She wanted to run to her car, she’d pent up so much energy, and had to force herself to slow down. Every noise seemed amplified as well, the crunch of her shoes, the hum of nearby traffic. Even the night’s early insects were at a new volume. Her hands shook as she cranked, her fingers slipping on the wheel, then she accelerated too hard in reverse.
The college faded in the background, replaced by shuttered businesses, restaurants bustling with customers, and eventually, the quiet narrow streets of his community. She took her time driving to the door and once parked, exhaled, willing herself to relax.
With a check in the mirror, she patted her hair, snagged her purse, and climbed out. The distance from her car to the door looked like a mile. The street lamp at the corner seemed to aim directly at her. She ducked beneath the eaves, her breaths rattling and rang the doorbell with her forefinger.
There was no sound for an uncomfortable length of time, then Aarin’s familiar tread crossed inside. The deadbolt clicked followed by the door lock, and the door itself sucked inward.
He looked great, his blue jeans sitting perfectly below his waist, the sleeves of his t-shirt pulling taut. He smiled and motioned her in. Unsure how to behave, she obeyed, the lump in her throat preventing a greeting. He closed the door, refastening the locks, and revolved in place.
“Hi,” she choked.
He stretched one hand out and cupped her chin. Leaning down, he tipped it up and kissed her, his breath warm, the press of his lips gentle. “I’ve waited on pins-and-needles to do that.”
“You have?”
He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. A spark lit in his eyes. “And other things, but we’ll get to those.”
CHAPTER 8
Still dazed, Lydia followed Aarin’s directions, him steering her forward from behind, through the living room and into the dining room before he stopped. “What’s all this?” she asked, at sight of the crowded table. Not what she’d been going to say at all. That had been centered around his last remark.
“I couldn’t decide what I wanted, so I bought several things.”
“Several?” She glanced behind at him, warmed by his cheerful smile. He’d done this before, purchased more food than they needed.
Inspecting the take-out containers stacked at one end, she inhaled the mingled scents of grilled meats and ethnic spices. “Fajitas?” She opened a container filled with a mixture of chicken, onions, and peppers. Alongside it, two other containers held toppings to choose from and a third, tortillas.
She flipped the lid of a Styrofoam container purchased from a different place. This appeared to be Chinese, a bed of noodles coated in slender slices of beef and a rich sauce. It smelled marvelous. “You’re making it hard to choose,” she said.
The final container, from yet another restaurant, made her giggle. French toast. She held the syrupy bread beneath his nose, one eyebrow raised. “That’s incongruous to the rest, but makes me ask …” Setting the container down on the table, Lydia grasped Aarin’s arms and forced him into a seat.
Heat swept up her spine, and pushing herself to go further, she settled in his lap. His smile formed a hard edge, his gaze taking on a reflective light.
“Since you’re so unable to choose …” She gripped the hem of her shirt, their time apart making her reckless, and in one swoop, tugged it over her head. “Start with dessert.”
She shivered in disbelief that she’d ever act this way. But the swish of her pulse soon blended into the hurricane-force rush in her ears, and she saw her behavior for what it was—one big question. How far was she willing to go? She’d thought of nothing but being alone with him since leaving Monday morning and had pictured their time together, heedlessly desiring more, but had worried how he’d react. Seeing the light in his eyes, she held her breath.
He curved his hands around her waist, sliding them upwards over the arch of her breasts, his fingertips brushing the elastic of her bra. “You are so beautiful,” he said, “and I’m the luckiest man alive.”
His hand rose to a place behind her neck, and he drew her mouth toward his, the press of his lips this time, pronounced and full of intent. The steady movement softened her own, the caress of his fingers in the small of her back, and the firmness of him beneath her bringing out a resonant gasp.
Her excited breath echoed in her head, and she pulled back. “We … we sh-should … should eat, but we need plates and …” Scooting off his lap, she headed, shirtless, into the kitchen. A search of several cabinets located a stack of plates. Selecting two, she returned to the dining room, but ran into him in the doorway.
He didn’t speak, but took the plates from her grip and set them on the end of the buffet. His hands on her cheeks, he turned her face upward, his gaze fervid. “You are such a contradiction,” he said. “Eager, yet doubtful, and so … enticing.”
He nipped her lip, sucking it softly, and heat spiraled in her gut.
“Lydia,” he whispered, “beautiful, perfect, Lydia.”
His tongue enfolded hers, persuasive, his fingers enwrapped in her hair, gentle, yet compelling, and what she’d run from moments ago, she now embraced. Pressing against him, her hands kneading his back, she begged him to continue.
He paused briefly, however, seeking her gaze. “Do you have a class in the morning?”
She shook her head, a tingle forming in her fingertips. “Not until ten.”
His mouth found hers again, greedy, and one step at a time, his grasp firm, he backed her through the living room and down the hall, halting at the side of the bed. Taking a seat, he swiveled her toward him and, without hesitation, unfastened her jeans. His fingers dipped, daringly, below the loosened clasp to circle around and cup her bottom. He settled his lips, seductive, on her naval.
“Stay,” he said, as he had before. But this time, his plea pearled with the ramifications of their pending time alone. Stay and surrender to the moment, to what would happen with the erratic beating of their hearts.
Aarin willed his every touch to say how much she meant to him, for her to understand she’d given him the most precious gift. She didn’t have to say so. Her inexperience showed in slipped fingertips, awkwardly placed limbs, and a hint of insecurity. Yet, as she’d been in the days leading up to this, whereas her youth was clear, she seemed to have a willingness to throw herself toward the fire. And that zeal fed the flame lit between them.
He turned off the accusing thoughts in his mind in favor of expelling the burden compressing his chest. He needed to experience her, to hear her cry his name, to savor her lips, her tongue. He needed to sample her breasts and take for himself her sweetest, most-feminine place. He found though, their bodies slackened afterward, what he’d tried to lessen had grown instead. Their lovemaking was a huge weight, albeit on one side, a pleasant one, but it was the other, the knowledge if he hadn’t encouraged her it wouldn’t have happened at all, that threatened to ruin what should have been fulfilling.
He balanced his guilt in one hand, distracted by her behavior afterward. She appeared to not know exactly what to do, acting restless, switching the subject as she’d done going for dinner plates earlier.
“I’m hungry,” she said, sitting up. “You wait right here.” Wrapping the bed cover around herself, she flashed him a nervous smile and disappeared down the hall. She returned with the food containers in tow. Balancing them against her chest, she leaned forward. “Quick, before I drop the whole thing.”
Grasping the two tucked beneath her chin, he lowered them into his lap, and she climbed across with the other, her manner stiff and somewhat embarrassed. The bed cover loosened with her efforts, one plump round breast falling, exposed. Her cheeks reddening, she raised the cover, tucking it around her chest, and seated herself, cross-legged, at his side. She popped the top of the container of Chinese noodles and sighed. “I forgot forks.”
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her the discomfort she felt would fade, but instead, he reached into the floor for his blue jeans. “Here, l
et me.” Rising, conscious of her gaze from behind, he fastened his pants and made his way to the kitchen. He removed two forks from the drawer. He returned, extending one to her, and she took it, but made no effort to eat.
“Aarin, was it …?”
“No.” He cut her off and reclaimed his spot on the bed. “You were great, wonderful, amazing … sexy.”
The wrinkles on her brow fought against the smile on her face.
“What? You need more?” he asked. “How about ‘flexible’?”
A spurt of laughter left her lips, but she tried to muffle it with the heel of her hand.
“Or deafening?”
Again, she laughed. His mood lightened to hear it, and he leaned toward her claiming her mouth. “And succulent and supple and incredibly satisfying,” he whispered between her lips. “You make me happy, Lydia.” He straightened as he made the statement. “Happy. Hungry.”
“Horny,” she said.
This time he was the one laughing, relieved she’d made the remark and lightened the mood. Reversing, he opened several take-out containers and plunged in his fork. “That, too,” he replied, his mouth full.
She ate, gazing at him the entire time, fifteen minutes later, collapsing with a groan. He cleaned up the mess, toting the remaining food back to the kitchen. He returned to find her partially dressed in panties and one of his shirts. She took hold of him, one hand on either side, and craned her head back. “You were my first.”
Though he’d figured that, hearing it struck him hard, and he curved one hand on her cheek.
“I … I wanted to … with … with you because …” She blew out a breath. “Because I’m in love with you.”
Her admission caused his legs to give way, and he sank down on the end of the bed.
“Aarin?” Worry creased her tone.
Taking hold of her, he pulled her into his lap, laying his cheek atop her head. It was so soon for her to say that. She was young and impressionable; he was lonely and desperate. Those factors had brought them together. But holding her, having her here, felt incredibly right, and no matter how he rehearsed their actions thus far, he couldn’t see his way around how this moment had come into being.
“You make me feel this way,” he said. “You, Lydia. I wanted to be with you. I gave myself to you.” He gripped her chin and raised it upward. “Take that with you when you leave.”
She leaned against him, her breath blowing warm across his chest. “I’m not leaving until tomorrow,” she said, her voice soft.
He curved one hand behind her head. “Good.”
Lydia entered her dorm room the following morning, giddy at what’d happened last night. Her arms around her chest, she fell down on her bed and hugged herself, warmth spreading into her face.
Aarin was incredible, athletic, trim waist, sinewy thighs, in all ways, physically impressive. But, her opinion of his body, now engraved in her thinking, was balanced alongside his fervor, the earnestness he’d applied to her. Not the inexperience of a youth unsure of himself, fumbling around, making mistakes, but a man who knew his mind, guiding her to the height of pleasure. And he’d taken the time to make her feel comfortable about it afterward, although telling him she loved him had probably been too much, given his reaction.
Guilt picked at her for that, and she dwelled on it for a while, her stomach twisting into a knot. Then spotting the time, Lydia shifted her thoughts toward today’s first class. Gathering her folders and books, she stuffed them into her bag, slung it on her shoulder and, after a brief look at what she had on, made a quick escape.
She was glad to not run into Marianne, else she’d have had to explain her silly mood. After class and on into the weekend, she was even happier to have had the time to compose herself first.
She’d hoped to see Aarin either Saturday or Sunday, but he said he needed time to work through upcoming class assignments. In light of their last evening together, that made the weekend a long one and Monday, when it arrived, almost welcome.
He texted her that night, asking her to come over on Tuesday, she figured, because that way, during class, Tuesday morning, neither one would be overly emotional about having spent time together. But watching him pace back and forth in front of the room the next day, Lydia was hard pressed to not remember him in a more intimate light, the possessive grasp of his hands on her bottom, the erotic way he always sucked her bottom lip.
An ache formed in her gut, spanning down her thighs. Once wasn’t enough, she wanted him to kiss her there again and lose herself in the fever taking over her mind.
She escaped the dorm that evening and drove to his place, practically running up the walk to the front door. He opened it before she could get there, and they tumbled in, zigzagging through the entrance and down the hall. But skin pressed to skin, what began hurried, frantic, took on a leisurely pace, so that the peak, when they reached it, slipped almost silently by. She nodded off in his arms, her body sated, her mind filled with rose-colored dreams, and remained in that state when she left the next morning.
Until coming face-to-face with Marianne in their dorm room.
She and Marianne got along well enough, though they had nothing in common. She wasn’t particularly nosy, but nor was she stupid. She’d listened to her reason for being absent two weekends before, asking minimal questions but, all the while, looking like she suspected the truth.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said.
Lydia steeled herself for what she knew would come. To be gone overnight so often had increased her suspicions. She’d do best to stick close to the truth.
“You know …” Marianne continued. “Everyone knows you’re doing the ‘hot and heavy’ with someone.”
Lydia’s throat thickened. Everyone, she’d bet, consisted of the small circle Marianne socialized in, none of them particular friends of hers, though she had nothing against them either.
“For what it’s worth,” she continued, “the one person I figure knows his name, your girlfriend, Karen, isn’t talking. I don’t suppose you care to say?”
Lydia bit her lip, keeping her face blank. “No. Who I spend my time with isn’t anyone’s concern.”
Marianne tossed up her hands. “No need to get mad. Just letting you know. If you’re happy, that’s great, but as nosy as people are, someone’s going to figure it out. Which makes me ask, why’s it a secret anyway?”
Lydia regathered her things, flicking a glance at the time on her phone. “I’ve gotta go,” she said. “Professor Alex writes down the names of anyone who comes in late.”
Springing to her feet, she pushed past her roommate into the hall, her feet aimed for the stairs. She surged ahead, not looking behind, but was sure Marianne watched her go.
At the bottom of the stairs, she halted and sent a text to Aarin. Friday, she said.
His response was a few minutes coming. Friday, he replied. A second later another response came, once which made her incredibly curious.
Wear something pretty, he said. We’re going out.
The walkway angled to the left then made a sharp turn around the corner of the building. Following its path, Aarin made his way across the common, through scattered concrete benches filled with students relaxing in between class.
A girl, her books tucked to her chest, called out. “Hey, Professor Kai.”
He smiled and nodded, then turned his gaze toward the double doors fifty yards ahead. They swooshed open, expelling a blast of chilled air, and he stepped inside the building, almost colliding with Angela Reed.
“Whoa …” She bobbled, catching her fall, one hand on his arm. “I should watch where I walk, but actually, I just left your office looking for you.”
“For me?” Sticking one hand in his pocket, he curled his fingers around his car keys. “Is anything wrong?”
She curved red-rouged lips. “No, no … It’s just, I’m having a little party Friday night and thought you might like to come. You can bring your new friend.”
Aarin’s st
omach clenched. Was she asking because she was nosy or genuinely being nice?
“I’d love to see you there and be introduced. Speculation’s ripe about who our young professor’s dating.”
Speculation amongst whom? She was the only one who’d openly mentioned it, though he was aware the photo from the award ceremony had been seen by others, based strictly on the comments he’d gotten. However, the story dying somewhat, he’d hoped the talk would, too.
Maybe that was naïve. He could, of course, lie and say she didn’t live nearby. That thought on the tip of his tongue, however, Aarin couldn’t speak.
She did live nearby. She was his student, and all the things he’d told himself about what they weren’t doing looked like lies. He’d said it wasn’t an affair, but from every angle he viewed it, it was. He’d tried to put space between them as a result, asking Lydia to give him time alone over the weekend. He’d said to himself, they’d both cool off after a few days of separation, but when she’d shown up on Tuesday, his desperation for her had been as strong as ever.
Angela spoke, interrupting his wayward thoughts.
“Here …” She dug into her coat pocket and produced a square envelope. “That’s the time and address if you can come.” She held in place a moment longer, her gaze noticeably curious, then tossing her head, she passed him and exited the doors.
He curled the invite into his palm, the collar of his shirt too tight, the temperature in the building too warm. Aarin shook himself and continued forward down the usual series of hallways and into his classroom. He paced across the front, entering his office. Falling into his chair, he loosened his tie.
Little things had led them here, like-minded conversation, seemingly innocent circumstances out of their control – the rain, her car not starting, attending the award ceremony. But though this looked like an affair, it was so much more than that. It’d been many years since he’d spent the night with a woman, and truthfully, sex he could have refused. Sex with Lydia, he couldn’t because she filled his heart.
Sunshine In The Morning (Spring-Summer Romance Book 1) Page 9
