5

JULIA

I shifted uneasily at the question. Professor Bancroft's eyes stayed on me even though I wished he would look away.

"What needs to be written?"

He shook his head. "I want details Julia" his gaze darkened again.

"I want to hear all of it"

I swallowed again, my throat felt too dry.

"Chemistry and tension"

"No feeling" he said in the same even tone.

"Have you ever been with a man Julia?" I flushed instantly at the question. The urge to hide my gaze was strong but I stopped myself. I had no reason to be embarrassed.

"Of course" I couldn't help the defensive tone I used. Professor Bancroft hummed, as if digesting the information.

"Then I'm right to think you aren't unfamiliar with the art of pleasure...sex"

"No"

"Then you must be able to write something you have experienced easily?" I stared at Professor Bancroft's, whose eyes hadn't left mine once. His questions were drifting towards an edge that made me furrow my brows. Was he digging for a specific answer?

"I don't understand how this is supposed to be of help" I snapped. He said he was going to show me. I wasn't prepared for the questions he was asking.

"If you were to write a short paragraph on the taste of this wine, would it be difficult for you?"

I shook my head.

"And why is that?"

"I know what it takes like" I answered without missing a beat and he smiled in a way that made goosebumps appear on my skin.

"Precisely my point Julia. A person who never tasted it could write a thousand words about the taste of this wine but a reader would feel even a short note written by you because the way you've told it differs"

I let his words sink in but he wasn't done.

"Borrowed emotions are like borrowed clothes. There's a chance for a mismatch"

"I beg to differ Professor Bancroft"

"Edmund" he corrected.

"Edmund" I said, testing how it sounded.

"One doesn't need the experience to create a piece that captures readers' attention" he hummed and I continued.

"If we go by your logic, then every crime novelist must commit a crime first?" I raised a brow in question and he smiled.

"Do you wonder why those novelists hardly ever write from the victim's perspective?" I bit my lip hard as I didn't have a response to that.

"I believe it must be difficult to explain dying without ever actually experiencing it" My fist tightened. He was right and it upset me.

"Murder most often requires emotions we've experienced in intense forms or lesser. Anger...rage...coldness. And sometimes, a desire to kill without an explanation"

"So imagination doesn't count?"

"It does"

"So why am I wrong?"

"Imagination creates a world in the mind of the reader"

"Isn't that what matters?"

He shook his head.

"Experience convinces them that it's real"

I pondered his words. It made sense enough.

"So what? I have sex every time I have a paper so I have enough experience to convince my readers it's real?"

"No Julia" he said calmly and set his glass down.

"Sit" he nodded at the couch I'd vacated a long time ago. His tone was exactly like he'd use when he lectured during class but this time, it held more heat.

I stepped back and sank into the chair, my body tense and expecting an order.

"Relax Julia" his voice was deeper as he issued the order. I swallowed again and relaxed into the backrest. My heart was beating faster now.

"Do you ever touch yourself" My face flamed.

"That is an inappropriate question Professor Bancroft"

"The subject makes you uncomfortable and not the question inappropriate"

"You're my professor"

"And we're discussing your writing" I stayed silent.

"We will discontinue immediately if you no longer wish to proceed Julia" his words hung in the air.

Another opportunity.

I'd lost count of the number of times he'd given me that to back out. Before I arrived at his home, I was convinced I wouldn't. I wanted to win the silent challenge after all.

"No"

"No to what Julia?"

"I wish to continue" I said loudly, our eyes clashing with heat. He made the offer. He wanted to show me and I accepted. There was no way I would back out.

"And to answer your question. Yes" I swear I saw his eyes twitch at my answer but the longer I stared, the more it began to feel like my eyes were seeing wrongly.

"Tell me what you do when you touch yourself Julia" I shivered at the sound of my name.

Maybe it was hearing it alongside the same words I never thought I'd hear my strict professor say.

"I...I touch myself"

He didn't say a word, only stared at me in a way that made me conscious.

"My breasts and...down..." I jumped to my feet, breathing harshly as I stared at him. His expression didn't change. I shifted, the uneasiness beginning to bloom.

"Is there a problem Julia?"

'No' I wanted to say. The word was at the tip of my lips and I was dying to say it. Sit back down and answer confidently. I'd still be in the challenge. But I couldn't lie to myself.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't utter the words he wanted to hear, not when I knew how it'd make me feel. Drenched until my wetness was soaking through my panties and onto his expensive couch.

It was wrong. He was my professor. Someone I'd see every day after today. I wouldn't be able to look him in the eyes. And if anyone found out... I exhaled loudly again.

The challenge had sparked confidence in me, but it had fizzled out completely when I stood at the edge of the line we were about to cross.

"Miss Walker?" He called and I sensed he understood the situation.

"I can't. Excuse me please" I hurried out of the door we'd come through, down the staircase, and through the front door. Nigel was waiting outside, his lips still stretched into a smile.

"Mr Bancroft has arranged for a driver to take you home" I nodded and he led me to the car waiting. I climbed in and Nigel closed the door after me.

The car pulled out of the driveway at the same time my phone pinged with a text and I grabbed it from my purse.

The car has been waiting since the moment we arrived.

    ~ Edmund Bancroft

My fingers tightened around my phone in rage.

That fucking bastard!