by Eden Bradley
Yes. Better.
Her body filled up with pleasure that quickly became an urgent stab of desire as she imagined it was Jagger’s hands pouring the silky sauce over her skin. Him licking it off.
Yes!
Her breasts ached, her sex ached. She moved both hands down between her legs, spread the lips of her sex, and circled her clitoris with the vibrator, then moved it to dip inside. Pleasure shivered through her system, building and building. She pressed the vibe a little harder, closed her eyes, and saw Jagger’s face hovering over hers. In her mind, it was his hands doing these lovely things to her. His mouth, yes, licking that sauce from her flesh.
Jagger, not Ben.
She’d always fantasized to the food images while thinking of Ben. Never anyone else. Never any other man untillnow.
She pushed all thoughts of Ben from her mind, feeling a little guilty. But her body needed Jagger now.
Needed him. Jagger.
Her body hovered on the edge, then she pressed the vibe hard against her clit, sending her tumbling over the edge.
She cried out as she came. And in her mind was a blur of hands and mouths, rubbing, sucking, licking, the flavors sweet and salty and pure sex. But it was all him. All Jagger.
And it felt too good for her to care.
Mia stuffed her notes into her brown leather briefcase after her Friday night Beginning Sociology class. She was looking forward to the weekend. It was always a bit of a shock to her system, the start of every semester. She’d need the weekend to shift gears in her head. And there was one subject she was really going to have to work on shifting: Jagger James.
She had to stop thinking about him. She’d come to class today, unsure as to how she could even look at him. Especially after he’d starred in her vivid, lustfullfantasy the night before, driving her to such an intense climax she was left shaking and weak. But he’d been missing from class.
Her body was heating up again just thinking about the previous night, how sharp her pleasure had been. How devastating.
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and straightened up. Her nipples were hard, stimulated even by the caress of her sweater through the thin lace of her bra.
Yes, get home, get back into bed, and do it again.
“Hi.”
She turned around. “Oh. Hi.”
She could not believe he was standing there.
“Jagger. Um…what can I help you with?”
“I had to miss class today and I wanted to see if there was a reading assignment.”
“You can find out by looking at your syllabus.” She didn’t mean to sound so cold. A defensive gesture, she supposed. She was burning up inside, with embarrassment, the shock of finding him there when she’d just been imagining him doing lewd and lovely things to her body.
Christ, Mia, get a grip!
“Ah, yes. I suppose I could.” He had a deep voice, deep and husky. Like wood smoke and honey. “But I wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
She could swear her sex was going damp, just being this close to him. He was even better up close.
His skin really was as smooth as milk chocolate.
“I wanted to know if we could have coffee sometime.”
Her breath stalled for a moment. “Coffee?”
“Coffee.” He shrugged. “And talk.”
“Jagger, I…you’re my student. It’s not a good idea. If you have questions about the class, I have office hours every Tuesday evening.”
“I do have questions, but they’re more…personal.”
He smiled down at her, that stunning flash of strong, white teeth that went through her like a small shock.
Her fingers tightened around the handle of her briefcase.
“We shouldn’t be having personallconversations.”
He leaned into the doorway, a casuallpose. “I disagree. Why don’t we try it and find out?”
“You’re very confident, aren’t you?”
“I always thought confidence was a positive trait.”
“It is. It’s just…”
She couldn’t even carry on a conversation with him!
What on earth was wrong with her?
He reached out then, laid his fingertips on her forearm. “Think about it. I’ll ask again.”
Heat shivered through her, and her mind blurred.
She shook her head.
“I can’t. I’m your teacher.”
“Yes, I know.” He leaned in, untillhe was only inches from her. She should back up, she knew, put some distance between them. But she couldn’t do it. “But we’re both adults,” he went on. “Think about it, Professor Curry. Mia Rose.”
He said her name softly. She couldn’t help that she loved the sound of it. She shook her head again.
“You should go now.”
“Alright. But I’ll be back.”
He smiled at her, turned, and walked away, leaving her dizzy with confusion. He would come back, she understood that. What she wasn’t clear about was whether or not she wanted him to.
He was too smooth, too charming. And so beautifullup close her fingers itched to touch him, just to brush her fingertips over his mouth.
God.
She was making it worse, letting herself think about things like this. But she couldn’t help herself. She was all twisted up inside where he was concerned, totally out of control.
Dangerous.
Why did that idea make her shiver inside?
That night she went home and went to bed, ordered herself to go to sleep. But later she woke in the dark, tangled in the sheets, dream images of him flickering still in front of her eyes. And her hand went between her legs. She rubbed her wet cleft, pressing the heellof her hand hard onto her clit, sinking two fingers deep inside her. And with Jagger’s face once more in her mind’s eye, she came into her hand, calling his name into the night.
Jagger paced the length of his loft apartment. He couldn’t seem to settle down, and it was well after midnight. He paused by one of the enormous windows and stared out over the city. San Francisco’s Mission District had a long history as the home to drug dealers, flophouses, and prostitutes, but buildings like his all over the downtown area were being bought and remodeled, old warehouses converted into loft apartments.
He’d been lucky to get this place. It was big, and it had a great view. He’d spent his entire savings buying the top-floor apartment and remodeling the kitchen. It had seemed important at the time, to have the dream kitchen. Even though after working in the restaurant business for too long, he’d lost the pleasure cooking had once given him. Too many long hours in the heat and the steam, cooking at such a frantic pace he didn’t have a moment to really think about what he was doing. Simply working like some sort of automaton. Like a trained dog. And there was nothing left at the end of the night but the hard scents of oilland garlic on his clothes. No reallsatisfaction. But it had seemed right to have a chef’s kitchen, anyway.
Mostly he ignored the kitchen these days, preferring to eat at one of the dozens of great locallhole-in-the-wall restaurants or with his downstairs neighbors, Jean and her partner, Leilani, who was a phenomenallcook. But he never tired of the view from every window in the apartment. He loved the lights of the city below him, even the neon of the club signs. It seemed like magic to him, the mood and the energy of the city caught in a colorfullsplash of light.
But tonight the view brought him no peace. His mind was too busy, full of images of Mia Rose Curry’s face. Her voice. Her scent.
Hell, he’d almost lost it earlier tonight standing next to her in the classroom. Her scent had hit him like a blow to the gut. Vanilla, but with an edge of some exotic spice. Good enough to eat.
He wanted her. Had to have her. He understood her concerns about the taboo nature of a relationship with him. But it didn’t have to be a relationship. He wasn’t in the market for a new relationship. Not anymore. Not after the last few disasters.
After Dana, he’d bee
n able to bounce back. He’d fallen hard for her when he was starting college.
Love at eighteen was excruciating. Especially when she’d left to go to another schoollacross the country a year later. The hardest part had been that she didn’t seem all that upset over leaving him behind.
Elena had been harder. She’d been furious that he’d decided to give up his career. They’d had plans, and those plans hadn’t included him going back to schoollto get his master’s. What it had come down to was that she wasn’t willing to wait. A year later and he still had the ring in its velvet box in his dresser drawer.
No, he needed some time off. But that didn’t mean he had to go without female companionship entirely, did it?
A night, maybe two, a few weeks together. He was sure they could keep it under wraps. And the blast of energy coming off her, the heat rolling off her skin tonight, told him she wanted this as much as he did.
He had to feellher skin under his hands. Had to kiss that lush, little red mouth of hers. Red as ripe cherries, without a trace of lipstick on. And the green of her eyes against all those midnight-black curls, her skin pale as any Irish rose should be.
He loved the idea of the contrast of their skin, couldn’t get that image out of his mind. What would she feelllike beneath his hands? What would it take to break through that coollveneer she wore like armor?
The ringing of the telephone startled him, and he shook his head as he flipped his cell open.
“Speak.”
“Hey, Jagger, it’s Jean.” Jean and Leilani lived in one of the ground-floor apartments. They’d been together for years. And they’d been his best friends since he’d moved into the building just over a year ago. Right after his breakup with Elena.
“You still there, Jagger?”
“What? Yeah, I’m here. What’s up?”
“Leilani is doing one of her Hawaiian pig roasts tonight. Come on down and eat. We’re having a few people over.”
“I don’t know, Jean. I think I’m staying in tonight.”
“It’s Friday night.”
“Yeah. I have a few things to take care of. I’m just gonna lay low.”
“Is everything okay? You sound a little out of it.”
He ran a hand over his jaw. Was he okay? He wasn’t sure. “Yeah, I’m fine.”
“Okay. Maybe you’ll come by tomorrow for leftovers?”
“Sure, I might do that.”
“Good. Then you can tell us what’s up with you, because I can tell it’s something.”
“Come on, Jean. Everything’s fine.”
“Yeah, yeah, Jagger. Have a good night.”
They hung up, and he tossed his cell phone on the couch. He was a little taken aback that Jean had heard something in his voice. That this thing with Mia Rose was affecting him so much. Enough to make him want to hide in his apartment. To make him think about his past relationships.
What the hell was wrong with him?
Restless, he moved across the wood plank floors, pausing to turn on the stereo. The soulfullsounds of Miles Davis filled the air, the old jazz his father, a musician himself, had taught him to appreciate during his summers in New Orleans. Those summers with his father had been all about music.
Music and the food that was unique to the Big Easy.
He paused a moment to appreciate a few sultry notes, then turned toward the bathroom, the only room in the apartment with full walls. He’d done the tile work himself, using gray slate on the floors and stone in the shower, on the counters. He loved the naturalllook of it, yet it had a stark, urban feellat the same time. Serenity and energy. Balanced.
He reached into the shower and turned the hot water on full blast, stripped down, then stepped in. He wanted the water, the warmth, to relax him. Instead, the heat of it only made him burn more inside. And all he could think of was having her in there with him, her naked skin pale against him. Even better, her wet flesh beneath the translucent fabric of a white cotton T-shirt.
Yeah.
His cock went hard, gave a jerk, and his hand went there, pressed on the shaft.
He leaned back against the wall, let the water fallover him. The shower had always been sensuallto him. He loved to shower with a woman, couldn’t do it without the sex. He had a reallthing for water, for seeing and feeling a woman wet all over.
Get Mia Rose in here. Get her naked and wet.
He wrapped his fingers around his cock and stroked, then turned so the showerhead sprayed right onto him, hot and needle-sharp.
Oh yeah.
He stroked faster, letting the water do its work on him, his body heating up, buzzing with lust, with pleasure. And in his head he saw Mia Rose there with him, imagined what her bare breasts would look like with the hot water cascading over them. He would go down on his knees, worship her wet body.
Spread her thighs…
He groaned, his cock hardening even more.
What would she taste like?
He thrust his hips, pumping his cock into his hand.
Had to have her, had to have her…
He would have her.
His climax came down on him hard and fast, shaking him to the core. Pleasure coursed through his cock, his body, his limbs. And all he saw was her.
Mia Rose.
Yes, he would have her. Had to find a way. He’d do whatever he had to. Because this woman he’d seen only a few times was already becoming an obsession.
He would have her, get her out of his system, then move on. Hadn’t he spent this last year learning how to do exactly that?
He leaned into the coolltiles behind him, letting the water wash away his seed. It would take more than stroking himself to climax in the shower to get her out of his mind. He knew that. He’d have to find a way to get past that coollreserve of hers. To get beyond the restrictions of a student-teacher relationship.
Fuck it. He’d figure it out. Had to.
Had to.
Because he was pretty damn sure he’d lose his mind if he didn’t.
chapter two
MONDAY AFTERNOON AND MIA’S CLASSROOM
WAS STIFLING. It was one of those rare warm days in San Francisco that always came at the oddest times of year, and whoever had used the room last had turned off the air. She flipped the thermostat as she passed it, moving to the front of the classroom.
She took her light sweater off, laying it over the back of the chair behind her desk, then pulled some papers from her briefcase and set them on the podium.
Monday had come all too quickly. She’d spent the weekend doing what she always did: gardening, firming up the coming week’s lesson plans, drinking a steaming latte from the espresso cart as she wandered the locallfarmers’ market Sunday morning, admiring the rows of gorgeously colored produce. On Sunday night she went home and made herself a fairly superb ratatouille, took a good book to bed, then quickly tossed it aside to watch the Food Network while she brought herself to orgasm over and over. With her pink vibrator, with her hands, driven by the scent of her dinner in the air.
Jagger James’ face hadn’t left her mind for one moment.
The first day of a new week. It had passed slowly.
She had spent the day agonizing over seeing him in class. God, she was behaving like some twelve-year-old with her first crush.
But she had to admit, Jagger was the first man she’d felt any sparks for in a very long time. Too long.
Although Mia had always prided herself on being a sexuallsophisticate of sorts—she did teach the subject, after all, and had experimented with a number of things—it had been half a year since she’d had sex with anyone. Her little pink vibrator had become her best friend, and she hadn’t minded at all.
Untillnow.
She wanted him. Wanted him so desperately her breath caught simply imagining his face. Those amazing eyes, like two pieces of clear gray quartz, set off by his smooth coffee-with-cream skin. He was almost too beautifullfor a man, too exotic. Except that he was so tall, so intrinsically masculine, c
arried himself with such utter confidence.
Students began to file in and take their seats. Mia pretended to read from a piece of paper, but she really had no idea what was on it. She was keeping an eye out for Jagger, her pulse thrumming with anticipation.
Stop it!
But that was impossible. She wanted to see him too badly.
It really was too damn hot in the room.
Even hotter when Jagger walked in. His long-legged stride was loose, relaxed, as he moved down the aisle and took a seat at the front of the room, only a few feet from her.
Her body surged with lust.
God.
How was she ever going to get through this class?
This semester? Pure torture.
She began the lecture, doing her best to make eye contact with the other students, her gaze passing over him. She did manage eventually to find her rhythm in the familiar lecture, but only as long as she didn’t look at him, just kept talking.
“Freud tells us that the unconscious mind is the source of our motivations, the desires for sex, food, the inspiration for an artist or a scientist. From his perspective, anything you yearn for is naturalland not something over which you have any control. You can only choose how—or if—to act on these urges.
Freud used the German word ‘trieb,’ which translates to ‘instincts,’ or ‘drives,’ for these motivationallforces. He also called them ‘wishes.’”
Jagger raised his hand and she nodded, her cheeks warming before he even spoke.
“I’ve read that when you ignore the urges, they can become even more powerful. Freud said it’s the wish breaking from the unconscious into consciousness. So does that mean it’s unhealthy to suppress these urges, Professor Curry?”
Her pulse stuttered and she had one brief moment of self-doubt about the fact that she had long ignored her own desires, her own secret “wishes.”
“That depends on what your drives are. If you feelldriven to molest young children, then I’d have to say suppressing the urge is healthy.”
“What if it’s something less…deviant?”
Yes, another course for this discussion. Anything to make her stop thinking about her evening spent with her vibrator and the Food Network, and Jagger’s image in her mind. “Ah, perhaps we should discuss the definition of deviant. Who would like to give me their take on it?”
