In Too Deep Read Free Page B

predator.
    This whole episode is rapidly turning into a mini-farce, so I thrust the pretty professor’s papers haphazardly into his hands and dash past him, flinging a smile and another ‘sorry’ and a ‘see you later’ over my shoulder as I run across the tarmac in the direction of the garden.

2 Time Out with Professor Hottie
    WHAT A LUDICROUS pantomime that was! As if I wasn’t shaken up enough by Nemesis and his erotic ramblings, now I’m all of a lather over Professor Hottie again. I’ve been fancying the famous Professor Daniel Brewster since well before he became a temporary feature attraction at the library several weeks ago, when he arrived to research a new book and a possible television series. His popular history documentaries are frequently repeated on UKTV and, even though I’ve seen them repeatedly, I always watch them when they’re on.
    Now, though, I don’t look back, and I keep moving at a trot, trying to pretend that none of our little prat-fall ballet on the back step happened. I don’t stop until I reach my special place, a secluded bench in a small shady arbour, well out of the way of the main park area where people gather for lunches. Very few people seem to have found this little haven, which is sheltered by several large trees and a high hedge, so it doesn’t get the sun. That probably explains its desertedness. Most folk round here still seem to be devoted to the active pursuit of melanoma. So this is a place where I can find peace and quiet, uninterrupted, in the middle of the day.
    Not that I’m feeling in any way peaceful today. And my brain isn’t quiet. It’s whirling with the choice phraseology of Nemesis’s missive and action replays of me almost exhibiting my breasts to Daniel Brewster.
    I pull my bottle of water out of my bag, and gulp some down. It’s icy, fresh from the fridge, and its cold bite on my tongue calms me down. Something clicks into place like a camera focusing. I look round, taking in the greens of the leaves and the dull grey of the gravel. This, and the fresh air, is real and normal, far from the heated world of explicit letters and speculation about handsome, quirky men who are way out of my league.
    A few more sips and I feel centred again. Not ready for my sandwiches yet, but I’ll tackle them shortly. For a while, I just sit feeling very Zen, at one with nature and all that. Then, just as I decide it’s time to eat and sort out my blood sugar, I catch sight of the edge of those sheets of blue paper poking out of the side pocket of my bag. I slide them out and unfold the written madness.
    Words leap out at me.
    Do you take that dark juicy berry of a nipple and tweak it this way and that while you begin to squirm in your seat as you get wet and turned on?
    Reading it makes me want to do it, and as I glance up momentarily I’m back in my murky parallel world of irrational lust. I’m not wearing one of those white blouses that Nemesis clearly has a fetish for, but, almost without conscious thought, I suddenly reach up and cup my own curve through the soft cotton of my top.
    My nipple is hard, and doubtless, if it were exposed to the air, it
would
be dark and firm like a juicy berry. I give it a little strum through the layers of fabric – top and bra, cotton both – and a silvery flutter flies through my body. I’m convinced that Nemesis is a man, but he certainly seems to know all about the connection between tit and clit. I’m already hot between my legs, my pussy heavy and congested, even though it’s the words that are getting to me most, not the touching. Words, and the sight of a dark-haired, slightly geeky but very beautiful man in a fluster of embarrassment.
    I wonder if Professor Hottie’s earlobes have cooled down yet?
    I stare at the cool, green façade of the hedge that faces me – but I don’t see it. Instead, I’m imagining a scenario, doing a Nemesis, I suppose. In my little drama I dropped this letter when I ran into Daniel