Bittersweet Deceit Read Online Free

empty.
    “Shit! Where did that damn paddle get off to?” I frantically looked around the room, checking near the blue, covered futon couch and the closet. Then I remember and laughed. I went back into the living room and opened the drawer of the end table. The heavy, shellacked, wood paddle had Mason’s college fraternity’s Greek letters along the handle.
    My eyes swept the area to find places that needed attention. I pushed the chairs flush with the dinner table and put the spices back in the cabinet. While I rinsed the sink, I heard a knock. I ran on tiptoe back into the second bedroom and shoved the paddle into the drawer of the desk. Back at the front door, I said, “One sec.” I tried to settle the excitement pounding in my chest by bouncing on my toes. Then I flipped the lock and opened the door.
    He scanned me from head to toe and whistled. “You are stunning.”
    I erupted into laughter over his outfit: the tweed coat with oval patches on the elbows and the loafers were a nice touch, as was the pipe with a man’s face carved in ivory in his hand, but the spectacles perched on the tip of his nose were what did it to me.
    “Is that any way to greet your professor, the one who is willing to help out with your dismal grade in my class on the failure of American politics in the twenty-first century?”
    “Well, no, um...” I tried to hold my breath so I wouldn’t giggle. I stood up to my full height , which made me taller than him in my five-inch pumps. I waved him through the door.
    Even in his silly costume, he looked overwhelmingly handsome.
    He turned to face me and I could almost feel his hands on me, as if his light-blue eyes held the power to penetrate the surface of my skin. Simultaneously I loved and hated that someone could have that kind of sway over me.
    “I’ll be in my office,” he said as he slipped off his shoes by the door. Over his shoulder, he said, “I expect you there in one minute. Do not keep me waiting.”
    “Yes, Professor Mason,” I said, using a soft, demure tone and getting into character.
    After ducking into the bathroom to check my appearance I knocked on the door to the second bedroom, which he had left partially ajar. I leaned my head in. “Excuse me, Professor, do you have a minute to discuss the grade I received on my paper?” I asked in a wispy voice trying to channel a mix of Betty Boop and Marilyn Monroe.
    He beckoned me in with one hand while looking down at the papers in front of him, the pipe hanging from his mouth.
    I suppressed a chuckle and pulled down on the hem of my skirt. My heels sunk into the thick, cream-colored carpet as I kept shifting my weight from one leg to the other.
    “Stop fidgeting,” he said, looking up over his glasses. “Sit.”
    Settling into the chair that faced him, I crossed my legs.
    “Keep your legs open,” he practically shouted.
    “Yes, sir. Sorry, Professor.”
    He removed his glasses and the pipe and placed them on the desk. “Now about your grade...”
    His eyes locked on mine and I felt myself leaning forward, being pulled into his orbital field of love and lust. Although I pissed and moaned about the games we played, I couldn’t fail to recognize their purpose. If we made passionate, intimate love each time we came together, we would never part. This way we could still enjoy each other while creating a level of distance between us.
    I believed, down to my soul, that he loved me. I couldn’t deny it when he looked at me like he did in that moment. The intensity brought tears to my eyes, which I hurriedly blinked away. I cleared my throat and said, “Yes?”
    “How do you intend to make up your grade?”
    “Um...” I said, getting back into character . “I thought you might have some ideas.” A coy smile played on my lips.
    “I do. Fold your skirt up and spread your legs wide.” He propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin on his hand.
    “Excuse me, Professor Mason, but—”
    “There are no buts except