by Ella Brooke
But this was no fantasy. She was here, clinging to him, rubbing against him. Her corporeality flew in the face of his rapidly deteriorating principles.
“Wait…” Ian squeezed her hips firmly and looked at Hazel. “I’m your teacher.”
“So? It isn’t like you’re the kind of professor who gives grades. There’s no quid pro quo, here.” Hazel carded her fingers back through his hair and looked at him adoringly. “If there were something unethical, don’t you think I’d have something to say?”
Ian laughed and kissed her again, hungrily. Part of him wanted to believe this, but there was no mistaking the way she looked at him sometimes, her eager-to-please attitude, the way she lapped up praise. It mattered, at least in some facet, that he was her professor.
The moment she dismissed the thought, however, Ian became unable to hold onto it. Instead, he hoisted Hazel up in his arms and carried her up the stairs to his bedroom. Hazel was occupied with nibbling his neck when they reached the top, and he strolled over to his bed where he dropped her back on his sprawling king-size bed.
“Oh, God. I thought the first floor was crazy amazing.” Hazel looked around her as she felt over the embroidering on his comforter.
“Remind me to show you the rooftop pool later.”
“A pool?” Hazel exploded into giggles as Ian launched himself onto the bed with her.
Her leg curled around his, and his hands moved down her narrow waist. He adored the taste of her, the feel of her. And she was his, freely and willingly. In waves, her clothes came off and piled on the floor, until she was fresh and naked before him, smiling coyly. Free of her clothing, she was even more radiant, a bright and shining bud of a woman, ready to bloom into something marvelous. Ian bowed before her and peppered worshipful kisses against her breasts, and she cradled the back of his head, murmuring encouragements. Hazel shuddered as his fingers rubbed over her nipples, and he moved his attention upward to devour her neck.
As she lay waiting on the bed, Ian shed his jeans and his sweater, then reached for a condom on his nightstand before taking her in his arms once again. Hazel blinked up at him; Ian saw the trust in her eyes. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and then hitched her legs up.
Peals of giggles filled the room followed by moans and gasps. After positioning the head of his cock at her entrance, he then pushed inside of her, both of them exhaling over the blissful sensation of the act. He moved in her, a powerful force between her warm, tight legs, and she only grew slicker with each thrust. Hazel’s moans grew longer and deeper, and he rubbed the top of her mound as he rocked his hips back and forth, back and forth. Her hips rolled up to meet his.
“Yes, yes.” She gasped. “Oh, God, Dr. Cartwright! Harder!”
Hearing her call him that caused Ian to growl deep in his throat and thrust more forcefully.
Hazel continued to babble. “Yes, more. Ohh, Dr. Cartwright!” Until the words caught in her throat and she jerked underneath him. The feel of her coming around him was exquisite, as was the way her fingers curled into the comforter and she fluttered her eyes.
Ian took a bit longer, a benefit of experience and age. He could never regret making a woman come before him. Next time, he would have to make sure Hazel got started before he did. He found himself to be the king of excess when it came to ensuring the plurality of a woman’s pleasure.
Finally, his own orgasm rose in him, first an intangible warmth, then like lightning, moving through him so fast and so good. He threw his head back and roared, “Yes!” just as his hips jerked forward and stayed, clenching every muscle.
Beneath him, Hazel was still gazing up in that unfocused, post-orgasmic way when he slid out of her and removed the condom to deposit in the wastebasket by the bed. That done, he lay back down, pulling Hazel into his arms. She rested her head on his chest and curled into him. They said nothing for a long time. He kissed the top of her hair and petted it gently. She was sweaty and sleepy and sated, and he was a little proud of the latter.
What they would do once morning came was anyone’s guess.
Chapter Eight
“This can’t happen again.”
This is what Hazel had told herself, entangled in Ian’s sheets and looking up at the elaborate decorations of his bedroom. She had been too tired (and buzzed) to notice much about the room the night before, but unlike his Spartan office and living room, the bedroom was impeccably decorated—modernist paintings, sculptures, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves.
She was lying in bed with her professor, in his amazing penthouse. She couldn’t believe they’d slept together. More than that, she’d practically been all over him. Hazel had never imagined she could be the kind of girl to be “banging” her teacher.
Then, Ian opened his eyes sleepily and brushed hair out of her eyes. Hazel’s heart sprung to life, fluttering excitedly just from seeing his face, and then from the gentle whisper of “Good morning.”
It seemed only minutes later when he had lifted her up onto the island in the kitchen, and she was holding onto his shoulders as he vigorously pounded into her.
She was so legless from her orgasm that she stumbled over to the sofa afterward and sat, spent but happy. And again, telling herself:
“This can’t happen again.”
Ian brought her coffee and then went into the kitchen. A few minutes later, he returned with buckwheat pancakes with berries and powdered sugar sprinkled over the top.
“Oh, that looks amazing.” Hazel took her plate and waved it under her nose. “How did you know I preferred powder sugar to syrup?”
“I heard you and Vicki talking about your mutual love of breakfast foods before the Lederman meeting in the conference room.” Ian sat next to her and smiled. “Try them. I’m not an awful cook.”
Hazel cut out a section of pancake and stabbed a slice of strawberry. The texture of the pancake was nutty, and the sweetness of the berry flooded her mouth. Not even her dad had made pancakes this good—back when he was around to make them. Sitting around the table while he made bunny-shaped pancakes was one of Hazel’s first memories.
“It’s good to see you looking rested.” Ian brushed his fingers against her cheek. “Since you already turned in your paper, do you have class?”
“I still have the Poli-Sci class this morning. Oh, what time is it?”
“It’s still early, but I can take you to your apartment if you need to change.”
Hazel licked her lips and tilted her head to the side. She’d never had to decide what to do the morning after a drunken romp.
“You could change here, too, of course,” Ian offered. “I can’t guarantee something that will fit though.”
“You have women’s clothes here?” Hazel looked at Ian uncertainly.
Well, of course. This wasn’t Ian’s first unplanned sleepover with a woman. What was Hazel to him, really, but an exciting tryst with one of this students?
Ultimately, she chose to let him take her home. And with her mantra solidly in mind, she went about her day, went to her classes, and then landed right back at Ian’s penthouse.
Except this time, she brought an overnight bag.
***
Sex with Dr. Cartwright was like an addiction to Hazel. And like any good addiction, she found herself making excuses for it and covering for it almost regularly. She couldn’t tell Natalie the real reason she kept spending the night somewhere else, so she just said that she was visiting her family more often, and it got too late to drive back. Or that she had the graveyard shift at the grocery store.
Even worse, there were whispers among the students. She overheard Gina claiming that Ian smelled like a woman’s perfume. Even though Hazel never wore perfume, Ian had recently gifted her with an expensive lotion that smelled faintly of lavender, and she found herself making sure to sit away from Gina. What would she do if people found out she was sleeping with her professor? She had blown off the conflict of interest on that first night, but it could be a real problem for her—if anyone discov
ered their affair.
In the meantime, Hazel’s lies were covering up not just their nights at his penthouse, but what happened behind the locked door of his office (both business and the one at the school), and once, a quickie in the bathroom in the middle of a business dinner.
In more ways than one, Hazel was well-fucked.
Two weeks after their affair had begun, Hazel entered the office, wondering if it was time to talk to Ian about what they were. He was good to her. He treated her well, and they had amazing sexual chemistry, but Hazel didn’t know what this relationship meant, or how it would impact her career. She had much more to lose than he did. She would feel better if she could talk to Natalie about this, but she was afraid to say it out loud.
“Morning, darling,” Ian said as she walked in.
Hazel glanced behind her and then shot him a scolding look.
“No one is here. And I’m British. No one will notice an epithet or two.”
“They will when you’ve never called me that before.” Hazel set her bag down and sighed. She had thought she’d recovered from midterms, but inching into November, her fatigue had returned in full force.
“Don’t be cross.” Ian walked around and sat on the edge of his desk facing her. He leaned forward and cupped her cheek. “What’s on your mind?”
“I’m just nervous about someone finding out about us.”
“Don’t be. No one in my employ will say a word.”
“I know, but it’s not just here that’s a problem. What if someone at the university finds out?”
“If that happens, I won’t be invited back to the school. I’d prefer not to have that kind of scandal, but I can protect you, I promise.” Ian dropped his hand to her shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t worry.”
Hazel jumped when she heard Vicki’s heels, and she moved away from him. Ian frowned, but let her go and rose to talk to Vicki. Hazel slumped in her chair. She couldn’t go on like this. It wasn’t fair to Ian. It wasn’t fair to her, either. How could she keep doing something like this when she knew better than to let a man have power like this over her? It was practically rule number one in the young feminist handbook. She’d sat in Feminist Majority meetings where the members would talk about women who stayed with bad boyfriends. Ian wasn’t a bad man, but this was definitely a bad circumstance under which to start a relationship, and Hazel felt like she should’ve been smarter than this.
“Please relax,” Ian whispered from behind her. “I have a solution.”
Hazel sat up and cocked her head. Did he want to talk about their relationship? “What is that?”
“I have a trip out of town next week. I think you ought to come with me. For your education. For the book.” Ian touched the back of her neck lightly. He was always doing that lately, finding little ways to touch her without being noticeable. It was both irritating and exciting. And it was what had led to them leaving a meeting to go fuck in a bathroom.
“Wait, that’s it? You just want to go out of town?”
“No. I am going out of town. I want you to come with me. You aren’t obligated. I know that you’d have to clear your schedule and alert your teachers. I could send them an email, if you liked, explaining why you’ll be absent.”
Hazel thought about that. She imagined her Women and Gender Studies teacher reading an email about how Ian wanted to take her out of town so they could have sex without any prying eyes. He would never, but that would be the truth.
“I can tell them. I’ve not missed any classes so far so I could miss a few days. I think. Let me talk to my Poli-Sci teacher first. I think my Grant Writing prof won’t care, since we’re just gearing up for our final paper.”
Hazel knew what she’d do. She’d known before he mentioned her other classes. And just like all of her other excuses and promises regarding their relationship, she knew it would all boil down to doing whatever it took to spend more time with Ian. She was beyond just wanting his approval now. She’d gotten that.
Now, she was afraid of losing him. And she was afraid there might not be a limit to what she’d do to keep him with her.
***
“We’ll check in at the hotel first so we can both get cleaned up,” Ian said as Hazel scooted into the back seat with him. “Then, since we don’t have meetings until tomorrow, I’d thought you might like to go out. I made a couple of reservations… So we have options, depending on what you’d prefer.”
“A couple of reservations?”
“We could go to the theatre or the Museum of Modern Art.”
“I don’t think you need a reservation for a museum.”
“No, but you do need tickets.” Ian leaned forward to give instructions to their driver, then sat back and put his hand on Hazel’s knee. He was so grateful that she had said yes to his offer. “I realize that other than your political and academic interests, I don’t know much about you. What do you do with your downtime?”
“I don’t have a lot of downtime.” Hazel peered out the window at the tall buildings.
“But if you did… Do you go to see movies? What kind of music do you enjoy?” Ian scooted closer to her.
Hazel looked at him curiously, then replied, “I don’t go to see movies. I can’t stand theatres—too loud. Same with clubs and concerts, although I do enjoy live music in small venues. Um…” Hazel took a deep breath. “I’ve always wanted to go to Strand.”
“Is that a restaurant?”
“It’s a bookstore.” Hazel smiled at Ian’s confused look. “We don’t have to go. But if we’re talking about things I’d like to do in New York, that would be at the top of my list. Also, the Butterfly Conservatory, or the zoo?”
Ian took her hand. “Of course, you love animals.”
“I’m not some Disney princess. I just like to watch them. You know, when they’re well cared for.”
“Okay, noted. What kind of music do you listen to?”
Ian continued to grill her for the rest of the car ride. Although this trip was for business primarily, he had not yet been able to show Hazel the kind of attention that he normally gave to women he dated. So far, their nights had been spent in the office or his penthouse, and their interactions in public restricted. Here, they could do what they wanted, within reason.
Thus, if what Hazel wanted was to go to some bookstore, then that was where Ian would take her.
After they’d checked into their rooms (joined, but technically separate as a cover), he encouraged her to go freshen up and change. He did so himself, quickly, then called around to solidify their plans. Hazel reappeared in a long-sleeved, burgundy lace dress with cream colored leggings underneath. She carried a sweater on her arm and had styled her hair with the top up, but the rest falling around her shoulders in loose curls.
Ian had never seen her looking so soft. Not while she was awake, anyway. He’d seen her in the messy disarray of a student, and the crisp confidence of a businesswoman, and the utter collapse of exams, but never this gentle femininity. He reached for her hand, and she took his with a smile.
“Where are we going?”
Ian’s heart leaped at her expression when he told her that he wanted to hit the bookstore first. How strange this relationship between them was. He’d never enjoyed reading anywhere near as much as Hazel did. Of course, she was a quick and efficient researcher, but more than that, Ian realized that Hazel just liked to know things. She appreciated a story woven through a book more than she appreciated movies and television. Though if stuck with Ian curled around her and Netflix in front of them, she’d pick the latter.
Once they arrived at the bookstore, he watched her as she scoured through different sections. History, of course, literature, and oddly poetry. He hadn’t known she liked poetry. That seemed such an abstract interest for someone so obsessed with the material reality of their world. Then, she checked out the Young Adult section and learned that his justice-minded Hazel had a fondness for fantasy. It was strange and absolutely precious and, of course, she’d read everyth
ing they had to offer, but when pressed, she detailed the strengths and benefits of each series, if he pointed to them.
As they left, with Ian carrying a heavy bag of book purchases, he draped his arm around her shoulders possessively so the sidewalk traffic couldn’t part them.
“Have you ever considered being a librarian?”
“I did, once, but I don’t know if I want my hobby to be my job,” Hazel admitted. “Sometimes when you do something professionally, you stop enjoying it.”
“That is true.”
Ian still thought Hazel would be happier if left to research for the rest of her life, but he didn’t push the issue. Instead, he called the car to pick them up, and they and their books got in for their next stop. He would take her to some more upscale places before they returned home, but Ian enjoyed having Hazel on his arm as they entered Jules Bistro and the syncopated notes reached them. Jazz played live nightly. They took a seat, and Ian rubbed her fingers with his own.
She grinned, taking everything in. He fed her avocado toast, sautéed Brussels sprouts, and mushroom risotto as he filled up on her smiles and laughs, and that rosy glow to her cheeks when she was truly happy and free from her responsibilities. He’d taken on a young woman who felt the burden of the world, and all he wanted to do was find out how best to spoil her.
“What’s next?” Hazel asked as they exited the restaurant.
“Oh, you still have energy?” Ian checked his watch.
“Well, we can go back to the hotel room, if it’s past your bedtime,” Hazel teased. “Old man.”
“Pardon? Old man?” Ian clicked his tongue. “I think I can show you a bit of excitement. Not too loud, though, for our delicate flower.”
“Oh, I am delicate. I’m an orchid.”
“Ah, yes. Of course, you are. How did I not see it before?”
The idea struck Ian then. He grabbed her hand and tugged her to hurry back to the car. The place was closed, of course, but he could guarantee with enough grease in the right palms, this could definitely happen.
