Kissing Galileo: Dear Professor Book #2

by Penny Reid

  “Em, I kno—”

  “I mean, now that I’ve seen and felt your penis, I might love that part of you most of all.”

  I tried to stop the wry smile and failed. She sounded completely serious.

  “But your body is always going to be beautiful to me,” she continued, her fingers curling into my torso. “Because it’s where you are. It houses that massive brain of yours, which is responsible for my second and third favorite parts of you.”

  “Second and third?”

  “Your sass and your sweetness.”

  “I have sass?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Come. On. You know what I mean. And stop trying to change the subject. Please tell me that you had the surgery for yourself, because you truly wanted it, and not because of me.”

  I slid my hands down her arms to her hips. “It was uncomfortable for me, especially when I was active. And I was allowing my disdain for the fickleness of physical attraction to keep me in a state of discomfort. When I realized what I was doing, giving other people power over my decisions, as though I could spite them by making myself uncomfortable, I decided to have the skin removed.”

  She nodded, some of the anxiety clearing from her scrutinizing stare, but she still looked worried.

  Sighing, I placed a kiss on her lovely lips. “Do you still want to shower?”

  Emily continued to nod, pulling away to undress, her gaze still somewhat conflicted. I moved to the glass shower and turned on the water, waiting until the temperature was just right before removing my pants, wishing I’d told her about this weeks ago. I didn’t want the fact that I hadn’t told her to be made into something it wasn’t. At one point, I’d made it a big deal, I’d made the skin important, I’d allowed it to symbolize something for me. But now, it just simply didn’t.

  Emily walked past me as I pulled off my shirt, and I paused, the arms of the shirt still at my wrists because I was momentarily caught, mesmerized by the sight of her naked body beneath the spray of the water.

  “You can watch,” she said conversationally, having caught me staring. “Or you can join me.”

  “Join you.”

  She grinned, backing up to make room for me as I tore the constraining cuffs from my wrists. Her gaze moved over my body and I stiffened a little but forced myself to keep moving. I wondered what she saw when she looked at me. The scars? The loose skin still between my legs and under my upper arms? The stretch marks all over my body? They’d never disappear but might eventually fade until they weren’t as noticeable.

  Grabbing the soap behind her, I waited for her verdict, growing more uncomfortable the longer her eyes moved over me.

  But then, she closed the distance between us, her hands reaching, grasping, like she couldn’t wait to touch me. “Can we be naked for the rest of the day? Can I kiss you everywhere? Will you kiss me everywhere? How do you feel about nudes? I mean, photos?”

  “Photos? What?”

  She grimaced. “I’m sorry. Too soon? Should I put a ring on it first?” Emily lifted to her tiptoes, the front of her body sliding against mine such that all those unpleasant ponderings and questions vacated my brain in an instant.

  In fact, what were we even talking about?

  “I can be patient,” she said, her hands slipping down along with the water’s current. “I will be the picture of patience and the portrait of prudence until you’re ready to send me nudes.”

  A laugh erupted from my chest as I finally caught up with what she’d not-so-subtly been implying. “You’re joking.”

  She merely smiled, gazing up at me, her hand coming between us to slide along my cock with an open palm.

  “God. Em.” My body shuddered as I gripped the wall behind her for balance. My lungs on fire, I released a shaky breath.

  “I think you underestimate how obsessed I am with you. Honestly, you should be afraid,” she said as she stroked me, sounding completely reasonable, if not a little amused.

  “Obsessed? Really?” My voice gruff, I glared down at her where I caged her in. My hips rolled reflexively as I thrust into her hand.

  “Yes. Obsessed.” She placed a kiss on my chin. “And I have a superactive imagination. I think I’ve actually imagined this moment before.”

  Fuck.

  I couldn’t think. I could only . . . glare. And try not to come, yet.

  “It would’ve been that week after you had the advocate appointed, when I was taking your class.”

  Shit shit shit shit.

  I couldn’t look at her anymore, I was so close, and her words were electrifying.

  “I think the subject being covered was quasi-experimental designs, and you were standing at the front of the class, doing that thing where you pinch your bottom lip while someone was talking, trying to answer your question. I imagined this. Doing this, to you, in the shower.” Her voice grew husky, and she leaned forward to whisper in my ear, “But before you come, I want you in my mouth.”

  I shook my head, because it was too late. I was coming. My limbs trembled with the force of it, of the picture she painted with her words, and that I believed her. I believed her when she said she’d been fantasizing about me, wanting me all this time.

  Headless to the mess I’d made, I pulled her against me, wrapped her in my arms, and buried my face in her neck.

  Emily snuggled closer, and we stood under the warm spray, breathing deeply, catching our breath, until she spoke.

  “It was your sass, back then, that got me hot.” Her voice sounded distant, absorbed with the memory. And then she laughed. “You were so sassy!”

  I sighed, pulling away just far enough to find and claim her lips, kissing the bottom one first, and then the sweet cupid’s bow on the top.

  When I came up for air, her gaze snagged mine as did her smile. She looked happy.

  “You’re so beautiful,” I said, my attention moving between her happy smile and her happy eyes. Her happiness was stunning.

  “Thank you,” she said, her grin growing. “So are you.”

  I returned her smile, somehow intrinsically knowing she meant the same, that she found my happiness beautiful too.

  Epilogue

  *Victor*

  -One year later-

  “Nobody looks good naked.” Emily crossed her arms, lifting her eyebrows in one of her classic I dare you to disagree with me and my superior logic looks. It was one of my favorites.

  “False.” Or, as Andy might say, Fake news. “You look superb naked.”

  She shook her head in a quick movement, rebuffing my attempt to kiss her cheek by flattening her palms against my chest. “First of all, I look superb naked to you, just like you look superbly, magnificently naked to me. But all human bodies are Monets, not Rockwells. You get up close and no one looks good naked. Body perfection is a myth perpetuated by airbrushed magazine covers!”

  I squinted at her and her impassioned words. I could remember the path we’d taken to arrive at this present moment, but for the life of me I couldn’t understand why we were talking about this.

  Wracking my brain, I reviewed the events of the evening. We’d gone to Anna and Luca’s engagement party. As far as I could tell, everything had gone well, she seemed happy, fine. We stopped by Rain City Café for coffee and a biscotti, discussed our weekend plans, and then drove home.

  “Remind me, what does this have to do with anything?”

  Her hands dropped, and then settled on her waist. “Naked sex.”

  Naked sex.

  Emily’s eyebrows arched over her gorgeous brown eyes, like she was waiting for me to defend myself, or argue.

  Instead, I shrugged. “What about it? Do you want to do it? Now?” I made a show of tugging at my suit tie. “Let’s go.”

  My words seemed to both fluster and frustrate her, and she crossed her arms, her chin lifting stubbornly. “See? This is the problem.”

  “You don’t like my tie?” I teased, pulling it completely free from its knot and walking past her to the closet.

/>   She followed. “No. I love that tie. The problem is, when I bring it up, you’re happy to do it—or you seem happy to do it. But then, days pass, we get busy, and when it’s time for happy-sexy-fun-times again, unless I specifically ask you to take all your clothes off, you keep your shirt on.”

  “What? I don’t do that.” . . . do I?

  “Yes. You do. I’ve been charting it on my phone and you never take off your shirt unless I ask.”

  “You’ve been charting it on your phone?!” I turned completely around to find she’d pulled out her cell and was showing me the screen.

  “Well.” Her arm dropped and she looked caught between embarrassment and determination. “I know how you like data, and it was only a suspicion at first. But now . . .” She lifted the phone again, giving her hand a little shake. “Look.”

  Dividing my frown between her and the phone, I plucked it out of her hand and examined the screen. Sure enough, she’d tracked my shirt-wearing habit, which both impressed and irritated me. Also, as an aside, her tracking also proved that we had a lot of sex, which just impressed me.

  Heaving a sigh, I gave her back my eyes. “I’m not really sure what to say.”

  Emily seemed to be bouncing between frustrated and worried. “Okay, I am sorry I tracked it. I’m sorry. Do you forgive me? I’m not tracking anything else, I promise. But this is important to me. I love you and your body, and I want all of it!”

  I rubbed my forehead with stiff fingers. “I honestly had no idea. I guess I’ll try to make sure I take my shirt off from now on.”

  “Good.” She stepped closer, into my space, her gaze hopeful. “Good. Thank you.”

  We studied each other for a long moment. Or rather, she gazed at me while I studied her, and her words from earlier struck out at me, still ringing false.

  “But, Emily.” I grasped her upper arms lightly, gazing deep into her eyes because I wanted her to believe me. “You truly have a superbly naked form. Top rate.”

  “Thank you. So do you.”

  Something inside me cringed away from her words. I recognized the impulse for what it was. I also recognized it for what it wasn’t. I didn’t consciously think of myself as anything other than attractive to her. The cringing was an instinct, years of evidenced-based, negative reinforcement and punishment training that taught me appearance didn’t and shouldn’t matter to self-worth. Therefore, compliments about external attractiveness were cringeworthy.

  She must’ve seen something change behind my eyes, because her fingers gripped the front of my shirt and gave me a little shake. “Argh!”

  “Look.” I covered her hands, giving in to a grin. “I know you love me, and want me, just as I am.”

  “Good!”

  “And, like I said, I didn’t realize I was always wearing a shirt. I don’t want to be, I don’t need to be, so I don’t mind taking it off.”

  “Double good!”

  “But Em, although I admire your dedication to evidence-based arguments and solid data collection practices, you could’ve just told me how you feel.”

  “Really?” Her voice was high and belied her disbelief, but her hands did relax on my shirt.

  “Yes. Really. I love you and your body, and if you were hiding it from me—consciously or unconsciously—I’d be upset too.”

  She was nodding enthusiastically. “Yes. Exactly. That’s exactly right. I love everything that makes you uniquely you. The shape of your calves and that freckle on your right shoulder.” Her eyes moved to the spot, like she was searching for it under my clothes.

  “So, you admit you were wrong?” Gently, I pried her hands away and smoothed the front of my shirt.

  “About the tracking?”

  “No. I mean, yes. Don’t track, just talk to me. I mean about your earlier statement.”

  Her stare became laced with suspicion. “Which one?”

  “That nobody looks good naked.”

  Emily opened her mouth, as though a protest were on the tip of her tongue, and then she snapped her mouth shut and nodded. “Yes. Fine. All right. I concede the point. You look good naked. So you should probably get naked.”

  I chuckled. “Stage five naked? Or—”

  “Stage one naked.” Her fingers moved to the buttons of my shirt and she pressed a quick, urgent kiss against my lips.

  “Not stage three?” I teased, moving my hands to her thighs and lifting her long skirt.

  “You want to wear a garter belt? I wouldn’t mind. You’d look hot in it.”

  Now I laughed. “Oh? You think so?”

  “I know so.” Her enthusiastic nod made a reappearance. “Because I’ve fantasized about it.”

  That had me snapping my mouth shut and standing straighter, which gave her plenty of time to finish undoing the buttons of my shirt and pushing it from my shoulders.

  But then I blurted, “You’ve fantasized about me in a garter belt?”

  Emily laughed, low and husky. “More like, I’ve fantasized about you being the lingerie model and me coming in for a private showing.”

  “Oh.”

  Well.

  Okay.

  I nodded, not minding the sound of that. Even more, I liked that I’d lifted her long skirt to her hips and now had free access to her backside.

  “What would my name be? Fuchsia?”

  She grinned, and then she laughed in earnest. I loved her laugh.

  “Um, what about Cyan? Or, I know, Slate.”

  “Slate? Like the stone?”

  “Or maybe Navy?”

  “Navy?”

  “What?” She sounded indignant. “I like Navy. Navy is better than United Nations Blue.”

  I barked a laugh, letting her skirt fall in favor of capturing her cheeks and bringing her mouth to mine for a deep kiss.

  I’d learned a lot from Emily Von over the last eighteen months. Some of the knowledge had focused on areas I’d previously considered myself to be ignorant. Some had opened my eyes to my ignorance in areas I’d previously considered myself an expert.

  But mostly, Emily had taught me how to be brave.

  “Okay. Call me Navy. Do you want to see a robe?”

  She shivered, using the tip of her index finger to draw a line along the outside of my zipper to my belt. “Stage five naked?” She made a clicking sound with her tongue.

  “What’s wrong with stage five naked? Then you can touch me everywhere.”

  Leaning an inch backward, Emily’s lips curved into a small smile. “As someone wise once told me, ‘Just because a thing is allowed, doesn’t mean it should be done.’”

  ~THE END~

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  About the Author

  Penny Reid is the New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today Bestselling Author of the Winston Brothers, Knitting in the City, Rugby, Dear Professor, and Hypothesis series. She used to spend her days writing federal grant proposals as a biomedical researcher, but now she just writes books. She’s also a full time mom to three diminutive adults, wife, daughter, knitter, crocheter, sewer, general crafter, and thought ninja.

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  Coming September 2019

  “Nothing takes the taste out of peanut butter quite like unrequited love.”

  Charles M. Schulz, Charlie Brown / Peanuts

  *Scarlet*

  May 2004

  Caution tape barred the way to the chorus room. Swallowing air, my attention moved from the yellow tape to the hall beyond it, to a white poster board next to the door. The sign had been set on an easel and read, WET PAINT – DO NOT ENTER.

  “No. No, no, no,” I said to the sign, my eyes darting again to the yellow tape.

  I gripped the paper sack holding my lunch as a quiet sound of despair tumbled forth. Heart galloping, pits sweating, my tongue tasted sour with dread.

  Officially, I wasn’t allowed to eat in the chorus room. No one was. But early on in my freshman year, I’d snuck inside and hid myself between two rows of chairs, careful to dash inside before Mrs. McClure arrived for her lesson planning hour. I’d become quite skilled at leaving unnoticed after the bell rang for fourth period, when her students meandered in.

  This had worked for the last (almost) two years, but it obviously wouldn’t work today. Making matters worse, this was the last month of school before summer break. There was no sneaky way to find a place to sit in the lunchroom when I’d spent the whole year not eating in the lunchroom.

  Tugging on the recently repaired strap of my very, very old backpack—some might even consider it an antique—I stuffed the food inside, harsh movements made clumsy by the swelling frustration in my chest. But then I paused, taking a slow, deep breath, and telling my shaking hands and thundering heart to calm down.