I still have feelings for Daddy Dom, though. He was the first guy who was able to touch me without making my skin crawl. While he comes across as unattached, his commanding presence should be intimidating. Heck, the man has tied me to a cross and spanked me. But he also treats me with so much warmth and care in the moments after a scene, in the way he listens to me talk about my sister and my dream job, and the way he shows up to comfort me when I need him most. He uses his hardness to grind away my pain and trauma, exposing the tenderness underneath.
But lately, seeing this softer side of Professor Ali has caused a rush of confusing feelings to flood my brain—and my panties. He’s taken the time to console me when I’ve been emotional after a difficult rehearsal, listened to me without judgement when I shared about my past and the letters, and he’s been so patient with me as I work through my aversion to touch. And then there’s the fact that his touch, sparing as it has been, has not onlynotbothered me, but has become something I crave.
And I don’t think I’m alone in the way I’m feeling. There have been times during rehearsal when I’ve felt his eyes on me. At least two times now, I’ve caught him looking at my lips while I’m speaking. I know he’s a professor and I’m a student, and he’s at least a decade older than me; by any other standards, or by school rules, this should be forbidden. But I want him. I doubt anything will come of it. He doesn’t seem like thetype to break the rules, and given our rocky history, I doubt he’d do it for me. But if I wasn’t still so hung up on Daddy Dom, I might make a move on Professor Ali.
Part of me wishes I could have both of them. If I could combine the hardness of Daddy Dom with the gentleness of Professor Ali, it would be everything I was looking for in a man. Someone who can protect me yet also help me get out of my head. Someone to push me in the classroom, push me to be the best version of myself, but who would also push my limits in the bedroom. So focused on my pleasure alone that he finishes in his pants. I don’t think there’s a higher compliment a woman can receive.
And clearly, I have a type since both men are tall and well-built. They both have short beards, though I’ve only felt Daddy Dom’s since he keeps that mask on all the time or blindfolds me. Their voices both hit that deep register that vibrates in your ears pinging around the dopamine center in your brain. And both have tattoos, though Professor A-hole clearly keeps his hidden since I’ve only ever seen it peeking out from his sleeve one time.
What if they were the same person?
My mind races with the thought as I change into my pajamas. I mean, it would explain some things, like how he was able to get to campus so quickly last spring break when Trent confronted me outside my dorm. And why I didn’t see much of him last year or go to the club, because neither of us were near the city. But there’s no way that uptight Professor Ali, who works at a Christian college, would ever be seen at a schmex club. And there’s no way he would be the kind of man Daddy Dom is in the bedroom, the kind of man I’ve come to crave.
As I get into bed, I fantasize about the best parts of each man, morphing them into my perfect man in my head, secretly wishing they were the same person.
CHAPTER 29
JOHN
“Professor Ali, can you come over here and help us settle a debate?” Mackenzie asks. I set down the paintbrush and walk out of the scene shop toward the stage.
“You have a little paint on your face.” She gestures to my left cheek.
I lift the bottom of my already ruined shirt and use it to wipe where she’s pointing. There’s a whistle from somewhere onstage, and I look down realizing I’ve grabbed the hem of my undershirt and not my top shirt, exposing my entire stomach and my very unique tattoos.
My eyes search the group for Emma as I lower my shirt. Did she see my tattoos? Would she recognize them at this point if she did? Do I want her to?
I’d be lying if I said that I had the strength to keep pushing her away. Maybe I want her to see them. To finally see me, right in front of her.
When I see the back of her dirty blonde head, my chest deflates a little when I realize she wasn’t looking.
“Well?” Mackenzie asks. Fuck, I totally wasn’t listening to a word she was saying.
“Sorry, you’re going to have to repeat that.”
“We’re trying to decide the order for the curtain call, and Dominic and Monty think they shouldn’t have to go first, since?—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. You’re in charge here. As director, it’s your vision and what you say goes. I’m just the faculty advisor, and apparently the scenic painter since the student who signed up to do this never showed. So if you want scenery for this show in a couple weeks, I need to get back to painting.”
I’m being a moody bastard, and I know it. Part of me feels bad for snapping. Mackenzie is not responsible for my frustration. Nope, that responsibility is all me, and the intoxicating woman who lives rent-free in my head and in my spank bank.
“Sorry, you’re right,” Mackenzie stammers. “It’s just hard dealing with all these big personalities sometimes. Actors can be… a lot.”
“You’ve got this. Now unless anyone wants to help me, I’m headed back in there.” I crook a thumb over my shoulder at the scene shop behind me.
My eyes scan the crowd looking for volunteers before connecting with Emma’s. She arches an eyebrow and makes her way toward me.
“I don’t have any lines for a bit. I’d be happy to help, Professor.”
Nodding my head for her to follow, I stalk back to the flat I was painting. “Clean brushes are in the green cabinet, and there should be coveralls in there too if you need them.” I don’t look at her, I can’t. Instead, I concentrate on the set piece in front of me.
“I see we’re back to being Professor A-hole,” she mutters quietly as she slips on a pair of coveralls.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I turn my head to her, a smile creeping onto my face.
“Great Caesar’s ghost. Did I say that out loud?”
I chuckle at her discomfiture. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
