"Really?" he said, pinching a bit of his beard between his thumb and forefinger and twisting it back and forth. His eyes drifted back down to her breasts.

"Have you decided on someone?" she asked.

He looked her in the eye and winced. "Well, Ms. Foche, frankly," he said, "I had already pretty much made up my mind on Mr. Sunami. He has all the academic qualifications for the job."

Joselyn did not miss the implication that there were other, non-academic criteria for the assistantship, criteria that a male exchange student from Sri Lanka, perhaps could not fulfill. From the way Dr. Bertrand was looking at her, she had a good idea what the other qualifications might be. She told herself that as long as he was interested in her sexually, she was the one holding the carrot; she was the one in control of the situation.

"I have the academic credentials, too," she said with assurance, letting her thighs slip apart a little.

Dr. Bertrand didn't miss the movement. His eyes snapped down between her legs to the fat hummock beneath the faded denim.

"Yes, I know that," he said, distractedly.

"Well, am I in the running or not?" she demanded, opening her knees even wider, making the tight crotch band of her shorts cut up into the soft meat of her pudenda, making the tendons on the insides of her thighs stand out against the sleek, tanned skin.

The professor opened his mouth to reply, but no sounds came out…

Joselyn's heart leapt. She knew she had him. He wanted her all right, wanted her so badly that he could taste it. She imagined that she could actually feel the heat of his excitement washing over her skin. Part of her wanted him to grovel, to crawl for it to kiss and suck her dainty toes for it, and another part of her, a part that she was only dimly aware of, wanted him to assault her, to ravage her unmercifully like the Aztec priest in her fantasy.