by Mara Jacobs
But God, to see him again, when I’d been just basically staring at his picture for the last month. To me, he was perfection.
“Good, I’m glad,” he said about my wanting to stay on the job.
“Besides,” I said, “now that we have this system worked out, it’s been going really smoothly.” I tried to keep my voice light, like it wasn’t a huge blowup and the demise of whatever personal interaction we’d begun that caused us to come to this new working arrangement.
“Yeah, about that,” he said. He leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and lacing his fingers together, like he was a doctor about to deliver terminal test results to his patient. “We need to talk about that night.”
I braced myself. There was no way I was going to apologize for berating him for almost using the term rape. But… “I am sorry for what you felt was an intrusion on your privacy by reading your documents. It seemed to make sense to put the transcribed notes in the correct document, but I shouldn’t have read all the chapter one documents.” It was true I shouldn’t have gone into all those documents. It was clear that my files could have been left on their own, or at the very least, put in the “Notes” doc for each book. I didn’t need to read them all. Although, a heads-up from him about not wanting to share those docs would have helped the whole situation.
(Yeah, I might have still looked, not sure about that.)
“I could have been more clear about where to put everything on my computer,” he easily conceded. He ran a hand over his chin, then leaned back in the chair and looked to a point just beyond me. A look I knew well from his class.
He let out a deep sigh. “I’ve even been wondering if it wasn’t some kind of Freudian slip on my part? If maybe I purposely didn’t give you more specific instructions?” His gaze came back to me. “If maybe I actually wanted you to read my stuff?”
“Maybe,” I said, not immune to fucked-up logic, having had a lifetime of it myself. “But then why the freak out? And to such an intense level?”
“I’m really sorry about that. About using that verbiage.” He sat forward again, as if physically, as well as verbally, pleading his case. “You were right. It’s not a word to be used in any sense except literally. And I don’t mean “literally” as it’s being used today.”
“You mean figuratively?” I said, daring to crack a bit of a smile.
“God, don’t even get me started on that whole thing.” He waved a hand, his smile tentative, matching mine. “The bottom line is, I’m a writer. I, better than most people, know the power of words. And should also know when hyperbole is not only not needed, but downright offensive.”
He searched my eyes, and I could sense he wanted me to pipe in, to tell him why I, personally, found his usage offensive. But I didn’t say anything. Nor would I. Ever.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said.
“Me too,” I said, meaning that the whole damn thing had ever happened.
He nodded, seeming to bring that discussion to a close. Doing what looked like a mental head slap, he rose from his seat and moved to the credenza. “Oh, man, I don’t want to forget this. Again.”
I watched as he reached behind one of the boxes filled with his notes (and my next round of gainful employment!), and pulled out a wide, but fairly flat, gift-wrapped box with a bow on it.
He came around to my side of the desk and leaned against the front, facing me, offering me the box. “This is for you.”
“It is?” I said, looking at the box like it might be a trap of some sort. We’d just come to an alliance about my continued working for him. Then to throw a gift into things? On Valentine’s Day? “What is it?” I asked, still not reaching for it.
He leaned forward and placed the box on my lap. I almost opened my knees and shut them, catching his hand, like it was the Pretty Woman pearls. Oh, to have his hand between my legs.
But I was neither quick nor brave enough to pull it off, and he placed the box without touching me at all.
“Open it,” he answered, giving me no clue as to its contents.
“But, why?” I asked, then began unwrapping it, sticking the bow to the arm of my chair.
“I got it for you in Gstaad. I’d intended on giving it to you that first day I got back, I even had it in my bag. But I got…distracted.”
I looked up at him and raised a brow, knowing full well what had distracted him. My mouth. My body. My kisses.
He cleared his throat before continuing, but I did notice his gaze had dropped to my mouth. “Anyway. Instead of a holiday gift, I guess it has become a peace offering of sorts.”
“But…today?”
“Why not today?” he asked.
I looked at him questioningly, but he just shrugged, not knowing what I was getting at. Sighing, I said, “Because it’s Valentine’s Day?”
The look on his face was classic Absent-Minded Professor. His gaze swung to the large wall calendar pinned up above the couch. “Aw, shit,” he said as he acknowledged the date.
I lowered my gaze and continued to slowly unwrap the box, the thrill somewhat tarnished knowing that he hadn’t meant anything romantic by his gift-giving timing. My hands were sure, though my emotions weren’t, as I slid the wrapping paper from the box, which had some French name on the cover embossed in gold.
He sighed, though I didn’t look up. I heard him whisper, “Fuck it,” under his breath, not sure if I was supposed to hear it or not. Suddenly he was on his haunches in front of me, his hands stilling mine, sliding under them, so that our palms met.
I stared at our joined hands, until he laced his fingers with my willing ones, then I looked up into his grey gaze. His eyes weren’t the stormy seas, but that of a crisp, cold winter sky.
“Syd, will you be my Valentine?” he whispered.
I gave one tiny nod, which he noticed and let out a held breath. Good, he was as nervous as I was. And double good, he wanted to get back on track to…wherever we had been headed.
“Of course, it depends,” I added.
He looked concerned, but I must have had some kind of teasing tell, because he got a grin on his face, quirked one brow and said, “On what?”
“On what’s in the box,” I said, then smiled at him. A wide, sincere, and oh, so inviting smile.
“Sorry to say, it’s not that kind of gift. But you have definitely given me some ideas for next time.”
I didn’t comment that there wouldn’t be a next time. Or at least not a next Valentine’s Day. He would be back in New York next year, his year of teaching—and getting his writing mojo back—over.
Whatever we were venturing into, whatever we were stepping up to, would be over in May when the semester was.
Did anybody, ever, lament the end of school as I did?
“Though it is something you can wear,” he added. “Just…above your clothes, not underneath them.
I had the cover off and slid back the tissue paper to find a beautiful, multi-colored scarf.
It wasn’t like any of the ones I’d seen on the Bribury campus before. And certainly not in Queens. I removed it from the box and spread it open. It was larger than it first appeared, and so incredibly soft that I put it to my cheek. “It’s beautiful,” I truthfully said, even while I was wondering if I should wear it on campus. It was so different. But different in a good way, or different in a “look at that idiot” way?
“I know this isn’t the type you, or your fellow students, are wearing, but I saw it and thought of you.”
I held up the exquisite, and undoubtedly crazy expensive, piece of material. “This made you think of me?”
He shrugged, then settled his hands on the outside of my knees, his long fingers pointing up my thighs. “Yeah. It’s kind of mainstream, because everyone’s wearing scarves. And yet, it’s really different, and isn’t one everybody has. It’s unique.” I watched him as he spoke, his eyes locked on mine. “Even if it doesn’t want to be.”
He knew me well. Maybe too well. And yet, here we were, a
pologies made, seemingly picking back up with the personal end of things as well as professional.
“Yes, Billy,” I said, not breaking eye contact. “I will be your Valentine.”
He flashed the wide smile that he sported in the picture of him and his sister skiing. The one I’d stared at so many times while in this room.
He leaned forward at the same time I did and we met just over my knees for a sweet, feather-light kiss. His hands tightened on my thighs, more for balance than seduction, but I loved any time his hands were on me, for whatever reason.
It had been a long five weeks since he’d kissed me, and this kiss he was giving me now, while sweet, and so well worth waiting for, wasn’t enough. Wasn’t nearly enough.
He opened his eyes and looked at me with those amazing grey orbs. As he pulled back, I could tell he was waiting for me to set the pace, to give the word that it was okay to go on.
And maybe I should have just thanked him for the scarf and then left. We probably shouldn’t start something that, at best, would be frowned upon by the administration, and at worst could have him losing his position and me losing my scholarship.
But we’d thought that all out before and decided that the reward was definitely worth the risk. The time spent apart should have made me come to my senses about it all, but it had only made me miss what might have been even more. Made me more desperate to play out our hands. And mouths. And God, that awesome ass of his.
“I didn’t lock the door when I came in,” I said, lobbing the ball back to his side of the court.
“That’s an easy fix,” he replied, but there was a question in his voice. And he didn’t move. He was hitting it back to me, barely getting the weak shot over the net.
“Billy?” I said, rushing the net for the smash.
“Yes?”
“Lock the door.”
He was on his feet and heading to the door at record speed.
Chapter Nineteen
When he returned to stand in front of me he held a hand out and I took it, rising from my chair.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he said softly. Even though he’d just given me a sweet kiss, I knew this was different.
My breath hitched, but I tried not to show any other signs of my extreme anticipation. “Okay,” I coolly said. I may even have shrugged a tiny bit.
His mouth—and those lips—quirked up in a little grin. “No. Really,” he said, his face moving closer to mine.
“Okay,” I repeated, with a little more emphasis.
“Like, I’m going to kiss the shit out of you.”
I tilted my head a tiny bit to the side, and with a Queens girl toughness said, “Bring it.”
He did.
Gone was the sweet softness from just a moment ago. Now, he took my face in his hands and brought his mouth down to mine, hard, determined. It was like the past month had never existed and I was back in his arms, tasting him, wrapping my arms around his neck, trying to get closer to his body.
“God,” one of us groaned. I wasn’t even sure which one. My breath seemed to leave my body and I gasped for air just long enough to return to his mouth.
His arms came around me, his hands sliding my sweater up so he had access to my leggings-clad butt. Pulling me hard against him, he let out a little growl and squeezed.
“Billy,” I moaned, digging my hands into his soft hair, grinding myself against him. It felt like a fever had finally broken. For me, a five-year fever. And I was still burning up. Burning for him.
“Christ, Syd,” he hissed as I nipped his gorgeous bottom lip. “I knew we’d be…I just knew.”
“Me too,” I said, tipping my head back for him as he kissed under my jaw, licking and nibbling some wonderfully sensitive spots. He pulled my sweater up and I reluctantly separated my body from his and put my arms up to hasten the process of getting naked. I yanked at his hoodie and he helped, both garments tossed to the chair behind me. He was in a T-shirt and I had a long-sleeved shirt on, which were both pulled off with the same zeal.
Having dressed this morning with no idea where this day would end, I was happy to see I’d put on a decent bra.
Irrelevant, because it was on the floor in seconds, as were the rest of my clothes and his. Jeans and leggings and socks and shoes, all hurriedly taken from each other’s bodies and discarded until he was down to his black boxer-briefs and I was only in my red panties.
“The lights,” I said.
He shook his head. “No. I’ve waited so long to see you, there’s no way I’m going to turn them off now.”
“But you can see shadows from outside with the overhead light on. At least turn that one out.”
He didn’t ask how I knew that particular piece of information, just nodded and walked over to the switch by the door. Before he flipped the lights he looked back at me.
“Christ, you’re beautiful, Syd.”
I leaned back into the edge of the desk, placing my hands down on both sides, near my hips, arching my back a tiny bit.
Even from the distance of the small room, I could hear him swallow.
“Turn on the desk lamp,” he said.
I stretched behind me, never taking my eyes from his, and clicked on the lamp. It was one of those kinds with the soft, green shade and produced a soft, almost eerie glow that now backlit my body.
Billy’s hand left the switch, with the overhead lights still on, and he placed his palm over his chest. “I have no words,” he whispered.
I spread my legs a little bit more, wondering if my wetness was visible on my red cotton panties. I couldn’t take my eyes off Billy to check.
He slid his hand down his chest, which was mostly smooth, with a smattering of hair at the top, and then a darkening line that he was now skimming to place his hand over his erection. He stroked himself over his briefs while I watched. When I brought my legs together to get a little relief, a wide grin spread across his face and he started to me.
“The lights,” I said.
He laughed at his forgetfulness (fully understandable given the situation), hit the lights and came over to me.
I started to reach for him, but he just shook his head. “No, stay right there. Just like that.” I did.
He bypassed me, though his eyes stayed on me, and went to the tiny closet in the corner where he pulled out a plaid blanket, which he unfurled on the couch, creating a covering sheet of sorts.
I raised a brow and he shrugged. “That leather sticks to your skin like a sonofabitch.”
“You’ve done this a lot?”
He chuckled. “I take naps on here. Or did fall semester. But, to answer your question, no. No, this couch has never seen as much skin as it’s about to.”
I smiled softly, my insecurity quelled.
He walked past me, nodding with his head for me to still stay at the edge of the desk. Going to his side of the desk, I watched over my shoulder as he took his keys from the blotter and unlocked one of the bottom desk drawers. From my angle, I couldn’t see what was in it, but when he straightened, he had a box of condoms in his hand which he tossed on the couch as he—finally—made his way back around to me.
I nodded at the condoms. “Those been in there all year?”
He shook his head as his eyes roamed my body. “No. I brought them my first day back from break.” He reached out and ran a cool finger along my clavicle.
So, they’d been in his bag the day we’d kissed for hours. I’d briefly wondered at the time if he hadn’t gone further because of lack of protection.
As if reading my mind, or trying to put it at ease, he said, “I never took for granted that this would happen, Syd. I wanted to be safe if it did. But…this is still your call.”
I took my hands from the desk and stepped away from it, and into him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pressing my naked breasts against his warm, strong chest.
“I want this, Billy. I’ve wanted this from the first.”
“Me too,” he whispered, ducking his head and
kissing my neck as his hands splayed over my back, pulling me even closer still.
I didn’t mention that my “from the first” started many years ago.
Sliding a hand under each of my thighs, he lifted me up and carried me to the couch where he sat first, then lowered me onto his lap. Face to face, my legs straddling him. I put my hands out to steady myself on the back of the couch behind his head.
The softness (or oldness) of the couch, and the weight of the two of us, made us sink in and so I was quite a bit higher than him. Which was perfect, because that put my breasts right at his eye level. And though I could stare into his gorgeous grey eyes forever, it was mind-blowing when he leaned forward and caught my nipple with his mouth.
I squirmed on him as I moaned in delight at his hands skimming up my sides and playing with my breasts, molding them, pushing them together, squeezing as he sucked on one, and then the other.
I kept one hand on the couch, and the other sank into his soft hair, playing with the strands, yanking a little as he bit down on my nipple.
“Christ,” he groaned, but quickly returned to me, his mouth suckling with determination.
My hips started bucking into his, needing relief. The cotton of our underwear the only barrier between us.
“I know,” he whispered. “I can’t wait either.” There was almost apology in his voice.
“Long enough,” I gasped as I rubbed my clit down on his hard-on. “Waited long enough.”
In one smooth movement, he twisted me and brought me down to the couch on my back while also peeling my panties off.
Finally, my fantasies were coming to life as he lowered himself down to me, my legs open and ready for him. I moved my hands down his back, rigid and rippled with strength, and slid his briefs down, then hung on to the ass I’d admired so often, as he quickly put on the condom and guided himself inside me.
I wanted to hang on to his body, to explore every inch with my fingers as he began a slow rhythm of gliding inside me, but instead I took his face in my hands as he looked down at me.
