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Mild-mannered, university professor by day. Exotic, male stripper by night.
When Celia discovers her psychology professor taking off his clothes at Hot Bullets, she can't believe her eyes. Nor can she look away, especially after he spots her in return. Seeing him half-naked and sexier than ever, her long-time secret desire for him escalates.
The next day, Peter confronts her after class and sparks fly as he lets her know that he wants her too. He has some lessons for her, not included in the class syllabus. Blindfolded and bent over his desk, she succumbs to him, and he gives her all the extra instruction she can handle.
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"A near naked hunk wherever you turn. It doesn't get any better than this. Let's take a couple of them home. I bet they'd come. I bet they'd make us come, too!"
"Kelly! No!" Celia felt like running into the ladies room and hiding in the farthest stall.
"Geez! Calm down. I'm only kidding."
A large sigh of relief escaped her. "Don't kid about bringing strange men back to our dorm room. I can't believe I let you drag me into a place like this!" she shouted over the blaring rock music. She'd never been to such a sleazy place in her life, and she would not be coming back. By the time she left, she'd be deaf from the decibel level, blind from the strobe lights, and have a killer headache from the cloud of smoke and cologne drifting ominously about the room. Her poor sinuses would never be the same.
Kelly reached across the small, round table -- almost toppling both their margaritas -- and grabbed her hand. "Admit it. You're having a great time."
Celia barely heard her over the din. "You're the one having a great time," she shouted back. A male strip joint wasn't her brand of fun. Sure the guys were sexy to look at, but the whole thing was embarrassing, especially when the strippers went into the audience more than half naked and shook their package in a woman's face.
She chewed on the corner of her lip and glanced around, hoping nobody she knew was here. Probably not, since most of her friends were, well, geeky -- as Kelly always called them. They'd never set foot in an underground strip club. Even if one of them were here, the place was so packed tonight that one person blended in with the next, so she felt reasonably safe from being recognized.
If she'd been stronger willed, she would have been back at the university dorm, studying right now. Final exams were in a few days. She'd only agreed to come tonight to stop Kelly's harping about how she never went out and always had her nose buried in a text book or pressed against a computer screen. "Can we go?"
"No. The show's not over. Don't be a stick in the mud. You need to get wild every once in a while."
Kelly raised one arm in the air and wiggled in her chair to the beat of the music. Her ample, unrestrained bosom wiggled right along with her. Her crop top, worn braless, left little to the imagination. Celia glanced down at her own mediocre-sized chest and sighed. She'd always felt lacking in comparison to Kelly. "If you keep jiggling like that, you'll be the one giving a show."
Her friend's smile widened. "Sounds good to me." She laughed loudly, then pinched the butt of a passing male waiter. He turned, and after a slight hesitation, a large smile crossed his face. He blew her a kiss and slipped her a card, before continuing on his way. "Yes! Got his number. The waiters are such stud-muffins here. Have some fun, Cel. I swear you are totally boring sometimes."
Celia opened her mouth to protest, but the emcee came on stage and announced the next act, The G-String Gentleman, and she never got the chance. Fine. One more performance, then she was out of there, no matter what Kelly said. She'd take a cab back to their dorm by herself if she had to.
The lights lowered and the slow, throbbing beat of new music filled the darkened room. Everyone fell silent. A spotlight hit the stage, illuminating a tall, well-dressed man standing with his feet planted firmly apart. The audience erupted with hoots and screams of pleasure. Celia wasn't interested. Well, she might have been if she had been watching it on television, but in person, it all felt too awkward. She studied her hands as she had most of the evening, hoping this dancer would stay where he belonged -- on stage.
Each time one of the strippers had made his way into the audience, she'd sunk down in her chair, hoping not to draw attention to herself. If one of the guys ever targeted her to dance for, she'd simply die. Kelly would probably love it though and would certainly never let her live it down.
"OhMyOhMyOhMy!" Kelly sputtered.
Celia didn't even glance up. That had been Kelly's reaction to every man who'd taken the stage tonight. The girl was a hopeless sexaholic.
"Celia," Kelly gasped, reaching across the table and grabbing her arm. "Isn't that your psychology professor?"
Yeah, right, her psychology professor. "Forget it, Kel. I'm not buying it."
"I'm serious, Celia. Would you look!"
Through lowered lashes, and just to appease Kelly, Celia glanced up at the stage. Her breath caught in her throat, and her head snapped up. It was! Professor Morrow.
Gone were the glasses and serious expression he always wore during his lectures or off-campus when working on some grant-funded project. Tonight his staid, intellectual persona had morphed into the drop-dead, sexy hunk she'd often fantasized he could be if he'd let loose. Rarely had she seen him in anything but business or research mode, and she couldn't look away.
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