounded by a huge chunk of both our peers.

I mean it wasn’t like a full on erection, nothing weird. Just a little twitch.

Or two.

I thought that once I sat down to have lunch with her, I could bring up the glaring topics for discussion, or at least steer her in the direction of bringing them up herself.

Nope.

I don’t remember any part of anything we talked about aside from let me feed you because apparently I’m a caveman now and hey, be my nanny .

Everything else is white noise in my brain outside of helping her with her assignment. I immediately felt bad for the shitty response I initially gave her, but Sienna had been climbing me like a spider monkey while I graded work and responded to emails that evening.

I spent the other forty-five minutes at the coffeehouse forcing myself to not say any of the things I really wanted to.

Let me drop the kid off at Grammy’s real quick and we can go for a walk. We could maybe sit too close to one another on a park bench? Talk about forensic assessment and the intricacies of eyewitness testimony? I could take you for drinks after? Go back to my place and strap you to my headboard with my favorite belt?

And god, her skin.

So flawless and taut, it was practically begging me to fuck it up.

I've always had the urge to mark my partners, but the feeling has never been as intense as it is with her. The only person I've ever confided in about this is my best friend, Ezra, who happens to be a psychologist. Naturally, he's tried to analyze what kind of damage might have caused me to feel this way, but I’m not sure there actually is any damage.

A person can have non-typical kinks without being fucked in the head.

I don’t know what I am right now other than inexplicably gone for this woman.

Sienna splashes water in my face from the sink where I’m giving her her nightly bath, pulling me from the thoughts that have been playing on repeat in my mind since yesterday afternoon. At almost nine months old, she’s almost too big for sink baths, and I don’t like the feeling I get in the pit of my stomach when I think about how much she’s grown.

I’ve gone through the interview process with more potential nannies than I care to discuss, and not a single fucking one of them did I feel comfortable leaving my kid with for any extended amount of time.

I know it’s a fat chance that anyone I hire will compare to my mom, but every time I come home from work, I find her more exhausted than the day before. Neither of us want to admit it, but she’s a little beyond her prime. While it’s fine for her to babysit occasionally, acting as a full time nanny just isn’t in the cards for her for much longer.

Sienna squeezes her rubber ducky, squeaking it twice before chucking it at my head and hitting me square between the eyes.

“Oh-kay, bedtime for you, little bear.” I drain the water and wrap her up in the towel I sat aside on the counter, and she makes the growly noise that prompted me to give her that nickname in the first place.

She kicks like a little maniac as I carry her up the stairs to her room where I dress her for bed and settle in to rock her to sleep.

Her eyes are growing heavy when my phone buzzes. I take it out of my pocket, expecting it to be another email from a student asking some stupid question that they’d know the answer to if they bothered opening their syllabus. Maybe I am the dick Quinn thinks I am.

Instead, it’s my friend Stu, which causes me to roll my eyes just as hard.

Stu: Did you ask her out yet?

I haven’t admitted to him that I have the hots for my potential new nanny, but somehow he knows anyway.

Jack: No I haven’t asked her out.

Jack: And I’m not going to so feel free to give it a rest.

Stu: Can I ask her out, then?

Resounding no.

He’s fully aware of how attractive she is since he and the other third of our trio—my best friend Ezra—have both helped me stalk the shit out of her the last few days to make sure she’s the safest fit for our girl. Just because she makes my dick hard doesn’t mean I would ever blindly trust her or anyone else with Sienna.

Fuck that.

All we found was that she has a pristine background check aside from a few parking tickets. She’s nannied for multiple of my former colleagues who all sing her praises, and she’s CPR certified. She spends most of her free time either with her dog or in the school library, often with her best friend Kruz.

The only red flag is that she majors in forensic psychology and still has a habit of walking alone at night, particularly through the cemetery, as if she’s completely unaware and unafraid of the potential danger in that—especially after all this shit with her dad.

I almost type ‘yes’ just to get him to leave me the fuck alone, but can’t bring myself to do it.

Jack: No.

His next text is an upside down smiley face emoji, and I am not sure what he means by that other than that he wants me to throttle him.

I don’t respond, just stand and chuck my phone onto Sienna’s changing table as I sway her back and forth until she’s fully out.

My heart is full to bursting by the time I place her in her crib, just as it always is when I watch her fall asleep, but when I close her bedroom door behind me a familiar weight settles in my chest, replacing the feeling.

The energy that comes with the beginning of every semester always makes me restless. I think most people who work in education probably feel the same; being inundated by new students both eager and anxious to get started, way too fucking many meetings that could have—should have—been emails, and the usual political bullshit a person has to wade through when you work at any university, but especially Cypress.

I’ve been on my usual edge since the end of August—the feelings only intensified as summer break ended, and news of all the terrible shit happening on campus began to spread like wildfire—but I think that of all that, Quinn is what finally pushed me over.

To say that I am unsettled is an understatement. I suspect the only thing that might settle me would be to fuck her out of my system, consume myself with her, and use her body to release some of the pent up stress I feel like I am always dealing with.

I am well aware of how messed up the idea is. The very notion of a college professor harboring feelings for a student crosses so many ethical boundaries that it’s almost laughable. Yet, despite my understanding of the power dynamics and the inherent complications, I can’t shake the way my heart races whenever she’s near.

It’s not just the way she looks, though that’s certainly part of it. It’s how she interacts with Sienna. The warmth she exudes, the way her eyes light up when she’s with my daughter—it’s overwhelming.

Every glance, every smile she directs my way feels like a dangerous dance on the edge of propriety, and that’s with me only having been around her for two very brief meetups.

I am aware that I should keep my distance, that these feelings are probably nothing more than a fleeting infatuation, but the line between professional respect and personal desire becomes increasingly blurred the more I think about her.

Giving in to this desire with the intention to just get it over with so I can move on would likely only add fuel to the raging inferno thrashing around in my chest. There is no part of me that would be able to stop myself from carving my name into her flesh so deeply that no one would ever be able to look at her again without knowing that at least once, she’d belonged to me.

Even after I’ve put Sienna down for the night, showered, and climbed into bed with a book in an attempt to bank the flames, the airflow feeding them doesn’t seem to have been restricted by my brief focus elsewhere—they lick at my insides.

Torturously.

I toss my book onto the pillow next to mine, smacking my head against the headboard repetitively when my mind wanders to the image of Quinn sleeping on it instead—her deep chestnut hair cascading over the soft fabric, her relaxed expression as she breathes deep. I groan in frustration, more annoyed at myself than anything else.

Why am I so fucking obsessed with someone I barely know?

Someone probably twelve or more years younger than me, and one of my students no less. Not that she seems to be aware of that at this point, which is a whole other issue.

Because she’s gorgeous.

And easy to talk to.

And really fucking funny even though she’s been through hell recently.

Not to mention she’s smitten with your kid.

I am fucked.

If nothing else, my fist is because thinking about her now that I’m alone, I’ve pitched a tent in my flannel pajamas.

My hand curls tightly around my throbbing cock that’s straining against my pants. I can feel the heat radiating from my body as arousal floods my senses, making me dizzy and desperate. I give in to the overwhelming urge and yank at the elastic band, freeing myself from the torturous friction of the fabric rubbing against my sensitive skin. I wrap my fingers tightly around my shaft as I try to focus on the physical sensation. For just a few moments, I am lost in the pleasure, begging my own hand for relief from the all-consuming enigma that is Quinn Ivor.

I come hard—violently, hot cum spurting onto my abdomen as I think about all the ways she might let me defile her if I asked nicely enough. I don’t even bother cleaning myself up after, because some fucked part of me relishes in the thought that it's the product of the first time I came with her name on my lips.

Eventually, exhaustion takes over and I can find some semblance of rest, but even in sleep, my mind is consumed by her.