by Logan Chance
I need more Houston. This nostrings thing has really been a godsend, but there have been moments where I catch a glimpse of something from him. A caress after his orgasm, a look of longing during mine. Or maybe that’s wishful thinking on my part. Shh, I promise I’m not developing feelings for the man.
Sitting in the library, I go over my patient notes in a quiet corner. Papers line my table, and I highlight questions for a patient study I’m working on.
The chair next to me slides across the wood floor, and I look up as Houston takes a seat.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. I’ve become hyper paranoid that our secret relationship is obvious. Realistically, I know it’s not. We don’t fuckernize in public.
“Saw you sitting here,” he says, leaning in to look at my papers, “so, I thought I’d see how you’re getting along with the assignment I handed out.”
I roll my eyes. “Well, you could have picked something easier. But, I think I’m almost done.”
A few eyes glance to us, but no alarming stares are cast our way. I am his assistant, after all, and we aren’t doing anything wrong.
Houston leans back in his seat, a smile on his face. “Let me have ‘em.”
I tilt my head. “What? My patient questions?”
He gave us all a project to complete: design a comprehensive case study of a patient, and ask the patient questions to successfully diagnose. After spending my whole day in the library, my eyes are ready to turn cross-eyed.
I smile, leaning over to whisper. “You really want me to ask you my questions?”
“Sure, I’ll be patient X. Ask away.” He sits up, leaning closer to me. His voice is louder than a whisper, and my instinct is to shush him.
“Shhh. Okay, I’ll ask you.”
He cocks a brow. “Did you just shush me, again? You know how I feel about that, Miss Murphy.”
I tap my textbook with the tip of my pen. “Yes, I know, but you really need a lesson in library etiquette.” Amusement crosses his face. “This is a whisper,” I tell him, lowering my voice. “This is not,” I say, my voice rising. A grin lights up his face. “Ok, ready?”
He leans forward, getting closer to me than he should in public. “Ready,” he whispers.
It sends shivers up my spine, and I shake them off as I grab the papers in front of me. “Question one: State your full name and date of birth.”
“Skip those questions. Get to the good stuff.”
He’s back to not whispering, and I glance around the library, but no one is really taking much notice of us tucked away back here.
I blow out a breath. Reading the first question, my eyes go wide. I can’t ask him this. Fuck. “Um, do you have difficulty urinating?” My face heats bright red, I just know it. I can’t even look him in the eyes.
He laughs, and the rich sound is something special. “No.”
Focusing back on the pages in my hand, I clear my throat. Oh, my God, who wrote these questions. Oh, right I did. I should have really thought through them better. “Are you sexually active?”
He smiles again. Speaking in a low voice, he says, “Yes, but only recently.”
I clear my throat. My cheeks are on fire. “Do you have any difficulty,” fuck, how could I have written out these questions, “getting your penis to…um…”
He cuts in, “Yes, Miss Murphy? Do I have any difficulty getting my dick to…” He’s mocking me.
My mind goes blank. My eyes can’t even focus on the page in front of me. “Boner,” I blurt out.
He laughs, then shushes me. “Oh Marley, you’re going to pay for that one.”
“Erection was the word I meant, not boner.” This interview is a disaster. “I’m sorry, Professor.”
He reaches his hand across the tiny table, and brushes my arm. “It’s fine. Any more questions?”
I feel defeated. “No.” How can I read him anymore of these dreadful things.
“Diagnosis?” he asks.
I smile. “Horny?”
“Very. How would you go about treating that?”
I lean closer, running the tip of my pencil along his arm. “I can show you tonight.”
He growls, low and deep. “I’ll be waiting.”
Releasing a breath, I smile. “Ok, I like that.”
“Hi, Doctor Dale,” a student says as he walks by our table.
Houston straightens his posture and pushes his chair back. “Very well, Miss Murphy. Carry on.” He winks to me as he walks away. Trying to push away the embarrassment, I continue on with my studies well into the night. I’ve not forgotten my lesson about no special treatment. And I would never expect any.
Hours later, I’m awakened, my face lying in a pile of papers, by someone touching my arm.
“Marley. Marley.” Houston’s voice sounds far away as he tries to get me to sit up. He packs my things into my bag while I stand and stretch. It’s late, and the library’s empty as he ushers me through the front door.
“I can’t believe I fell asleep.” I’m tired, groggy, as he leads me to a waiting Uber. He opens the door, and I slide into the back seat.
He walks around to the other side and nestles in next to me. “Here,” he says, spreading his arm across the back of the seat. I lean my head against his solid chest and close my eyes.
“Marley?” Houston lifts me from the car, into his strong arms. He carries me into my building and into the elevator. I’m so exhausted I can barely register what’s going on. Since Houston and I made our agreement, my already full days and nights are bursting at the seams. Sleep is all I had left to sacrifice.
He stands me by my door, and I lean my head on the cool concrete of the wall. He fishes out my keys, opening the lock and helps me inside.
We’ve been together intimately a few times over the past weeks, but having him bring me to bed is something new. I almost want to ask him to stay. But, I won’t do that.
He helps me into bed, kissing the top of my head after he pulls my shoes off. “Good night, Marley. Sleep well.”
Chapter 16
Houston
April 10th
No strings is supposed to be easy. No strings. No feelings. Right? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work? So, why am I feeling this way?
My days are an endless onslaught of errands and menial busywork, leading me back to the one place I want to be. In the evening, I knock on Marley’s door.
Her breath catches as she steps aside, letting me in. Her body calls to me, and I want to obey. I want to touch her in ways I never have before. I need this release.
My pent-up emotions directly correlate to my body’s need for an orgasm.
It’s as if my mind and dick are at war with one another. The pleasure I seek from her should be just that…pleasure. Nothing more.
She’s pure and wholesome. And, there’s nothing I want more than to corrupt her, bend her to my will, and tutor her in the craft of satisfying me.
I grab the back of her neck, my fingers digging into the base of her scalp as I claim her lips. She melts into me. Soft, sweet skin heats up under my coarse fingertips.
Her shirt is over her head as soon as I break the kiss.
“Houston, wait,” she moans, pushing me back against the wall.
“Shh. Don’t speak,” I instruct her. I teach her.
Our bodies move together to her bedroom. The curtains sway, leaking soft moonlight in. It fills the room, highlighting Marley’s body. The soft curves turn me on. Her striking green eyes, gazing at me like I’m the only man on Earth, make my heart heavy.
I’m one step closer, one moment nearer to feeling everything. I push her back, and she falls to the bed under my touch. “Remove your clothes,” I whisper.
Marley opens her mouth to speak, and I tsk her. “No, speaking tonight. Unless I tell you to.”
She nods her head, understanding my simple request. She has an uncanny ability to know what I need from her.
Her pants are removed while my fingers unbutton my white
, pressed shirt. I let it fall to the floor.
The descent of my zipper teases her as it slides down before I remove my pants and boxers.
Sprawled out on the bed, she plays with her tits at my request. “Help me forget everything,” I say on a whisper.
She nods, her green eyes spearing me open with one glance. I turn my head, not wanting to meet them with my own. It’s too painful. I push any ounce of emotions aside.
“Play with your pussy for me. Imagine it’s my tongue eating you up.”
She does as told. A good little girl. An obedient one.
I fist my throbbing cock, pumping up and down the shaft. Fuck, it feels good. I suck in a deep breath, releasing the tension plaguing me.
“Tell me you’re ready for me to teach you, to instruct you.”
“I’m ready for my lesson, Professor,” she coos, and my cock damn near explodes.
“I’m going to show you the art of dirty talk. I want to make that pretty little mouth of yours filthy.”
She stretches her body against the soft cotton sheets of her bed, twisting and turning as I watch her in her black lace panties and bra. Naughty girl.
“I’m yours to teach.” She smiles, arching her back off the bed, the white sheets caressing her sweet body.
“Lie down and tell me, using the filthiest word you can think of, how wet you are.” I step closer to the bed, my cock still in my hand, pumping slowly.
I love the way she bites her bottom lip, her eyes roaming over my body, landing on my dick. “My cunt is slippery wet for you. I’m drenched.”
“Good girl. Now spread your legs and show me. Use your fingers.”
She does exactly as she’s told. Her hand slips between her long legs, disappearing underneath the lace of her panties down to her sweet spot. “Houston,” she moans.
“Keep calling me, Professor.” I arch a brow, gauging her reaction.
“Professor,” she says in a whisper. Her fingers rub along her pussy as my hand on my cock picks up speed.
“Good. Now tell me what you want in that sweet mouth of yours. Make it dirty.” I reach my finger up and tug on her bottom lip as I drown in her soft eyes.
“I want your cock.”
“You can do better than that.” I pinch her lip and release it between my fingers.
“I want you to fuck my mouth with your cock.”
I lean my head to the side, contemplating if her words are dirty enough to my liking. “Nastier,” I demand.
She breathes in deep, her hand still working her tight pussy. “I want your thick cock to slam into my hot mouth and fuck it hard. I want you to come down my throat while you pull my hair.”
I grin, leaning my head back, my eyes closed, thinking about doing just that. “You want me to come along your tongue?”
“Yes.” She removes her panties from her legs and tosses them to me.
I catch them with my free hand, bringing the lace to my nose and inhaling her succulent scent. “Damn, baby, what else do you want?”
She gets up to her knees, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Never have I wanted anyone more. “Professor,” she seduces me, “I’ve been a naughty student. I didn’t do the assignment you assigned. Punish me.”
Hot damn. Who knew Marley Morgan, timid, shy, Marley Morgan, could say such filthy things to get me riled up.
“Talk dirty to me, baby.” My cock is once again in hand as I rise from the bed, ready to act against her.
Having her dirty mouth is just what I need tonight to not think. About anything. My life, my future, and definitely not my fucking past.
I slip a condom on and line myself up with her needy pussy. “Baby, you want me?” I ask as I slam my cock deep inside her.
Fast, punishing strokes consume me as I thrust with everything I have.
I don’t stop, the feelings are too much. Her sweet pussy engulfs my cock, and my head spins.
She moans and groans with every pound of my dick, making me reach my release that much quicker.
“Do you like the feel of me deep inside you, spreading you open, making you come all over me?”
“Yes, Professor,” she screams as her orgasm shakes her body against me. Fuck, she feels like she was made for me.
I chase after her orgasm with my own release, closing my eyes and my mind to any thoughts of having her for the rest of my life.
I can’t have those thoughts, even if I’m beginning to want it.
Chapter 17
Marley
Delirium-noun-an acutely disturbed state of mind.
No strings are definitely not working for me. Sex with him is amazing. The last few weeks since I agreed to this, I’ve tried everything to not fall deeper into like—keeping my eyes closed, doggy style, reverse cowgirl. Anything to keep from seeing the look in his eyes when he’s in the throes of passion. Nothing works. I’m so deep in like, I’m drowning. Sex changes everything. There is no way to have that type of intimacy with someone and not develop feelings. Right?
We’ve been very careful with our sneaking around. In class, we’re professional. Professor and student. Well for the most part. There have been times when I dropped something off at his desk and his fingers traced up my thigh in a promise of things to come. My first inkling the strings were attaching happened at the campus coffee shop two days ago. After a great night of sex, the next morning I stopped for a coffee and a chocolate croissant. Houston’s dark hair stood above the throng of people in line. Before I could sneak up and surprise him, maybe save some time and cut in line, I saw her. Caroline Parker, professor of Organic Chemistry. They stood engrossed in conversation, his dark eyes pinned on her, and jealousy sliced through me as I eased in line. It’s not fair. He’s allowed to fraternize with her in public, but not me. Whatever she was saying probably didn’t call for the huge ass grin on her face or her perfectly manicured hand on his arm. At that moment, the first string shot out and attached itself to me. His eyes found mine in the crowd, and other than a sultry millimeter of a smile, I received no acknowledgement. None. You’d never know he spent the night before coming on my face. Which is fine. I get it. We’re “taboo.” “Forbidden.” And even if we weren’t, he’s been upfront about what he’s capable of giving. They left as I stared straight ahead to avoid looking at her leaning too close to him, trying to create chemistry…organically.
Another string shot out and looped itself around me when he gave my hand a slight brush with his
pinky as they passed by. And the tightest of all strings wrapped around me when I got to the
counter and the cashier pushed a caramel cappuccino and chocolate croissant to me, bought and
paid for by Professor Dale. It made my heart pinch that he’d noticed I brought this in sometimes
before working with him.
Tonight, he’s coming over, and I’ve decided to throw something else into the mix besides our
bodies. Pizza and a movie. It’s very string like, but everyone needs to eat. I ordered plain so it
doesn’t look so alarming to him. Less toppings, less strings.
Hands on hips, I survey the set up at the bar countertop that serves as my kitchen table. A large
cheese pizza, wine, wine glasses, and real plates. Very very string like. I quickly stack the plates
on top of each other and slide them back in the cabinet and pull out the paper plates instead.
Perfect.
I don’t have time to switch the wine glasses out, because there’s a quick rap on the door and he’s
here.
“Hey, you,” he says when I open the door. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way he looks in
jeans and a t-shirt.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “Don’t panic,” I tell him as he steps inside, “but I have pizza.”
His eyes bounce to the countertop and he doesn’t look like he’s ready to run screaming, so that’s
good.
“Ah, you broke out the fine china,” he says, crossing to the co
untertop.
“Only the best for you,” I tease him.
We settle in, and he grabs a slice of pizza.
“How are you liking school?” he asks.
“It’s a lot of work, and sometimes I’m not sure if I’m cut out for it.”
“Why do you think that?” He sips his Shiraz as his questioning eyes pin me with curiosity.
“I don’t know really. I’m just worried I’m not cut out for psychiatry.”
He scoots his stool closer. “When I first became a doctor, I was terrified.”
My eyes widen. “I don’t believe it.”
He cracks a smile. “Well, believe it. My first week, a gsw came rolling into the ER, and I froze.”
I listen as he recounts the details of the gunshot wound victim.
“He never made it, and I was so upset that I lost a patient,” he whispers.
I lean my head to the side and reach my hand out to touch his. “I’m sorry.”
His eyes soften. “It’s fine. But, I remember Dr. Charles Abernathy took me to the side
and told me sometimes you win some and sometimes you lose some.” He shakes his head.
“Wise man. You can’t save everyone.”
He moves his hand from mine, shaking off my words. “Yeah, I guess not.”
“I’m sorry, Houston.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. Marley you’re a smart woman. I think you’ll go far.”
Heat washes over me, and I smile.
Two slices of pizza and a glass of wine later, we settle on the couch, and I feel comfortable enough to spring the other on him.
“Ever seen Gross Anatomy?” I ask.
“Never heard of it.” I gasp, and he chuckles. “Of course, I have. I think every future doctor should see it.”
“I knew I liked you for something other than your superior sex skills.” I smile as I put my feet up on the coffee table and lean back into the sofa. “I thought we could watch it.”
That sounded very string like. I almost think he’s going to say no, because he chews the corner of his lip sizing me up. Probably wondering where I keep the scissors so he can cut the strings and escape.
“Well then, fire it up. It’s a must-see.”
