My Professor(57)

I can’t help but moan.

She’s such a juxtaposition: innocence wrapped in sex appeal. Her full red lips look like they’re made for doing bad deeds, but she uses them as if she’s a virgin, like she’s never held a man this way, taken him into her soft mouth purely for enjoyment.

Jealousy spears me at the idea of her on her knees for someone else. Never again.

Soft and slowly, her pace is maddening.

I know Candace hung up a long time ago. I confirmed, but I don’t tell Emelia. She doesn’t need to know; she just needs to trust me.

She takes me deeper and moans softly. I hold still, making her lean in more, come in closer. Her hands squeeze my upper thighs, wrinkling the fabric of my trousers as I hit the back of her throat. I feel her shudder as she tries to gasp for breath and then she quickly pulls back, gulps in air, only pausing for a moment before her lips tighten around me again. Her head bobs up and down, and I’m steel in her mouth. I feel like I might combust from staving off from my orgasm, but I hover, hover, hover on the edge for as long as possible. I want to prolong this. I want to reverse course, cup her hair, hold her steady, and fill her mouth. I want to take over and regain control, set the pace, and make it so she can only take what I give her.

Instead, I take my hand and twine my fingers through her hair reverently.

“Such a good girl,” I tell her, and her eyes flutter closed as her fingers dig painfully into my thighs. If she were in my position, she would have come undone in that instant.

I’m learning so much by simply sitting here and watching her, cataloguing everything about her.

I’m a greedy bastard, accepting so much of her devotion. Her cheeks are flushed pink. Her eyes are watering. Her lips are swollen and her lipstick is smeared in such a dirty show of desire.

It takes all of my gathered willpower to tug her hair and gently pull her off me.

Her look of shock is followed swiftly by confusion. She knows I was close. I was starting to buck my hips and thrust up in rhythm with her mouth, but this is a complicated path we’re going down, and I want to get everything exactly right.

The first time I come, it’s not going to be in her mouth. I want more than that from her. I want it all, naked flesh to naked flesh. I want to be sunk in her to the hilt.

Her confusion is melting away though, replaced by hurt and quite possibly feelings of rejection, and I won’t have it. I tug her up and onto my lap, cradling her jaw in my hand.

“You’re a vision.”

Truly, it’s like I’ve conjured her from thin air. Everything about her, from the slight wave of her dark brown hair and her soft fringe parted and matted down with sweat to the tender way she drags her fingertip along my chest, forming the shape of an invisible heart. If I didn’t feel the weight of her on my lap, I doubt I’d be able to convince myself she’s real.

“Let me take you out on a date. A proper dinner, a show—whatever you want.”

It takes a long moment before she shakes her head.

And then she starts to slide off me. She’s gone before I can grab ahold of her and force her to stay.

“This was lovely, Professor, but I have somewhere I need to be.”

She’s already collecting her bag, and I let her, deciding then and there that I’m not going to chase her. That’s not going to get me what I want. Not with Emelia.





Chapter Twenty-Two





Emelia



* * *



It’s early Thursday morning, and I’m sitting at the table in my apartment, pushing around some yogurt and granola in a bowl, trying to force myself to take a bite. Sonya and I are on the phone. We’ve found chatting in the morning works best since we’re both early risers. It’s too hard to sync our schedules in the evenings. I leave the office later than she does, and she’s usually with Wesley anyway.

“I can’t believe it’s only two weeks until your wedding.”

“Don’t remind me! I have a to-do list a mile long. I don’t even think I can get everything done unless I forego sleep until the night before.”

“Okay, well, obviously, don’t do that. No one wants a zombie bride. What’s left? I can help.”

“Thanks for the offer, but it’s not really stuff I can foist onto you. Are you going to write my vows?”

I smile. “I could if you needed me to. I’m sure there’s a ton of examples online I could just copy.”

She laughs. “Good to know.”

“What else?”

She sighs as she starts to list everything off. “I need to call and confirm all the vendors are still good to go. Check in with the caterers. Finalize the seating plan. Oh, that reminds me, have you found yourself a plus-one yet?”

My spoon clinks against my bowl as I push around a chunk of granola.

I went to MIT yesterday so I could witness Professor Barclay teach, and the encounter ended with me on my knees in his office. Cue red cheeks.

“No. No plus-one.”

“Are you kidding me? There’s not one guy in Boston who’s caught your eye since you moved? What about Zach?”

“Zach is really nice.”

He’s probably the closest thing I have to a friend at work outside of Meera and Hugo. Sometimes we chat in the break room in the mornings. Once, last week, he brought me a sandwich when he noticed I hadn’t left my cubicle during my lunch break (both because I wanted to get some work done and because I was hoping to catch sight of Professor Barclay). I suppose if I were going to invite anyone to Sonya’s wedding, it would be him.