“The Mr. Tate?” She laughed and paused with the sandwich halfway to her mouth. A hint of jelly, it must have been grape from the dark purple color, smeared the side of her mouth. “You’re the one who’s chaperoning Mina and the other girls to Sarasota?”
He didn’t know why she seemed so surprised. Who was this girl anyway? “I am. Is there a problem?”
She laughed again. “We’ll see.” The girl looked back over her shoulder and yelled out, “Mina! There’s someone here to see you. And he didn’t call first.”
The girl turned back to him, and Ian was struck again by how lovely she was, with her short and natural hair, pointed ears, and the wide, dark eyes staring unblinkingly up at him. She looked away as a sweatpants and T-shirt wearing Jasmine bounded up behind her. His student seemed distracted.
“Hey, Mr. Tate. What’s going on?”
“My apologies, I should have called.” He produced her folder from his briefcase. “You left this in the meeting earlier tonight.”
Her expression cleared. “Thank God! I’ve been looking all over for that.” She hugged it to her chest, smiling. “Thank you! I wanted to look over those notes tonight, and I was going crazy when I couldn’t find them.”
The other girl retreated from the door. Ian watched her slim back, left bare by a psychedelic print halter top, disappear as she slipped into the candlelit recesses of the house. Something about her seemed vaguely familiar.
“No problem, Jasmine. Your house isn’t very far from mine. Anyway, I’ll let you get back to your studying.” He stepped back from the doorway. “Good luck with that presentation.”
“Thanks.” She started to close the door.
“Oh, by the way.” Ian turned back to the house. “Who was that girl who answered the door? I didn’t know you had a sister.”
“Oh.” Jasmine giggled and rolled her eyes. “That’s my mom. She can be a little rude sometimes. Sorry about that.”
Her mother? “No, it’s OK. She wasn’t rude. I was just curious.” He gave her his professor’s smile. “I’ll see you on Friday afternoon.”
“OK.” She smiled back and closed the door.
As he walked back down the path past their garage, Ian felt eyes on him. He looked around and then up. Jasmine’s mother sat at an upstairs window in the house, perched on the window seat like a cat, watching him. When she noticed that he saw her, she didn’t look away. If anything, her look intensified. Then she smiled.
Ian got into his car and drove off, feeling her eyes on him the entire time. At home, he couldn’t shake her look. Or the feeling that he’d seen her before. He graded some papers, planned an itinerary for himself during the Sarasota trip, and then took himself off to bed.
She was draped in candlelight. In a scene straight from a soft core porn, she sat in a high velvet-covered bed, naked with just the light playing over her silken flesh, flickering over her ankles, thighs, the subtle curve of her hips, her sweeping back, and the welcoming smile turned coyly over her shoulder. He felt his own nakedness in the slight breeze that came from an open window. Her gaze caressed his body like her soft hands soon would, skimming over his chest, his flat belly that contracted at the look of her, and his slowly hardening cock.
“Come,” she said. And he went to her. She turned slowly, and his breath escaped him. How could someone so lovely and innocent-looking be so bold? She kissed him, brushing her breasts against him, teasing with her hands. She cupped his balls and whispered hotly in his ear.
“I need to taste you.”
Her hands pushed him gently onto the bed. The velvet enfolded him as she moved down between his widening thighs. She smiled again. And covered him with her mouth. His neck arched. His body sizzled. She retreated to lick the head of his dick slowly while keeping her eyes on him, watching the agonized pleasure in his face.
Her mouth opened, and she swallowed him, taking him deep into the back of her throat, sucking in a slow, building rhythm until his hips moved with her head and his hand drifted over her hair, cupping her vulnerable scalp as she watched him with her big eyes. Her cheeks hollowed as she took more of him into her mouth, feeding his pleasure, trailing fire down his belly and into his balls. As though she sensed their sudden heaviness, his rising need to come, she cupped him and hummed. He exploded in her mouth.
When she lifted her head, her smile was angelic and hungry, her tongue licking a trace of white from her lips. She climbed up his body, opening up her gorgeous pussy above his mouth.
“Your turn.”
Ian opened his mouth, anticipating the soft wetness on his tongue and that low gasp of hers when he gave it to her just as she liked.
Instead, he got the sound of his alarm.
“No.” He rolled over in the bed and crawled his fingers to where he knew the phone was. “I’m not working today,” he muttered to the merciless iPhone alarm that had taken away his dream. He turned it off, sighing. Her slick pussy had been right there, pink and tender as a conch, just waiting for him to slide his tongue inside.
Ian groaned and sat up. “Fuck…”
His sheets were wet from when he’d come in her mouth. He hated to let her go. In his dreams, she was perfect, always ready to please him. In his waking life, all he had of her were cryptic looks from a high window and sticky fingers holding on to a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Ian froze. And that was it. Just that simply, he knew where he had seen Jasmine’s mother before. In his bed. In his dreams.
Chapter 3
Sarasota was a nice town. Ian hadn’t been there in a couple of years, not since he’d made a day’s stop on his way down to Miami to start his job at the university. Everything was just like he remembered it. Slow, and beautiful.
“All right, ladies and gentlemen. We’re here.”
He pulled the van into a paved drive. It led to a small two-story guesthouse an alum had rented to him and his students for practically nothing. His students peered outside the van, looking around the sunny but quiet neighborhood like they’d been traveling for days and finally arrived on Mars.
Ian threw the keys to Natalie. “Pick your own rooms. There’s plenty of space for everyone.”
“Thank God we’re finally here,” Natalie caught the keys and jumped out of the van, shouldering her backpack. “One more freaking round of Faulkner trivia and I was gonna put my head through the glass.”
“You’re just pissed because you didn’t get any of the answers right.” Samantha picked up her pink duffel bag and starting walking toward the flower-lined path leading to the front door.
Jasmine bumped Natalie’s shoulder and laughed. “She’s right. Don’t be such a sore loser.” She grabbed her friend’s hand and pulled her toward the guesthouse.
Kendra McNeal and Archie Kennedy quietly emerged from the back of the van. Though physically mismatched, the pair had been inseparable since they met in the group at the beginning of last year. Plain and studious Kendra, with her thick hair more often than not held back in two afro puffs, and Archie Kennedy, academic wonder boy and soccer star. The two had spent the entire ride snuggling and talking quietly in the back corner seat of the van.
“The ride was fine, Mr. Tate. Didn’t feel a single bump in the road.” Archie grinned, and Kendra smiled up at him adoringly before nodding back at Ian.
“We’re going up to the room, now,” she said, her voice strong and mature despite her petite frame. “How much time do we have until we meet you back here?”
Ian looked at his phone. “About two hours. After that, it’s three hours at the conference for registration and the first opening sessions, and then we all come back here.”
“No problem. Thank you,” Kendra said, then the couple started off toward their room.
“You’re welcome,” Ian said to their backs.
In his downstairs room with a deck open to a pretty but overgrown flower garden, Ian put his body through a round of deep stretches and silent capoeira moves before taking a quick shower. He’d been restless all week. Dream
s of this woman—he didn’t even know her name—came to him even more frequently now. It didn’t matter if he was in the classroom or in the pool swimming laps until his lungs burned. His body was hard with the awareness of her.
Earlier that morning, with water from the shower running the length of his body, Ian had been even more aware of its potential as an instrument of sex. The muscles in his arms and shoulders, the curving flesh of his ass, the plains of his belly with its hard ridges and smooth skin, all seemed made for her. Meant for pleasing her. He hadn’t felt this aroused or obsessed with a woman since Zoë. Even in their most heated moments, with the sweat blinding their eyes, their bodies straining against each other, and his dick buried deep inside Zoë’s pussy, none of that matched the intensity of what he wanted with his dream woman. And he hadn’t even fucked her in real life yet.
The time at the conference flew by quickly. After a full day of meeting new people, fending off advances from the attractive but unremarkable women, and making contacts for the university’s writing program, Ian gathered his students and went back to the guest house.
“Is that place just one big pickup joint?” Samantha asked as they left the van.
“Pretty much,” Archie said. “Did you see how everybody was eyeing us when we walked in? It was definitely about the tits and ass and dick, not about any sort of writing. And did you see that sleazy old guy who tried to get into Natalie’s pants? That was some funny shit when she shot him down.” He mimicked shooting off a gun and laughed.
“Most of the writers are acting like they’re rock stars, and we’re just here for them to fuck,” Natalie said. “I’m not into that groupie shit.”
“It wasn’t that bad,” Kendra said. She’d apparently been to a good intro session about writing and making connections of the nonsexual kind.
Olivier looked a little disappointed. “Hey, like some schmuck said not too long ago, ‘Tomorrow’s another day.’ I’m holding out for a good hookup this weekend, as long as the chick can tell me who I can send my manuscript to while she’s riding my dick.” He looked at Ian. “Sorry, Mr. Tate.”
“Forget Mr. Tate, what about the rest of us?” Jasmine wrinkled her nose and leaned away from her classmate. “That was disgusting, even for you.”
Olivier smirked. “Thank you.”
“I’ve heard worse,” Ian said. “Just don’t forget to use protection if you end up in the saddle.”
“Definitely. I can always cop a few off Archie. I know he’s got a couple hundred in his bag.” Olivier chuckled. “He and Kendra fuck like goddamn rabbits.”
Luckily the amorous couple was far behind them, walking slowly side by side as they watched the sunset wash the landscape around them in pink and amber flame.
The others snickered.
“What about you, Mr. Tate?” Jasmine asked. “We saw that hot chick with the tattoos giving you the eye.”
Ian smiled at the unexpected question. “She was definitely attractive but not my type. I’m working on something else right now. Something better.”
“Damn, someone more fine that that?” Natalie shook her head. “Still, I’d take tattoo chick’s offer on principle. She’s hot.”
“Whatever, Natalie,” Samantha said. “I’m sure Mr. Tate isn’t going to have sex with some woman while he’s our chaperone. No matter how hot she is.”
“Chaperoning doesn’t mean you have to cut off your dick and check it at the door.” Then Olivier apologized to Ian again, equally insincerely. “I’m sure if he really wanted it, Mr. Tate could arrange something after all the kiddies are off to bed. Right, Mr. Tate?”
Ian hid a smile. “That is not something I would do,” he said. “But stop giving me ideas, Olivier. I might be weaker than you think.”
Back in his room, Ian showered and changed into an old T-shirt and loose pants that sat low on his hips to show off the V of muscle there and the nodding weight of his dick. He poured himself a glass of Scotch and bypassed the comforts of his room for the deck.
The sun was already gone, leaving behind only a trace of its gorgeous color on the horizon. Ian leaned back in the chair, savoring the quiet of his evening, the dark shapes of the flowers in the garden, the privacy the tall flowers afforded him. His friends all thought it was strange that he took so much pleasure in being alone. He enjoyed company, but there was just something fulfilling about spending time by himself and enjoying the minute passing of time.
There were times he got lonely, but it wasn’t very often. During those times he thought of Zoë and how she used to treasure her quiet time, too. They had had separate spaces in the house in which neither could come unless invited. It was a nice arrangement, one that had been her idea but Ian didn’t object to. It was certainly more fun when she got tired of being by herself and came looking for him. He’d turn to see her at his door, asking with a smile to be let in. He never once said no, especially not when she came with sex on her mind.
She’d never liked her big breasts, thought them too much of a bother when she was doing capoeira or going about the business of her life. But she loved them when they were having sex. She loved to have them touched and stroked, and he’d obliged her, washing them with his tongue, sucking the hard nipples until she begged for him to slip inside her. Zoë had loved foreplay but quickly realized she’d met her match in Ian.
He could go for hours, holding on to his orgasm like a miser with his gold until just the right time. He loved that ache in his balls, that tightening in his belly. Ian loved to savor that particular kind of pain. When he came, it was fantastic. Better than the rushed nut that a quick fuck could give. And he also loved to play with his woman’s pussy until it purred and salivated for him. Until his dick or tongue or fingers were all she wanted in that moment. Nothing else. No one else.
When he heard a moan, Ian thought that it was his dream Zoë. Her moans were often rough and urgent, ones that got his dick even harder as they fucked. The moans he heard were soft, reluctantly teased out of the woman. But sometimes Zoë gave him those, too, when he was working on her fourth or fifth orgasm, and she thought her body was too tired to go on.
She often came to him smelling of want and patchouli. He couldn’t resist her and didn’t want to. Once in his sunlit study, she’d stood near his chair, the one he knew she loved to fuck in. He watched her as his dick came to full hardness under his pants. She just stood there, gorgeous and undeniable with her heavy breasts, slim athlete’s body, and neatly trimmed bush. He could almost see her pussy swell and get wet, its walls thickening to receive him.
A moan came again, and this time Ian knew it wasn’t his memory of Zoë. It came from one of the upstairs rooms, a woman’s urgent sounds, and then a man’s, a rough counterpoint to her melodic vocal slide. Ian relaxed deeper into the terrace chair. His pants tented, and his head fell back. Between the twin stimulations of his memories of Zoë and the moans raining down on him, he was ready. He sipped his Scotch and savored the heathery burn of the drink on his tongue and down his throat.
Unbidden, his hips moved against the chair, his ass grinding against the air as arousal washed over him. The woman’s moans came louder, then words, soft and indecipherable, fell into the air. Ian pushed his pants down below his hips and took his cock in his hands. It pulsed hot and hard against his palm. Pre-cum already made him slick. He spread the moisture down and around his dick with a smooth up and down motion, imagining it was Zoë’s pussy that made his dick so wet, that made his balls leaden and ache.
In his study—in his memory—Zoë slowly lowered herself onto his thick erection. His head fell back, and he grasped the arms of the chair tighter. Her thick breasts waved close, bringing her scent of sweat and perfume to him. He moved his head snakelike toward them, capturing a thick nipple in his mouth and sucking softly, a gentle buildup of intensity he knew she liked. He squeezed the other breast, teasing its nipple with his thumb. Her pussy swallowed all of him then, and she tightened her internal muscles on him, squeezing his dick once a
nd then twice. Ian groaned. Her breast fell from his mouth with a soft pop, and it hovered in his field of vision, moist from his tongue, before his eyes fell shut and swept away the delicious image.
She rode him slowly, moving her hips, squeezing him until his body was a hard, wonderful ache. He grabbed her ass, urging her faster. Zoë wanted it fast. She was trying to do it slowly for him, building up to the crescendo he liked. But he could have his time after. He’d give her this come, shoot inside her pussy now, so he could play with her flush-softened body later, lay her out on the rug and fuck her long and deep until they were both sore. But now. Her breasts hopped in front of his face as she sped her movements. The sweat limned her face, collecting on her upper lip above her fiercely snarling mouth. Ian massaged her breasts, squeezed her nipples until she grunted, riding his dick hard and fast, panting and urging him on.
She came with a soft scream, jerking on his dick until he was close and then closer. His eyes clasped shut, and his hands held tightly to her hips as she grunted and gasped, her pussy squeezing and gliding around him. Ian opened his eyes and saw another face, one mischievous and laughing, with a mouth sticky from grape jelly and peanut butter.
The cum exploded out of him like fireworks, pulsing bliss all over his hand, his shirt, the bared plane of his stomach. He floated down from his orgasm high long minutes later to grimace down at his wet hand. With a grunt, he pulled off his shirt and cleaned himself up, dropped the dirty V-neck at his feet.
Ian shook his head, laughing at himself. He hadn’t jerked off this much since high school. And even back then he was getting enough sex to make it more of a hobby than a necessity.
He licked his lips and drained his glass of Scotch. Upstairs the amorous couple was quiet now. There was the occasional giggle, an answering laugh, but they seemed to be otherwise done for the night.
Above Ian, the usual scattering of stars glowed against the dark blanket of night. Reminding him of another night, and of a particular woman who’d watched him with eyes big enough to drown in. Maybe it was time he found himself a flesh and blood woman to pursue. At the rate he was going, he’d get carpal tunnel and go blind.
Propositioning the Professor (Professional Lovers Series Book 2) Page 2
