Page 7 of Adam & Eve

The fucker. It was always at times like this when it would come into my head. Taunting me,

fucking with me to make me think I was crazy. I was not fucking crazy.

She was crying harder. I didn’t understand. Why was she crying? I wanted to yell at her to

stop. She didn’t cry. That wasn’t how she dealt with problems in her life. But I refrained from doing

so. I bit the inside of my inner cheek so hard I drew blood. I could taste it, but the pain calmed me a

bit.

For the first time since I was thirteen, I wished I had taken my medicine. The meds made it

easier for me to focus, to seem normal. I didn’t want her to see me like this. The thought of her

thinking of me as crazy physically hurt my heart. Closing my eyes, I resisted the urge to claw at my

own chest. I counted the breaths I took and concentrated on feeling more stable. It worked. The voice

stopped, and I focused all my attention back on her.

“What on earth is wrong with you?” she asked, the tone in her voice told me she was

perplexed.

That simple question sent me down the rabbit hole. For a while, only one thought assailed me:

Why did she hate me? I bit down on my bottom lip as I dug my nails into the palm of my hand. The

pain, the blood I drew kept me from grabbing her and snapping her neck.

“Why are you doing this to me, Professor?” she murmured.

She stared up at me. Her big hazel eyes cloudy, but just beyond the surface, I saw a bit of

defiance.

“Call me Adam,” I said gently.

She frowned at me, turned her lips down in such a way that drew my gaze to them. In an

instant I was turned on. I imagined my cock between those thick plush lips. She was speaking, but I

was too distracted to hear her. My mind was flooded with sensual images of us together. I could see,

feel and hear it all like it was happening in real time. Her tight pussy wrapped around my cock. Her

soft dark body against my pale one… Her thick legs wrapped around my waist as she pulled me

closer, calling for me.

The images were so vivid, so encompassing that my knees felt as if they would buckle. On

auto pilot, I made my way to the other side of the room. I stopped at the red chaise I’d put in the room

especially for her. It looked identical to the one she had in her house. I’d watched her for years so I

knew she sat on that red chaise and read for hours.