"Oh, right. Um…" Her voice trails off as she holds back, hesitant to ask her next question.
"Ask it, sweetheart."
She looks up at me with doe-eyes, pretending not to know what I'm talking about. "Ask what?"
"The question you’re holding back. I can see it lurking in those gorgeous green irises of yours."
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, sucking it. The sight makes my already pleading dick throb as it begs for her attention. Not now, mate.
"How many people have you been with since me?" she spits out in a flurry, just like ripping off a Band-Aid. Quick and painless.
I draw my brows together. "By been with, do you mean dated, or sexually?"
"Sexually," she replies, a hint of eagerness and regret in her voice. She is afraid to know the answer, and she really shouldn't be. She has nothing to worry about.
I bite my lip to stifle a laugh. I need to appear to be taking this conversation seriously because I am. But laughing in this moment would be ill-advised, even if it is just to calm some of my nerves and ease some of the tension from the room. "There hasn't been anyone else, Alyssa. Not unless you count my left hand."
Unexpectedly, she purrs her approval. "I probably shouldn't admit how much that turned me on. But damn, that image is hot as fuck."
I brush my finger against my bottom lip. "Just to clarify, is it the thought of me whacking off that turns you on, or the fact that I'm left-handed?"
"Both," she confesses, her voice a breathy whisper.
Fuuuuuuucccccckkkkkk!
I'm so frickin' horny right now that I almost forgot to flip her own question back on her. "What about you? What's your number?"
"There hasn't been anyone since you. That's probably why you got me to come while we were both still clothed." She laughs; the cute sound, along with her admitting exactly what I wanted to hear, causes an overwhelming sense of pride to wash over me. That means she's never been with a man who wasn't me. That's the best news I have heard in a long fucking time.
I smile with pride. “I knew I made you come in your knickers.”
She sips her coffee as she mumbles the next question into her mug. "Why did you choose to stay here after graduation?"
I shrug. "I guess I just fell in love with this town and its people. Well, most of them anyway. I could do without a few of them here and there."
"I'll pretend that I don't know which people you are talking about," she says on a chuckle. "You didn't want to go back home to England?"
I'm well aware that it's not her turn, but she already asked her follow-up question, so I'll answer it anyway. I can feel the tension building in my neck and shoulders. She is dancing very close to the question I don't want her to ask. The one question I will not answer.
"England didn't feel like home anymore. This place did." I keep my answer short and vague.
"So, how's your family?"
The tension increases to its maximum level. There it is! The one topic that is never open for discussion. Some antsy part of me wants to keep this level of communication and trust going. To tell her everything. Set it all out on the table. But I can't. Not where they are concerned.
In an attempt to distract her, I place my now empty mug on the nightstand adjacent to the bed and delve under the covers. I hook her leg over my shoulder, kissing my way from her knee up the inside of her thigh before I place a kiss against her slick slit.
"What do you think you're…oh, right there," she squeals as I swipe my tongue up and down her slit.
This seems to be doing the trick. A perfect distraction, if I do say so myself.
KREEEN. The door creaks open.
"Honey, I'm making waffles if—oh, I'm so sorry."
"Mom!" Alyssa screams, completely mortified.
I can't help but laugh against her pussy. Maybe it's because I don't embarrass easily. Or maybe because I'm not fucking ashamed of anything where she is concerned, but I find this whole situation fucking hilarious.
From under the covers, I hear muffled footsteps scurry out of the room right before the door slams shut.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Aly
"Do you want me to finish?" Darren asks, his words muffled against my folds. The vibrations from his mouth stimulate my core, bringing me closer to the promised land of sweet annihilation.
As much as I want him to finish going down on me, I can't let him, knowing my mother is in the kitchen cooking waffles. I glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand. Six-thirty-two. I should probably get ready for work. It's my first day, and I don't want Darren and his trickster tongue to make me late. My first class isn't until nine, but I have a meeting with Dean Chambers at eight this morning.
"No, we shouldn't with my mother in the next room," I reply, the tone of my voice showcasing my disappointment.
"Can you be quiet?" I can't see his face, but I imagine that he's arching one of those rakish brows of his.
"Even if I could, I don't want to. Rain-check?"
"Very well then. Can you tell your mom that I'd like a waffle?" he teases; his hot breath against my center causes a shudder to rip through me.
"I most certainly will not," I profess, swatting at his bare chest when he comes back into view. "I've never been so embarrassed in my entire life."
He flashes me a cheeky grin, the sexy fucker. "You're a grown woman. What's there to be embarrassed about?"
"Umm, I don't know. How about my mother just walked in on you devouring me?"
He drops a kiss to my forehead. "I arrived at her doorstep half-naked yesterday; she had to have seen this coming?"
I stroke my thumb across the stubble on his jaw in a sweet caress. "A few more seconds and she would have seen me coming."
This earns me a lopsided grin full of bravado and pride. "Yeah?"
I nod. "Definitely."
He inches closer, the evidence of his arousal jutting up against my hipbone. His hands roam upward from my hips, claiming their targets like a breast-seeking missile. With my breasts in his hands, I release a sensuous moan.
"If you keep this up, I'm going to be late for my meeting."
He releases them from his grasp, knitting his brows together as he cocks his head. "What time's your meeting?"
"Eight."
He glances at the time and pouts. Fuck, I want to nibble that lip and roll it between my teeth. "And here I thought we had all the time in the world. Can't we just stay in this bed all day? Stay in our little bubble and not give two shites about what's happening outside these four walls?"
I sigh, wishing that we could do just that, but we can't. "I wish we could. But we both have classes to attend and students to teach. Now, I have to take a shower."
He gloats a smile at me. "Great idea."
I press my palm into his chest to stop him. "Alone. If you shower with me, I will most definitely miss my meeting."
"Fine," he drags a hand through his hair as he yawns. "Can I see you tonight?"
I grin like a fool as I flash him a wink. "I sure hope so."
KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK.
"Does Darren want a waffle?" My mom's voice, despite being barricaded by a door, still sounds clear and bold.
"Mom!" I holler, still ashamed by this whole fiasco.
"What? Was it not Darren under those covers?"
I glance at him; he's trying his best to fight back his laughter. I know he's doing this for my sake but watching him struggle to subdue his intoxicating laugh makes me feel awful. I smack his shoulder and mouth the words answer her. He obeys.
"I'll kindly take a waffle, Mama Lance." His voice sounds chipper for him not being a morning person, maybe because we didn't actually spend much time sleeping last night. That is if he even slept a wink. He was awake when I woke up, so it's possible that he didn't fall asleep at all.
"Wonderful! Is chocolate chip alright, Hun?"
"Chocolate chip just so happens to be my favorite."
"Perfect! It'll be ready for you whenever you're rea
dy. No need to rush. So, you kids can just finish what you were doing."
I should burst into flames from the heat surging to my cheeks right now. I should be a pile of ash on this mattress, but I'm not. When I look at Darren and see the gleeful glint in his eyes, along with the childish, carefree expression on his sexy adult face, it warms my heart. I love seeing him this happy. It's just like old times.
* * *
The meeting with Dean Chambers was short and pointless. He basically just told me that he was excited to have me aboard his team and that he can't wait to hear what the students are going to say about me in my end of the semester review.
Overall, the meeting only takes up about fifteen minutes of my morning, allowing me to set up my classroom for my first class of the day. I shuffle through my stack of notes and key points that I would like to discuss with my students. Once I successfully log in to the computer, I quickly type up a welcome email and send it to all the students enrolled in my class.
My gaze travels to the clock in the back of the room, twenty-three minutes until class starts and I can already feel the over-excited butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I've missed this feeling, whatever it is. It's hard for me to describe it because it feels familiar, but it also feels new. I guess it's like buying a new pair of the same shoes. It looks the same as your old pair, but when you walk in it, you realize that it feels different. While your old pair was broken in, dirty, and maybe even comfortably loose, this new pair is tight, clean, and doesn't have as many miles on it. That's how I feel right now; I'm the new pair of shoes.
Students start piling in and filling the seats. I pretend to be focusing on something while I stare at my blank computer screen. This prevents me from student watching and smiling like an enthusiastic weirdo. I watch the minutes tick by from the digital clock on the computer screen until it hits the magic number…nine. It's time to begin.
I stand up and round my desk until I'm standing directly in front of it. I lean against it, using it to prop up my weight because…heels. I bring my hands together, interlocking my fingers before I place them in my lap and officially start class.
"Good morning, everyone. I'm Professor Lance. I will also answer to Professor and Ms. Lance. So, please don't call me Miss, Lance, teacher, Professor L, or Ms. L because that makes me sound like a loser. Any questions before we begin?"
All one-hundred and twenty eyes blankly stare back at me. I'll take that as a no.
"Very well then. Let's begin! I emailed you all a copy of the syllabus; it is your responsibility to read it on your own time and email me with any questions or concerns you may have. Normally, professors like to go over the syllabus with you on your first day, but you will soon discover that my teaching methods are very unorthodox. What can I say? I like to do things differently. So, I'm just going to dive right into it. We will be starting this class with the sixteenth century, more specifically the year 1533. But before I get into specifics, can anybody tell me any historic event that happened or person who was alive during this time period?"
I'm met with the same deer-in-headlights expressions, so I decide to lessen the stakes. "I know it's early, but don't be afraid. It's okay to be wrong."
My spiel seems to have done the trick because three hands from students in the front row go up. I point to a blonde-haired woman at my left.
"Leonardo da Vinci?" Her brow quirks up as her voice reflects her self-doubt.
I nod. "Yes, da Vinci was alive in the beginning of this century. Although, he died in 1519, so we won't be covering him. But you are correct."
I point to the guy in glasses sitting next to her.
"Henry VII?"
A smile spreads across my face. I can't help it. He said exactly what I was looking for. "Excellent! That's precisely where we are going to start. What's your name?"
He puffs out his chest with pride as he answers. "Bradley."
I point to him again. "Great job, Bradley. As you all may have noticed, this is a smaller class size than you are typically accustomed to. There's only sixty of you in here, and there's a good reason why I requested it to be that way."
I push off my desk and make my way toward the center of the dry-erase board. I uncap five different colored markers: black, purple, green, blue, and red, and place them on the aluminum lip directly below the board. I talk toward the board as I write the names of five different countries in their corresponding colors.
"Throughout this course, you will be divided into five groups. Each group will represent a different country. England, France, Scotland, Spain, and Italy." England is written in red, France in blue, Scotland in purple, Spain in black, and Italy in green. There's no real reasoning behind this other than I like to colorize things. It makes it more visually appealing to my eyes.
"Those of you who are in the first two rows will get to choose which country you want to be assigned to. The rest of you, I will pick for you. There will be a total of twelve students assigned to each country. Let's start with you," I declare, pointing to the student sitting against the wall on the far left side of the classroom.
I continue speaking as the students in the first two rows start slowly writing their names on the board. "As you all may have noticed already, I'm a little unconventional in my teaching. You will never see me PowerPoint you guys to death. I don't do that. My class is more interactive. You will hopefully understand more of what I'm talking about in the next fifteen minutes or so."
Once the first two rows of students are finished writing their names on the board, I go down the rest of the rows, ask students their names, and assign them to where I feel they would be best suited. When that's finished, I rearrange them in their groups around the room. Then, I ask them all to join me on the floor. Yes, sitting on the floor crisscross-applesauce-style is a little juvenile, but I feel that method works best when you want students to become more engaged in class.
That is precisely why I asked for this classroom. The way it is set up, it is divided in half. Floor space on one side and sitting room on the other. I will eventually sit amongst them, but not yet. I have to do something else first.
"Starting to see my strange tactics yet?" Some of the students laugh, and even though it sounds like a pity laugh, I appreciate their efforts regardless. "Alright. Throughout the semester, you will learn how to think strategically as you all are in charge of running your designated countries. In each group, I will select one student to be the reigning monarch. The rest of you will be their privy council. I will get more into that later, but first, who wants to be a monarch?"
My mouth drops in shock as I watch almost every single hand fly up in the air. Little do they know that the life of the monarch isn't as grand as it seems. A lot of the times, their privy council has more power than they do. This is going to be fun!
I walk around to each of the five groups and randomly select a student to portray their country's monarch. "Bradley, I think it's fitting that you be King Henry VIII of England. You will be King Francis I of France. This next one is a little tricky for now, but it will get clearer soon. You will be King Charles V of Spain, who is also the Holy Roman Emperor. This means Italy will be without a monarch until 1558. However, Italy is also a special case because they also have another figurehead, the Pope. So, you will be Pope Clement VII. And finally, you will be King James V of Scotland. By the end of this semester, you will all have a chance to be a monarch or the Pope. Ladies, you may have to be a king rather than a queen because they weren't that common back then. But you will get the chance to be a monarch nonetheless. Now, enough of my rambling, let's get started."
* * *
There are about thirteen minutes left of class. An overwhelming buzz of excitement washes over me. They are getting it. They really are getting it. Granted, it took about thirty minutes for them to get comfortable engaging in the lesson, but they finally did it. And I couldn't be prouder of my first group of students. The rest of my classes have a heavy bar to raise.
During the last thirt
y minutes of class, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. I know, I know, the students are all watching me, but I don't think that's why I'm feeling this strange feeling. A chill runs down my spine right as I decide to ignore the peculiar feeling and power through it.
I clap my hands together to get their attention. "Alright, you guys have been such a great class that I've decided to let you go a little early today. I’ll see you all bright and early on Wednesday. Have a great rest of your day!"
The room fills with the sounds of backpacks shuffling and zippers closing as all the students get up off the floor and scurry their way out the classroom door. I do the same, using a nearby chair to help me stand up in these death-traps we call shoes. As I turn around to strut toward my desk, that's when I spot him.
His mouth curves into a warm smile as his eyes follow me from across the room. I keep my gaze locked on him as I head toward my desk.
SLAM! I bite my tongue to prevent myself from dropping f-bombs Samuel L. Jackson style. That's not good enough, so I have to bite down on my lip too. Fork, fork, fork! That hurt like a motherforker. I censor the words in my thoughts just in case I accidentally slip up.
I place both my hands over my throbbing knee. Forkin' desk and its flippin' sturdiness. I didn't see him rush over to me, but he must have because he kneels to the ground and tries to pry my hands off my knee. I shake my head. "I'll be fine."
"Just let me give it a gander, will you?"
His hands cover mine. He massages each knuckle, trying to get me to loosen my grip. I know he can easily use his strength to peel my hands off my knee, but he doesn't. I find that tidbit charming.
I can't help but laugh. "Give it a gander? Your British is showing again."
Darren's eyes dip toward his crotch. I foolishly follow his gaze and notice the tent he is pitching in his dress slacks. "It is not."
The act is childish, but that doesn't stop me from grabbing my side as I burst into a laughing fit.
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