Complicated

by Ashley Love

  "You okay?" he asks me and I glance at him quickly, just enough time to take in his quizzical and slightly amused expression.

  "Yes..." I say, swallowing hard and clearing my throat, still pushing away from him. "Let's get started."

  He nods, eyeing me wearily as I turn to the book.

  "Okay," I take a deep breath. "Hagia Sophia, erected in—" I stutter slightly. Fuck, why did I say that? "Um...I mean, constructed in 532 c.e. Hagia Sophia's most unique feature is it's dome...which was very hard..." My breath hitches again, my face growing hot. What am I saying?!

  "Yes?" Harry says, looking at me perplexed, nodding encouragingly at me. I run a hand over my face.

  "Its most unique feature is it's floating dome, which was an architectural marvel," I say quickly, heaving a sigh at the end of my sentence.

  "Whoa, hold up," he says, pen flying across his page. "It was hard—"

  "It was an architectural marvel," I spit, my face pinkening.

  "Yeah, but why was it hard—"

  "It wasn't hard!" I exclaim, suddenly, and I swear my ears are going to burn off. Why is this happening to me? He's looking at me a little uneasily. "It was difficult..."

  "Okay," he says slowly, quirking an eyebrow at me. "Why was it difficult?"

  "Because...because..." I can't get the image of his dick out of my head. God fucking dammit all to hell. "Because it was. Didn't you do the reading?"

  "Um, yeah," he says, looking down into the book. "Uh..."

  "Harry, how many times have I told you," I snap, my temper flaring suddenly. "You need to come prepared to these lessons!"

  "Calm down," he says, his brow furrowing, his voice defensive, glaring at me. "I did read it, I can't remember fucking everything from one read though."

  "Well," I seethe, unable to argue with his logic, "you need to focus."

  He scowls at me. "I am focused."

  "Right," I say, glaring back at him. "Just...just keep it that way."

  Shit, maybe I should be the one keeping it that way.

  10

  The more I thought about the events of the day the more and more pissed off I became. Sure, he says he likes me, claims he wants to be with me but then he shoves his dick in the mouth of the first available groupie? What the hell?!

  And why am I so pissed off by it? He's my student. I'm his teacher. We've made out...I've asked him to fuck me...God, this is so fucking ridiculous. I turn on the TV and try to zone out, just lay across the bed and let the hotel cable burn my brain cells. But I can't. The image of his head tilted slightly back, lips parted, face screwed up in pleasure is burned in my mind.

  I hate him. I fucking hate him for doing this to me. For being so fucking gorgeous when he's so young and so off limits. For making me think that he liked me, for making me want him.

  My thoughts are jarred back to the present by a knock on my door. I sigh, flicking off the television as I stomp to the door. I swing it open and there he is, textbook tucked under his arm. But I barely notice that because he's panting a little, body covered in sweat, making his white wifebeater almost transparent against his skin.

  "Hey," he says, slipping past me to walk into the room, his bare arm brushing mine, leaving the slickness of his sweat on my skin. "I had a question about the diagram you were talking about..."

  But I'm not listening. I'm watching a bead of sweat trail from his curly head, down the side of his face, over his jaw and down his neck, disappearing into the neckline of his tank top.

  "Scarlett," he says and I snap out of it, looking into his eyes. He's grinning uncertainly at me. "Are you listening?"

  "Yes, what?" I ask a little harshly and he quirks an eyebrow before opening his book.

  "You said I had to know the church plan," he tells me, pointing to the diagram on the page. "But there are two."

  A bead of perspiration rolls off his face and falls right onto the middle of the page, and I just snap, all the events of the day crashing down on me. "Harry!" I exclaim, snatching the book from him. "You're sweating all over my book!"

  "Oh, I'm so sorry," he replies sarcastically, running a hand over his face. "I was at the gym."

  "You need to sit and concentrate on this stuff instead of gallivanting around. No wonder you've been slipping," I scold, slamming the book on the table and he scowls at me.

  "Maybe the reason I'm not doing so well is because the only thing I can think about is the teacher grabbing my—"

  "Harry!" I exclaim and he cuts off, crossing his arms over his chest and looking away, pouting. His stance extenuates his biceps and tightens his chest. Damn. "I'm just saying that maybe if you paid a little bit more attention to what you were reading and a little less time chasing groupies then maybe you wouldn't always be in here asking me asinine questions!"

  He doesn't say anything, just looks at me and I can feel my face color a little. I shift uncomfortably as a slow smirk tugs at his lips and he laughs a little. I nearly groan at the sound bubbling from his chest, low and throaty.

  "You're...you're jealous," he says, chuckling.

  "Oh, please!" I exclaim, crossing my arms over my chest defensively.

  "You are," he grins. "You wish it was you on your knees with my dick in your mouth."

  I hear the slap before I actually feel it sting my hand. His head is turned to the side, his arms falling to his sides in shock. I'm breathing heavy, my face red, humiliated. It was one thing to have the thought plaguing me from the back of my mind, it was an entirely different thing to have it spit in my face by him.

  His head turns slowly back to face me, green eyes on fire with rage. We just stare at each other for a moment and then it happens. His large hands clamp around my biceps, pushing me back up against the closed door, pressing his body flush against mine. He's warm, almost hot to the touch and he smells of sweat and spice. His face is millimeters from mine, his breath hot on my face. I struggle against him and he just grips me tighter, not saying anything.

  "What are you gonna do, Harry?" I pant, fighting the urge to wriggle my hips against his.

  "Give you what you want," he whispers, his voice low and seductive but there's a slight tremor in it. And when I laugh in his face his eyes darken a little, scowling.

  "You?" I say, all of my anger over not being able to have him coming to a boiling point. "Little sparkly dance boy? Probably couldn't even get it up."

  He growls and I gasp when his hands slide down my arms to grip my wrists and pin them up over my head against the door. He presses his hips hard into me and I feel him stirring beneath his basketball shorts. This is going too far. I'm not drunk anymore and I know what this will mean if I give in to this desire. This is wrong.

  "Harry, let me go," I order and his hands tighten around my wrists, pressing them back harder into the door behind me, grinding his hips slowly against mine. He's almost completely hard now and I want him so fucking bad.

  "Feels pretty hard to me," he pants, and I moan a little, my hips grinding back against his. Shit, this is so fucking wrong.

  "Harry," I sigh, struggling lightly against him. "We can't...you're my..."

  But my breathing is hitching, because he has buried his face in my neck, the sweat from his forehead slicking against my skin as he rolls his hips hard into mine. I fist my hands, nails digging into my palms as I feel a rush of pleasure between my legs. His lips brush my neck lightly, not really kissing, just rubbing against my skin.

  And I can't take it anymore. I'm sick of always doing the right thing, of being the good little girl who always does her homework and never takes the shortcut to get ahead. I'm tired of being the responsible one. God, I just want to feel him, skin on skin, mouth to mouth, inside me.

  His grip has loosened since he started grinding against me, concentrating on his pleasure and I'm easily able to push him off me. He looks at me surprised as he trips backwards. I charge forward, gripping his shoulders with my hands and his eyes are wide when I push him back onto the bed. I think his eyes are going to explode f
rom their sockets when I rip my shirt over my head and bring my hands down to unbutton my pants.

  "Take your clothes off," I order and he scrambles to remove his shoes and socks.

  I figure that if I do this quick, just get it out of my system, that I'll be okay. I'll be better and I won't want him anymore. Maybe it will be horrible. He tugs his wifebeater over his head and tosses it aside, and shit, there's no way this is going to be horrible. I push my jeans down my hips and push his shoulders so that he falls back onto the bed, still clad in his loose fitting shorts, erection straining against the fabric.

  I straddle his waist and his hands immediately go to my hips, pressing me hard against him, his breath coming in pants. And God, he's so fucking hard pressed against my center and all I want is our clothes gone and him inside me. I reach behind me and flick my bra open, sliding it down my arms and his eyes are big as saucers, glued to my chest. His hands loosen on my hips and skim, trembling up my stomach, eyes looking into mine for permission, and I nod.

  He takes my breasts in his large hands, massaging and molding them, his palms teasing my nipples. I moan a little and feel him jump, his movements stopping for a moment before continuing again. My hips are still rolling steady into him and fuck, I need these clothes off now.

  I slide back and he whines a little. Whether it's from loosing his grip on my chest or losing my weight from his lap I'm not sure but he gasps when my fingers grip the elastic of his shorts, tugging them down with his boxers. His length falls back against his stomach and all my movement stops as I just stare for a minute. Holy. Fucking. Shit. Yeah, there's no way in hell this is going to be horrible.

  I push my panties down my hips in a swift motion and his eyes are locked on my body as I climb over him, hovering over his straining cock. He's panting hard now, hands back on my hips, fingers digging in painfully, trying to tug me down against him.

  "Um...Scarlett?" he says quietly, as I reach between us and position him at my entrance.

  "What?" I pant. God, I just wanna...

  "We should...like, we need...a...a...condom...right? Do you have one? 'Cause, I mean, I don't have one..."

  Fuck, he's rambling. I remember what happened the last time one of us started rambling.

  "Shut up, I'm on the pill," I say, the feeling of him pulsing in my hand, so close to touching me, making me impatient. He swallows hard.

  "But I mean...we should still use one, right?" he asks, his voice shaking, his hands gripping my hips so hard I'm sure I'm going to have bruises in the morning.

  "Harry, I'm getting ready to fuck you. Are you trying to talk me out of it?" I ask and he shuts up immediately, his eyes sliding shut as I lower a little, feeling the silken head slide against my entrance.

  His mouth falls open in a silent "oh" of pleasure as I slide down onto him and I swear to God I could cum right then, just from the feeling of him stretching me so completely, seeing him lying out under me, his beautiful face contorted in pleasure.

  He's shaking hard, eyes staring glassily at where our bodies are connected and I come back to myself a little. His hands are still gripping my hips but they tremble against my skin and his breathing is hitching hard, almost as if he were sobbing. A horrible thought crosses my mind...

  "Harry," I say slowly, and it takes him a moment to meet my eyes, swallowing. "You...you aren't...you're not really a virgin, are you?" I ask, the words tasting bitter in my mouth. This is so fucking wrong.

  "No!" he exclaims quickly and I close my eyes, pursing my lips.

  "Oh really? How many times have you done it?" I ask and he looks away, shifting a little beneath me and my eyelids flutter as pleasure ripples through me.

  "Once..." he says, quietly. "And my mom kinda walked in on it and made us stop..."

  "Oh God," I groan, covering my face with my hands, feeling more and more like a sick pervert by the second.

  "But it counts!" he exclaims, hands pressing on my hips. "It totally still counts."

  "You never even came, Harry," I say, hanging my head back. "Fuck, this is so wrong. What the hell am I doing?"

  "No!" he practically screams as I try to pull away from him and before I know it, I'm on my back and he's on top of me, still inside me, pulsing. "Please, Scarlett," he moans, hips rocking against mine slightly and oh my God, I need this so bad. "Don't make me stop..." He breathes the last part into my neck, lips brushing my skin before placing a small peck there and I let my eyes slide shut, head falling back against the pillows. My hands move to his hips, holding them in my hands for a moment. He's still just nudging inside me slightly, rocking just enough to get a little friction but it's not enough. No, I want to feel him move.

  I give his hips a squeeze before running my hands up his back, smooth and warm under my touch. I cup my hand around the back of his neck, fingers fisting in the curls at the base of his skull, tugging slightly. He pulls his head back, his nose bumping mine and I press my mouth to his, tongue reaching out to taste him.

  "You wanna do it," I whisper against his lips, bringing my legs up, shifting my hips to give him better penetration, "then do it."

  He moans against me, raising himself higher on his elbows, pulling out a little before sliding back in and his arms tremble, his body shaking violently, pressing his forehead hard into mine. I look at his face, eyes squeezed shut, jaw clenched. He's trying so hard.

  "Calm down," I whisper soothingly, fingertips massaging the back of his head slowly and his face relaxes a little, pulling back and nudging back in again.

  "Oh my God," he mutters, burying his face in my neck and he feels so good, his body a contradiction of velvet skin stretched over hard sinewy muscle. I need this so bad. I need him to hang on.

  "Harry," I say, hands sliding down his back, feeling the muscles tight and rigid. "Aulus Metellus."

  "Huh?" he asks and I can feel his brow furrowing against my neck.

  "When and where," I say, pushing my hips needily up into his. "Tell me, Harry."

  "Um," he breathes, pulling out and then sliding back in again. "Roman, right?"

  "Yesssss," I hiss lowly as he bumps that spot inside me it usually takes men twenty minutes to find, if they find it at all. "Oh God..."

  "E-early first century," he breathes as he pulls out, pausing again to grit his teeth.

  "Made of?" I moan. He doesn't move and his hips twitch hard against me and I groan deep in my throat.

  "Bronze?" he questions and I nod against him.

  "Good..." I whimper as he gives me another slow thrust. "So good..."

  "Scarlett," he breathes, nuzzling his nose against me and he's starting to speed up a little.

  "Ara Pacis Augustae," I whisper in his ear, pressing kisses against the lobe and on the side of his face.

  "Ugh," he groans, hips rolling steady. "Scarlett..."

  "Tell me, Harry," I whisper, my nails raking down his back, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

  "Shit," he pants, raising himself on his hands, giving himself leverage to slam into me and I see stars. I haven't been fucked like this maybe ever. Jesus, my body is on fucking fire. "Thirteen to nine...B.C.E.?"

  "Oh God, Harry," I moan, wrapping my hands around his forearms, my body burning around him, his dick massaging me in just the right way. "Yes...please."

  "Holy..." His sentence is cut off with a grunt as he settles himself more on his hands and rolls his hips so fast that it makes me dizzy.

  His breathing hitches when my body sucks at him and I tell him I'm close. I ask him to hang on, just a few more seconds and he pulls his face from my neck to press his mouth to mine, tongue sliding in sloppily and that one taste of him is enough to have me moaning, my pussy clamping him in a vice that causes him to choke on his breath and his back to go rigid. My orgasm is intensified by his, feeling him shoot into me with a sob of pleasure that is so primal it almost sends me into another wave of pleasure.

  He collapses against me, face burying into my shoulder, pressing his hips hard into me, trying to push himself as de
ep as possible as he rides his wave. He's moaning softly as my body still sucks at him, hissing against me when it becomes too much. I hold him close to me and let him just feel this. I tell myself it's for him; he deserves his first real sexual experience to be loving and gentle. But I know it's not just for him.

  It's for me, too.

  11

  The infamous morning after. I've had a few of them in the past but none like that. Waking up at three thirty in the morning, his body curled tightly around mine, face buried in my hair, arms clamped in a death grip around my stomach. There was no way of sneaking out of it. And really, if it had been possible, I don't think I could have done that to him. Not after last night.

  I laid there panicking for a few moments, wondering what the hell I was going to do, stuck somewhere between revulsion at my own weakness and satisfied giddiness. God, that was amazing. I had stretched a little, relishing in the soreness of my muscles and he stirred behind me, whining a little. We can't stay this way, my mind chanted at me over and over again, along with things like: You're going to get caught and What the hell were you thinking?

  I had rolled over, causing him to huff, and he growled at me when I pushed his shoulder, waking him up. "Harry, you have to go," I had said and he moaned, holding me close, burying his face in my neck. "Harry, you have to go," I said again, shivering at the heat of his breath sighing against my skin.

  "Noooo," he whined, arms clutching at me and I steeled myself for what I had to say.

  "Harry, you have to get out of here," I said as harshly as I could considering he was cuddled against me like I was some fucking security blanket. What was wrong with me? I had never had problems telling his ass what to do before. "Your mother wakes you up at four."

  "Just...just five more minutes," he sighed, nuzzling his nose against my throat, lips kissing me softly. I pushed hard at his chest, sliding away from him, glad I couldn't see his face in the dark because I didn't think I could bear to see the hurt in his eyes.