by Mia Luxe
Am I forgetting something? God I hate packing!
I try to focus on Shelly’s story while I lay clothes on my bed.
“He’s just perfect. We kissed, made out, but didn’t fuck. That’s, like, the first time I’ve been in bed with a guy and he didn’t pressure me! Not that I don’t want to, but, I don’t know, it seems like he actually cares about me!”
“That’s great Shelly,” I say, and her eyes narrow at my absent-minded tone.
"Hey! Where are you going?”
I hide a smile as the gears in Shelly’s head click. I can see the moment the lightning bolt of understanding hits her as her eyes go wide.
“Oh my God, it's somewhere with Hot Guy, isn't it?"
Shelly can be surprisingly perceptive at times.
I've been aching to share my secret with someone, anyone. I sometimes wish I had sisters who would gossip with me. If I told them about my fling with my professor, they would go straight to my mom and dad and tell them to drag me home.
"I'll tell you, but you have to promise to keep it between us. I'm serious."
Shelly's eyes are like saucers, wide and eager. "I promise.”
I don’t respond. “I promise on my life,” says Shelly with great formality.
“Well in that case,” I say with a giggle. “I guess I have to tell you.”
I pause, gathering up my courage.
I can’t believe I’m really going to say it.
“It’s a professor.”
Shelly squeals. "Oh my God! That explains the secrecy. I know exactly who it is. The one guy you respect in this university... it's Professor Bold, isn't it?"
I bite my lip then nod.
"Is it serious? Fuck, that guy is hot. Intense though, like, scary intense. But so hot."
"It's... well, it's kind of serious."
She puts her hand to her mouth.
"You fucked him, didn't you! You finally lost your virginity!"
"Not so loud," I hiss.
She's almost shrieking and anyone who passed by could hear. Secretly, I'm happy to finally get it off my chest.
I stop packing and let myself fall back into my bed, spreading out on my clothes with a wide smile on my face.
“I’m officially not the only virgin in dorms anymore,” I say.
"Did you do it in his office?"
I sit up, and I know I’ve got a sly smile on my face. It’s fun being the one with things to tell. Usually, I’m the one listening to Shelly’s trysts.
"We did some things in his office..."
"You little slut!" Shelly shakes her head, tutting at me, but I know she's happy for me.
"I know, right?"
"Fuck. A professor. That's like, one of my top three fantasies."
"Let's hear the list."
She spits out the list so quick I know she must have it memorized. "Number one is an actual prince, like, honest to God royalty. Two is a professor. Three is a vampire. I have a feeling only one of the three is a possibility.”
I grab my phone and Google a picture of Nosferatu.
“If you like vampires, check out this sexy classic from 1922.”
Shelly leans over and grimaces as she sees the pale, bald face of the classic vampire.
“Gross, Willow. You know, you’d be the worst genie. I’d wish for a prince, and you’d give me a frog.”
“I bet you’d kiss a frog. Remember that first guy you hooked up with frosh week?”
Shelly’s cheeks redden. She points a finger at me. “No, I don’t remember, thanks to tequila. And I thought we said we weren’t going to talk about frosh week! Switching the subject, where are you two going?”
She motions at my clothing covered bed and the half-full suitcase on the floor.
"Portland! Actually, it's not just for fun. He’s presenting to the FBI.”
“The FBI? Seriously? This is like a movie.”
I grab a fistful of shirts, stuffing them into my suitcase. You never know what you might need.
“I know, it’s crazy. But enough about me. Tell me more about Carlson!”
Shelly wrestles in her head. I can see the competing desires to hear more about my scandalous relationship with professor Bold and her own need to tell me all about her latest prince charming, who actually seems like a halfway decent guy for once.
"Well," she says after a few seconds, "he's going to take me to dinner tonight! I haven't been on a real date in ages. I'm so nervous. I might have a shot or two first."
I shake my head, scrambling to pack a bathing suit. Who knows, maybe we'll be staying at a hotel with a pool.
"If this guy is someone you see a real possibility with, don't. And don't drink at dinner, either. Let him get to know you sober first, then open up."
"Since when did you get so wise?"
"Since I started dating a guy ten years older than me," I giggle, finishing up my packing. I have to get Shelly to push down on the top of the suitcase in order for it to close.
I call a cab, and lug my massive suitcase down the stairs with Shelly’s help.
“Have a great weekend!”
“Have a good date with Carlson,” I reply, and we hug each other before I head out.
The cab ride is full of anticipation, and I feel like a pot ready to boil over. I can’t wait to get into Portland. I can’t wait to see Connor.
He is waiting casually by his Audi, the trunk open and he raises his eyebrows when he sees my huge suitcase. The cab driver grabs the bag and hands it to Connor. It took me both hands and a struggle to even lift it, but he makes it look like he's lifting a feather pillow. His muscles cord, taut under his tight sweater.
"I see you’re ready for anything," he says.
I roll my eyes. “Packing is my least favorite thing in the world. So don’t even start.”
He smiles. “Got it. Packing is off-limit for teasing.” He throws my bag in the back, pushing it down.
“No matter how many pairs of underwear I pack, no matter how much I cram it full of socks and swimsuits and makeup I always feel like I’m forgetting something.”
"If you did forget anything, we can always just buy it," he says with a smile. He opens the passenger door and I hop in, feeling the coolness of the leather seats under me. It's a nice car, but nothing out of line with what a professor could afford.
“You still owe me Lululemon leggings,” I say with a fake pout.
He reaches out, running his hand up my leg. “I don’t know if these will survive the weekend.”
My cheeks flush red as I remember how easily he pinned me down and ripped my pants, forcing his cock into me. My whole body tingles and I bite my lip.
“You better concentrate on driving, mister,” I say, as he pulls away. His quiet, rich community is so peaceful. We pass by the familiar jet-black Mercedes, drive by the huge, private houses that scream old money. Soon we’re on the i5-s where we fight with traffic to make progress.
At first, we don't talk much, just listening to the radio, and I get the sudden thought that if it wasn't Connor I was sitting next to, I'd be dreading spending three hours making conversation. Just sitting in silence with him is so satisfying.
“Tell me, Connor, where’d you grow up?”
“Tacoma. Spent my life there until I graduate from high school.”
I nod. “What made you leave?”
He merges into the HOV lane, accelerating. “I applied to Seattle PD. They usually prefer older applicants, but luckily for me they had a low recruitment year. My mom and dad still live in Tacoma. We’ll be driving right by my hometown on the way down, and you’ll get to see the endless construction.”
“Are we going to stop by so you can introduce me to your parents?” I use a joking tone, letting him know I’m not serious.
“Yeah, that will go over well. Oh hey, mom and dad, I’m loving my job. Oh her? That’s my top student and girlfriend.”
My heart skips a beat. I know it’s stupid to get happy over labels, but the way he says girlfriend mak
es me swell up with joy.
It's dark as we approach the bridge over the Columbia river into North Portland. I love all the bridges, the city built between rivers. The closer we get, the more I can imagine living here. As we approach, I realize that I never asked him where we’re going to be staying.
“So, where’s the hotel?”
"I did a little better than a hotel."
"Oooh, like an Airbnb? Those are always so cute."
"Yeah, something like that. And we'll have plenty of space."
He exits the highway right onto SW Broadway Dr, the traffic quieting.
We pass a big park, winding on the road and the houses get nicer and nicer.
I start to feel uneasy, and my concern grows when we pull up the driveway of a regal mansion. Pure white exterior with Roman architecture columns. It's something that you'd see in a rap video or a show about million dollar homes, drooling as you wish you could have it, even just set foot into it.
And now we're driving up to it.
He stops the car, and my heart clenches with anxiety. This is not the place a professor stays for a weekend.
“How much are you paying for this!”
He smiles. "Let's just say I'm calling in a favor for us to spend a weekend here. Don't worry, it won't break the bank, and since it’s a business trip - my half is tax deductible.”
What kind of people own places like this? Wealthy people... connected people.
As soon as he unlocks the huge main doors and opens them up, I turn my brain off and gasp. A huge chandelier dazzles above. Twin staircases with red carpeting lead up to the top floor, and everywhere I look there is art and statues as if it's a museum.
"It's beautiful," I say.
"It’s nicer in the summer when you can use the pool. Still, there’s nothing like a soak in the hot-tub. Good thing you brought your suit.”
He talks about this place as if he's been here many times before. It's driving me crazy. His huge house back home, this mansion that might be the property of a rich friend of his... or might be his, and he doesn't want me to know. But then why would he bring me here? If he had anything to hide, why would he let me get so close to it?
I don't want to think about any of this.
All I want to think about is how gorgeous the place is. How strong and handsome Connor is, the way he looks at me and makes me feel. Maybe I’m being foolish. But I don’t care.
He lugs our bags upstairs and I follow him, each footstep reverential on the stairs. He opens a big set of doors and I see the huge bed in front of me. I can't help myself. I jump forward, sprawling on my back and looking up.
Connor places our bags in the corner and climbs on top of me, giving me a little kiss and looking into my eyes with a gleam. He kisses me deeply, and I sigh with contented pleasure.
This is my dream. Lying in bed with him, enjoying each other’s bodies. We kiss slowly, without a rush, our desire building up slowly until we make love passionately. I moan his name as I cum, gasping out and looking into his deep green eyes.
After we shower off, I pull my bikini out from my giant suitcase.
“I want to check out the hot tub!”
“I’m surprised you found your suit in that mess,” he says, eyeing my huge, overstuffed suitcase.
I push him. He laughs. “Oh yeah, packing is off-limits. My mistake.”
“Don’t make it again,” I say with a fake-serious voice.
“I’ll go set up the hot tub, it shouldn’t take more than 15, then you come out. Grab a housecoat from the bathroom so you don’t get a chill.”
I spend 15 minutes unpacking and putting my clothes in the drawer, arranging my toiletries in the spacious bathroom. I change into my pink bikini and wrap myself in the luxurious bathrobe. Then I walk down the stairs, opening the sliding doors and hear the bubbling sound of the hot-tub.
The sky is so clear above me, millions of stars sparkling like diamonds. A little circle of bright light beckons me and I walk to the large hot tub.
The entire hot tub is surrounded by little romantic candles, the flames flickering in the light wind. I pull off my housecoat, setting it on the deck chair as Connor leans back, his muscular body relaxed. His eyes devour me as I slip into the how water, marveling at the beauty of it all. To Connor’s right is a bucket filled with ice with the top of a bottle visible. A corkscrew rests beside it.
A drink is the last thing I want. This is so perfect already.
“You did this all for me,” I say, sitting across from Connor with a wide smile.
“All for you,” he mirrors, smiling. We luxuriate in the heat for a moment when he reaches to the bottle and pops the bottle of bubbly, the top smoking as he pours two glasses into champagne flutes.
“Val de Frank. It’s the only sparkling apple juice that I could find with a cork.”
He hands me a glass.
“Thank you, Connor,” I say, glad that it’s not real champagne.
“I want to toast to you, Willow. You’ve… you don’t know it, but before I met you, it felt like the world was grey. Now it’s all in color.”
The flickering light of the candle throws shadows on his face, glowing warmly as he speaks.
I clink together my glass with him and drink. There’s no burn, just a delicious taste.
“You’re really serious about the no drinking rule, aren’t you Connor?”
He gets a sad look in his eye, but he doesn’t feel far away.
“My father drank a lot growing up. He only stopped when I went undercover. He said… he said he needed to be sober because my mom couldn’t handle losing us both. I’m not close with him.”
“I’m so sorry to hear that, Connor.”
“It’s OK. I still visit now and again, but I won’t lie and say it isn’t tense.”
I look down, watching the bubbling water.
“I don’t get along with my father either.”
“You told me you had some trouble with your sisters.”
“Yeah. It’s all… I sound like Holden Caulfield, but they’re so phony. They pretend to have these perfect lives, but it’s all so fake. We’re pretty well off, but I hate taking my dad’s money.”
I remember how Connor told me about his bullet wounds, all the details that could land him in jail. It gives me the courage to open up.
“I haven’t told anyone this. I don’t even think my mom has figured it out. He was a low-level developer until his buddy got a position in the development council. Then, suddenly, he started getting all the best land, all the best contracts, and he turns into this big-shot developer.”
There’s a weird look in Connor’s eyes, which quickly disappears.
“You don’t want to live a dishonest life. I get that.”
I pause, nervous. The question has been welling up since I saw his massive house, and I have to get it off my chest.
“Connor… I don’t know how to ask these.”
“Whatever it is, just ask. Don’t feel nervous.”
“How did you afford your house?”
He waits a second before answering.
“Willow… I…”
It feels like he’s hiding something. His pause makes my suspicion grow.
“Connor, what happened to the 15 million dollars?”
The question leaves my mouth before I can stop the words. I bite my lip, the perfect harmony of the night shattered. A gust of wind blows, half of the little candles flickering and dying.
“What 15 million dollars?”
His eyes are hard, staring into me. He puts his flute down next to him.
I wish I could take that question back.
“I read… I read in the files that the warehouse where Joe Maturi shot you had a safe. There was supposed to be 15 million dollars in it…”
“And you think I stole it to buy a house?”
I shake my head. “I - I’m sorry, I’m not accusing you of anything, I just-”
His face is cold steel.
“It sure as hel
l sounds like you’re accusing me of something.”
I can’t meet his eyes.
“I’m sorry, Connor.”
He stares straight at me.
“I don’t have a cent of that 15 million dollars.”
I want to wilt away into nothing. I want this moment to be done.
“I’m sorry, I just thought, you know, the huge house… now we’re in a mansion in Portland…”
“If you weren’t here, I’d be staying in a motel. This is all for you. What do you think pays more, Willow, a salary as an assistant professor at WCU, or consulting for the FBI and local police? I’m not rich, but I can afford everything I have on my own. I don’t need a cent of Maturi blood money to do it. Understand?”
His voice is hard and loud, close to yelling. I’ve never heard him like this.
Guilt wracks me. I take a sip of my drink, the sparkling juice tasting bitter.
“I understand. I’m sorry Connor!”
His harsh gaze looks tender again.
“It’s OK. I shouldn’t have yelled.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Not just relief that he isn’t mad at me.
Relief that he isn’t like my dad.
He didn’t take the 15 million dollars. He isn’t corrupt like every other miserable person in this world.
I take another sip, uncertain.
I’ve never seen him snap like that.
Is he telling me the whole truth?
Perfect Shell
Connor - Saturday, November 8th
On the outside, everything is perfect. We park in a little lot and walk together in the cool November air. Willow is in a blue Helly Hanson jacket that will keep her dry if the threatening clouds decide to break open above us.
She’s so beautiful. So fragile.
We walk to the Saturday market by the river. It's bustling even in the Winter, with vendors selling everything from art prints to fried donuts and handcrafted toothbrush holders.
Willow stands in front of a beautiful print of cherry blossoms, and before she can protest I hand bills to the artist and have the prints bagged up.
“Thank you Connor. This is my first piece of art.”
“I’m glad you got it with me,” I say with a smile.
