Professor Lemmings is written in big gold letters on a plaque on the door.
“Is Kev sure this is right? I thought her schedule said she had German class now?” Whitney is studying languages with business, but it’s a miracle she’s made it to senior year, because she’s the least academic person I know.
“This is the right place.” Kyler frowns, jerking his head toward the room as my hand lifts to knock. He shakes his head, pressing his ear flush to the door. His eyes widen in shock.
“What?”
“Shush. Listen.”
I press my ear to the door, not hearing anything at first. I wait, and then I hear it—groaning and the sound of wood creaking. Kyler and I exchange a look as I attempt to quietly open the door, but it’s, predictably, locked. Holding up one finger, I remove my wallet and extract one of my cards. I hand him my cell, and he knows what to do. I’m extra careful as I slide the card along the side of the door, pressing it gently against the lock a few times before it gives way with a subtle click. The noise from inside has increased, so I doubt they are aware we’re about to break up their little party.
We work in tandem, and I swing the door open as Kyler presses record on my cell phone.
Whitney is draped across the professor’s desk with her skirt bunched at her waist, ass in the air, and her hands gripping the edge of the table. A tall dark-haired man—the professor, I assume—is slamming his dick into her pussy, his pants pooled at his feet, completely oblivious to the fact he has an audience.
What a tool.
Lucky for us.
I glance at Kyler, ensuring he’s got the footage, before I walk toward them. “Well, well, well. What do we have here?”
Whitney shrieks, and the professor pulls out, turning around to glare at us, his small dick jutting out, coated in her juices. “Who the hell are you, and how did you get in here? I locked that door.”
The door slams shut as Kyler walks to my side.
“I’m sure you did,” I say, smirking as I cross my arms and eyeball him. He looks young for a professor. Maybe he’s a prodigy like Eva or he’s one of those dudes who looks younger than he is.
Whitney pulls her panties up and fixes her skirt, her wide-eyed expression betraying her shock and her panic. I can almost see the wheels turning in her head as she grapples with some excuse.
“Is he the father?” I ask, drilling her with a “don’t mess with me” look.
“What?” The dude pulls up his pants, swinging his gaze around to Whitney. “You’repregnant?” Horror creeps over his face.
“How long have you two been bumping uglies?” Kyler asks, discreetly holding my cell behind his back. It’s still recording.
“That’s none of your fucking business, and you need to leave,” the douche says, tucking his shirt into his pants and buckling his belt.
I prod him in the chest with my finger. “That’s where you’re wrong, Professor. She’s trying to pin the blame on me, and I’m not leaving this fucking office until I get the truth.”
“It can’t be mine,” he blurts. “That’s the first time we’ve screwed.”
Hurt flares in Whitney’s eyes, and that gives the game away.
Kyler notices it too. He steps forward, putting himself all up in the guy’s face. Kyler has at least three or four inches in height on him and a well-rehearsed mean face. He’s intimidating as fuck when he needs to be. “I’ll give you one opportunity to come clean before I call my FBI-agent brother and tell him to hack into your office computer, your home computer, your cell, and unearth all your little secrets.” He shoves his chest. “Tell me, is Whitney the only student you’re banging, or are there more?”
He’s not fast enough to conceal his alarm, and I know we’ve hit the jackpot.
“How many students are you fucking?” I ask. “How many others have you knocked up?”
Whitney’s panic has transformed into full-blown rage like I knew it would.
“You’re fucking other students?” she screeches, stalking toward him and pushing him in the chest. “You told me you loved me!”
“I do love you, baby, but you know I’m married. This was never going to be a permanent thing.”
“Why do you think I lied and said he was the father?” she screams, waving her hands in my direction.
About a hundred layers of stress instantly lift from my shoulders. I feel like fist punching the air, but I pause the celebration, wanting to see how this plays out.
