“I apologize, sensai,” the young man said. Turning back to Zae, he winked at her. “Let’s go.”
Every student in the class was a black belt and fairly evenly matched in skill. A keen sense of animal cunning combined with Zae’s skill made her one of the most formidable combatants Chip had ever taught. Trent Cavendish, a recent college graduate currently employed at a local software firm, was athletic and accustomed to competition, but Chip still wondered if he should send someone for the first aid kit now or wait until Zae had finished with him.
Trent made his move. Cleanly, gracefully, Zae left him flat on his back using the throw Chip had taught. Trent quickly got his feet back under him and went for Zae. Her sleek ponytail whipping like a war banner, Zae countered Trent’s moves, her smile never leaving her face. And then she dropped him again.
“Damn it!” Trent hollered, slamming his fists to the mat.
“That’s fifty more, Mr. Cavendish,” Chip warned.
“I’m sorry, sensai,” Trent grumbled. “I’m getting my can kicked over here! She leaves no openings for me.”
“Isn’t that the point?” Zae asked innocently.
“Switch,” Chip said, tipping his head toward the lawyer.
Trent and Chip exchanged partners. Grinning wickedly, Zae paced the mat in tiny, eager circles.
“You haven’t studied at Sheng Li for very long, Mr. Cavendish,” Chip began, keeping his eyes on Zae, “but as you progress here, you’ll find that no opponent is without vulnerability. Not even Mrs. Richardson.”
“One of the things I’ve learned here, Mr. Cavendish,” Zae countered, “is that there is no such thing as vulnerability in an opponent. Even vulnerability is strength, once you learn how to use it.”
“What are they talking about?” Trent asked. “I’m so confused.”
“I don’t know,” the lawyer said. “But I think we’re about to see some good sparring.”
Zae made the first move, lunging at Chip to deliver a blow to his solar plexus. He blocked the punch, countering with a reverse kick to her upper thigh that brought her to her knees. Surprised, Zae backed off, but not for long. She flew at Chip with a series of punches and kicks that forced him to work all over the mat. If she couldn’t overwhelm him, she would tire him out.
At least that had been the plan until she ended up flat on her back with Chip pinning her to the mat. “That won’t happen again,” she told him.
“Once is never enough with you,” he replied, his mouth kissing distance from hers.
A female classmate tugged at the collar of her gi. “Is it hot in here, or is it me?”
Chip was thankful for the loose fit of his gi. His baggy trousers hid from the class what was likely only too apparent to Zae—that their tussle was close to foreplay.
Zae threw off Chip and scampered to her feet. They stalked one another, their animal instincts driving them to determine who would leave the mat the alpha dog.
“In competition, when you take down an opponent, you keep him down,” Chip said. “But in a classroom situation, you make allowances. You give your opponent the freedom to learn.” His blue eyes glimmered wickedly. “By making sure they know when they’ve made a mistake.”
Zae’s nostrils slightly flared. Chip’s presence had never been more leonine, but she was no trembling kitten fearful of a larger animal. She had always been more predator than prey, and Chip was about to learn that firsthand.
She pressed a hand to her lower back. “Ow!”
“I forgot about your back,” Chip fretted, quickly closing the distance between them.
Zae met him with a sharp crescent kick to the head that he dodged with mere centimeters to spare. She followed it with a sweep of her right leg, dropping her weight to catch him at the back of his knees. Chip displayed his agility by catching himself on one hand and executing a neat back flip that kept him on his feet.
Faster and more determined to win their battle, Zae caught him in the throat with a sharp jab more reminiscent of Shane Mosley than Bruce Lee. Chip staggered back, gasping for air.
“That’s the bell,” Zae said, pointing to the clock. “See you next week, y’all.”
Chip dismissed his students, who seemed slightly bewildered by what they’d just seen. Zae headed for the locker room, pausing for a cursory bow at the mat. Chip didn’t wait to say goodbye to the rest of his students, who exited through the front of the dojo.
“Wait a minute!” Chip stopped Zae just short of the sanctuary offered by the ladies locker room. “I want to talk to you!”
She turned. Before she could get a word out, Chip pushed her against the wall and held her in place with a stern finger in her face. “When we’re in class, I expect you to behave accordingly.”
Zae rolled her eyes.
“You put on the best display of poor sportsmanship I’ve ever seen at Sheng Li,” he continued. But the longer he stared at the sensual pout of her lips, the harder it became to read her the riot act. The very things he hated most about her—her stubbornness, her ego, her bossiness, her mischievousness—were the very things he loved about her. And that scowl. The defiant scowl that turned her sensuous mouth into a sexy rosebud…he knew only one way to soften it that would please them both.
He kissed her.
Caught by surprise, Zae momentarily stiffened, but quickly melted against him. She knew she was more deserving of a spanking than a kiss, and with luck, she’d still get the spanking. She might have giggled if Chip hadn’t slipped an arm around her shoulders and one around her knees and scooped her up. Still kissing her, he shouldered open the door of the ladies locker room and hurried in. He carried her past the red and black tile barrier that prevented passersby in the corridor from seeing the women inside, and he kept going past the wall of black lockers. She hoped he’d stop in the lounge area, at the barely used sofas that were actually pretty comfortable.
Chip took her still further, to the blue and white tiled room that separated the men’s locker room from the ladies’. A whirlpool and a sauna shared the space. Both were unoccupied, and Zae scarcely bothered to contain her glee.
“So you aren’t mad at me for acting out in class tonight?” she whispered, nibbling his ear.
“Not anymore.” Chip dropped her into the whirlpool.
Zae burst through the surface of the water, sputtering like a drowning cat and cussing like a sailor. “You ruined my hair!” she shrieked, calling Chip names that would have blistered a lesser man’s ears.
Laughing, Chip squatted at the edge of the whirlpool. “You said you wanted to treat your back in the whirlpool. I figured I’d help you—”
The last thing he felt before he found himself tumbling into the whirlpool was Zae’s long, slim fingers in his hair. For good measure, Zae tried to sit on his shoulders, to keep him under the water. He’d had no problem carrying her through the locker room, and in the chlorinated water of the whirlpool, he easily stood with her wrapped around his head and shoulders. He sat her on the edge of the tub and stood between her legs.
“We’re even now, Zae,” he said. “I don’t want to fight with you any—”
Leaning back, she clamped her legs around his head in a hold that he’d once taught her, one he said she’d rarely have occasion to use. Chip knew several ways to free himself, but only one that would totally disarm her. Holding her by the perfect knot in her obi, he tugged her forward. Through the sodden cotton of her trousers, he gnawed at her. Her thighs instantly relaxed, her hands slapping the wet floor tiles. Her indignant groan of pleasure echoed off the walls as her back arched. Chip gripped her hips, holding her to his mouth even as he climbed the few stairs leading out of the whirlpool.
Warm hands pulled at clothing weighted with water. Chip’s hand replaced his mouth, which went to Zae’s breast. His teeth worked her left nipple through her jacket, and Zae moaned in frustration, her fingers struggling to untie the wet knot in the drawstring of his pants. Chip gave the tail of the knot a tug and it easily untied. Zae peel
ed his trousers from his legs. He wore nothing under them, his rigid length falling heavily against her leg.
Chip’s fingernails scratched her in his haste to remove her wet pants and underwear. She’d barely kicked her legs free of them before Chip settled atop her, satisfying the hunger burning within her. The water acted as effectively as glue in keeping the knot in her obi tied, so Chip worked around it. He opened her jacket as wide as it would go, and he shoved her sports bra up. The elasticized garment pressed on her breasts, luridly displaying them for Chip.
He nipped at her left breast, teasing the tightly puckered brown tip before taking it full in his mouth and drawing on it long and hard, driving his hips forward in rhythm. Zae hugged his head to her breast, wanting still more from him. She kneaded and pinched her right nipple, easing its wait for Chip’s attention.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Chip asked in the second it took him to move to her right nipple. “Do you want me, Zae?”
He gave her no chance to answer, covering her mouth with his own as if fearful of what she would say.
Zae wanted him so much, it hurt. She felt no guilt or shame at going back on her decision not to have sex with him again. There was no shame because this wasn’t just sex. This man created a need in her akin to her need for air and food. At the moment, she’d give up both if it meant prolonging the way she felt right now. His body fit hers in ways she’d forgotten existed. His taste had become a craving, his scent her favorite aroma. In his arms, she felt fearless and protected. Beneath his weight, she was whole after so many years of feeling broken.
Sex once a year with the New York literature professor had been that and that only, the satisfaction of a physical need. Chip did that and more. He nurtured her, completely, with every kiss and the murmur of her name with each thrust of his hips.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take any more, he withdrew. He answered her cry of frustration by taking off his obi and jacket and then hitting a button on the control panel mounted outside the tub. The jets roared on, churning the water into an aquamarine froth.
He took Zae’s hands and helped her in. She raised her arms to let him pull her jacket and bra over her head. She moved to embrace him, but he turned her back to his chest, and walked her forward until she was positioned directly in front of a row of jets.
Chip raised her left thigh, propping her foot on the bottom step. “This should be about right,” he said, kissing her shoulder as he inched her forward.
Zae groaned loudly and might have collapsed if Chip hadn’t held her up. He’d placed her in the perfect position for the topmost jet to strike her between her legs with enough force to bring her to an instant climax. Chip’s hand between her legs tempered the blast just enough to help her hold out a few moments longer.
Carefully keeping his hand in place, he bent her forward. She clutched the edge of the tub to maintain her balance while Chip parted her legs. He eased into her, his free hand at the back of her neck.
“Not much longer,” he managed between clenched teeth. “Dear God, you’re so beautiful. The lines of your back and the curve of your hips are like art. I wish I could stay buried in you for hours.” He leaned over her, pressing his torso to her back. “I can’t hold back any longer,” he whispered in her ear.
He took her breasts in his hands, firmly pinching her nipples. The second his right hand left her nest of curls, the water from the jet struck her most sensitive flesh at full blast. The force of the water sent jolts similar to electricity shooting through her. Hot and cold at once, the sensation was like nothing she had ever experienced. Her body clamped around Chip and he added his cries of release to hers, his entire body hard and hot, shuddering around hers.
Even after he was spent, he held her in place, forcing her to endure one rapturous explosion after the next, until she couldn’t breathe, until the muscles of her legs, abdomen and backside nearly cramped.
“No more,” she begged, lightheadedness threatening to overtake her. “Please!”
Chip pulled her from the jets and took her in his arms, kissing her back to complete consciousness.
“That was crazy.” Zae laughed, never imagining it possible to experience too much pleasure. “What the hell are you thinking? We could have drowned if both of us were feeling what I just felt!”
Smiling, Chip slipped two fingers between her legs. She winced, her flesh still hypersensitive.
“Did I hurt you?”
The concern in his eyes pulled at her heart. “No, sweetie, you didn’t. I’m just a little sensitive down there right now.”
“There’s a cure for that,” Chip said.
“Abstinence?” Zae chuckled.
“Far from it.”
Chip sat her on the top step. His knees on the bottom step, he hung her legs over his shoulders. Already anticipating what he would give her, Zae’s head fell back, and she closed her eyes to better savor the gentle, delicate movements of his tongue between her thighs. She bore her weight on her hands, digging her heels into Chip’s sturdy back, lifting her hips to meet each leisured rasp of his tongue.
Chip’s tenderness counterbalanced the aggressiveness of the jet, arousing her more slowly, but more intensely. His breath and the hum of his voice complemented the squirm of his tongue, bringing her to a long, forceful orgasm that left her speaking an incoherent language of groans and gasps. Afterward, Chip kissed her abdomen and her navel, working his way to her breasts and finally her mouth.
“I love your taste,” he told her. “If you were a condiment, I’d splash you on everything from scrambled eggs to ice cream.”
Zae laughed and let him pull her into the water. Embracing, they sat on the built-in bench, Zae nestled between Chip’s legs. The water merrily bubbled around them as though laughing at their little jokes while it worked the kinks from their back and leg muscles. They stayed in the whirlpool until their fingers and toes puckered, and the muscles of Zae’s lower back were as loose as overcooked noodles. Chip helped her out of the pool and wrapped her in a towel, hoping the pleasure of the jets loosened Zae’s resistance to pursuing a relationship as effectively as it loosened her stiff muscles.
Chapter Six
A stack of syllabi printed on green paper sat on Zae’s desk beside her lesson planner. She had already placed composition books on each desk in the lecture hall, and inside the back cover sat the ten-question summer reading quiz she planned to give her students. Smiling at her own cleverness, she wouldn’t tell them that she didn’t plan to count their grades on this quiz. In her experience, it never hurt to throw a good scare into her students on the first day of class.
At 7:55 she sat at her desk, the one time she was likely to sit all morning. She preferred to move as she lectured, and it wasn’t uncommon for her to use every corner of the room to teach. Her six-week summer Composition II class would start in fifteen minutes, and students began filing in. She ignored them. They took seats, scattering themselves throughout the many rows of desks. The spaces between them filled faster than she expected.
She had her initial class roster, but last-minute registrants had been added. She wouldn’t have her final list until the end of the week. She studied her lesson plan, refusing to look up even when a student greeted her. The classroom was her bailiwick, her queendom. A tenured professor with twice as many publications to her credit as any other member of Missouri University’s faculty, she wasn’t there to make friends. She was there to teach. Like royalty, she would not respond to casual address.
At 8:10 exactly, she closed her lesson planner and stood to face her class.
The students quieted their fidgeting and ceased conversation.
The usual suspects, Zae thought. Her practiced eye zeroed in on a few students in layered polo and button-down shirts, the ones likely to have flunked out of other schools and who were now trying to make-up credit to return. She spotted a few playgrounders, her nickname for high school students who wanted to get a leg up on freshman college credit. If thi
s term’s playgrounders were like every other’s, they would be the source of her greatest headaches. They were overachievers who sought every angle to succeed. They were the students who believed they could argue their way to higher grades and who tried to dominate class discussions.
Zae enjoyed the challenge of the playgrounders, even though by the third week most of them will have surrendered their will to hers.
She recognized a few faces of students who’d failed Comp II during the spring semester, and were repeating the required credits. And then there were the returning students, the older adults who’d been laid off or downsized and who’d decided to return to school to pursue entirely new careers. They could be some of her toughest customers because, having gone through college once, they expected it to be the same as it had been ten or twenty years ago during their first time around. Or worse, they hoped to skate through doing as little work as possible.
To her dismay returning students were often among the first to drop her class, even though, given the writing skills of some of them, they needed it most.
Zae took a deep breath and pulled back her shoulders. She opened her mouth to introduce herself, though her name was written on the chalkboard behind her, when one more student slipped into the back of the lecture hall with only seconds to spare before being officially late.
“Chip,” Zae sighed, her eyes widening behind the dorky black frames of her bifocals. This was a new incarnation. He’d traded his plastic flip flops, loose cargo shorts and threadbare graphic T-shirts for khakis, leather uppers and a white buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled up. His dark blonde, sun-kissed curls were as wild as ever, but his sky-blue eyes were now framed by wire-rimmed glasses that gave him the look of a stereotypical bookworm. He excused himself past several students to get to one of the few remaining empty seats in the middle of the center block of desks. Almost directly in front of Zae.
* * *
Chip slumped in his seat. The desks in the lecture hall had been designed for people much shorter, much thinner and much more right-handed than he. Wedging his big frame into the gap between the palette-shaped desktop and the back of the seat took work. His right knee pressed against the underside of the desk, and he had to consciously keep his left leg from flopping onto his neighbor, a slim Asian girl who couldn’t have been more than eleven.
Everything in Between Page 8
