My Professor(86)

I’m not sure how the dynamics of our relationship will change as we grow closer. I wonder if we’ll always want the same things, if we’ll always fit together the way we do now. The simple fact that I’ve started to call him Jonathan and not Professor Barclay is significant in itself, but while we’re becoming equals everywhere else, I’m not sure the same rules will apply in every circumstance.

His suite is twice the size of the room I’ve been staying in—plush, luxurious, a notch above. Housekeeping must have come for turndown service because a lamp near the bed is lit, along with a floor lamp in the far corner. It’s enough light that we don’t need to bother turning on anything else, but it’s still moody, tempting. I set my clutch down on a console by the door and watch as Jonathan fixes himself a drink. I wait, but he doesn’t offer me one. Though he’s been nothing but a courteous gentleman all night, now he’s not. Now he stirs his drink slowly, unbothered by the fact that I’m waiting for him to finish. He turns slowly and watches me as he takes his first sip. He doesn’t like it. He adds more seltzer, stirs it again.

I stay positioned near the door, playing the same game he is.

He takes another sip then holds the thick cut crystal glass near his hip. When he speaks, I’m captivated.

“Why don’t you come in?” he says, almost mockingly.

“You didn’t invite me to,” I say quietly.

He nods with approval, a certain clever mischief playing in his expression.

“The thing about you, Emelia, is that I don’t have to tie you up or pin you down to ensure you comply. You’re inclined to do exactly as I say, and more than merely abiding me, you do it because you need it as much as I do. You get such pleasure out of being my pet. Undress for me.”

Shock must color my expression, but he doesn’t look at me to see what I think of his assessment or his command. He walks unhurriedly to a lounge chair in the corner of the room, the darkest spot in the suite. He’s not nearly as lit as I’d like him to be. I have no way to discern the nuances of his expression, no way to determine if he’s annoyed or pleased that I’m still standing here getting my bearings.

I’m aware of his request and the fact that he hasn’t issued it a second time.

He seems content to sit there like a devil in black, reposed with his drink in hand.

I swallow past the lump in my throat and take a step forward on shaky legs.

My dress is floor-length and heavy, and thanks to the zipper that sits in the middle of my back, I was only able to get it on with the help of another bridesmaid. I walk over to Jonathan and turn, giving him my back so he knows what I need him to do. He leans forward and carefully tugs the tiny zipper down until it hits the base of my spine. The soft fabric splits apart as he sits back to let me know I’ll have to finish the rest on my own.

I turn around to face him, moving far enough away that he couldn’t reach out and touch me if he tried. I feel off limits, a prized possession set high up on a shelf, to be admired but never touched.

His eyes smolder as I push the thin straps of my dress off one shoulder and then the other. I’ve undressed like this a million times, and yet it feels new, like I’ve never felt fabric slip over my skin. Goose bumps bloom down my arms as the dress falls off me and pools at my hips. Jonathan takes another sip of his drink, finishing it off, and then he drops the glass onto the table beside him, forgetting about it in lieu of pinning his full attention on me.

I shimmy the garment down off my hips and let it fall the rest of the way to gather on the floor at my feet. I’m left in my panties, strapless bra, and heels.

I have no doubt he enjoys the effect my shoes have on my legs, but I still bend down and undo the straps, stepping out of them with a quiet sigh of relief. I feel better on my bare feet, smaller, yes, but no less sexy.

When I’m done, I wait for him to continue.

What should I do next?

A long moment passes while I wait with bated breath, but Jonathan merely sits there with all the patience in the world. Then I understand suddenly that I’m not done. I haven’t finished doing what he told me to do.

Undress for me.

I wet my lips, stalling. Then, trying to hide my trembling hands, I reach back and unclip my bra. It sticks in place for a moment, and then it slips down and lands on top of my crumpled dress. Standing before him in nothing but a pair of panties, I feel delicate and exposed, raw and cut open.

I’m conscious of every movement, my ribs rising and falling with every anxious breath.

Jonathan rubs his lower lip then leans forward.

“Come over here.”

Without a moment’s hesitation, I step over my dress and bra and heels, making my way to him quickly, relieved when he takes hold of my hips and pulls me down onto his lap. The cool fabric of his tuxedo makes me shiver. We’re a study in contrast: clothed and unclothed, confident and nervous. His hands slip up and cover my naked skin, gliding higher until he has a grip on the back of my neck.

“My little Emelia. Your speech was beautiful tonight,” he says, complimenting me. “You were beautiful tonight.”

I float with the gift of his praise, leaning forward to steal a quick kiss.

He allows it for a moment and then he pulls me back, separating us just enough that I’m cold in the hotel suite, and he must register it. The chill in the air is evidenced all across my body, but he doesn’t move to bring me closer or wrap me in his arms.