Yours for Christmas

by Sue Lyndon

  Yours For Christmas

  Sue Lyndon

  Jennifer Conner

  Vee Michaels

  Jennifer Cooper

  Christmas with the Professor

  Sue Lyndon

  Christmas with the Professor

  A Books to Go Now Publication

  Copyright © Sue Lyndon 2012

  Books to Go Now

  For information on the cover illustration and design, contact bookstogonow@gmail.com

  First eBook Edition –November 2012

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

  If you are interested in purchasing more works of this nature, please stop by

  www.bookstogonow.com

  Look for Sue Lyndon’s Other Stories

  Tessa’s Submission

  Valentine Submission

  Christmas with the Professor

  Chapter 1

  “You’re late, Ms. Monroe.” Dr. Taylor’s mouth twisted in a brief smile as he handed me a test.

  “Car trouble,” I muttered, feeling the burn of my much younger classmates’ eyes on my back.

  He glanced at my feet, and I shifted uncomfortably. My jeans were soaked from the knees down and my fashionable black boots were a watery mess. Damn snow. When my car wouldn’t start this morning, I’d had no choice but to walk all the way from my apartment building to class. Even bad weather and car trouble couldn’t keep me away from my Behavioral Psychology final exam. After four and a half years in college, I was finally going to graduate. This test was the last final of my last semester. Nope. Not even ten feet of snow could keep me away. Bring it on, Mother Nature.

  “Good luck on your test.” Dr. Taylor’s gaze swept over me and caused my tummy to flutter.

  I clutched my shoulder bag and found a seat before he witnessed my face flushing. The man was magnetic and had a pull on me all semester. One look at his muscular body that filled out his dress shirt and the faded jeans he usually wore was enough to set my pulse racing. It wasn’t just his good looks that turned me weak with need, but the confident way he carried himself and the commanding tone of his deep, gravelly voice. When his attention was focused on me, for however brief a time, I turned into a puddle of nerves and often found it difficult to breathe—let alone speak a coherent sentence.

  I breezed through the multiple-choice portion of the test, but by the time I came to the last essay question I was alone in the room with Dr. Taylor. Crap. Nervous as hell, I inhaled deeply and glanced up. Eyes fixed on me, he sat behind his desk with his fingers steepled. The embodiment of authority, I thought.

  “Relax, Angela,” he said. “There’s no time limit.”

  Flustered, I nodded and leaned over my essay, trying to concentrate. The words ran together and I clutched my pencil, struggling to remember the meaning behind a particular John B. Watson quote. My mind traveled back to the day Dr. Taylor mentioned the quote. He’d been wearing khakis instead of his trademark faded jeans. Holy shit, I had it bad. Well, at least if I could remember the pants my professor wore on that particular day, I could answer the damn question. Careful to keep my handwriting neat, I filled up a page with my response, all the while feeling Dr. Taylor’s intense blue eyes focused on me like a force field closing in.

  Confident I’d aced my last final, I collected my things and crossed the room to place my test on the pile on his desk. A surreal moment. The kind of moment that lasts forever. One chapter of my life had ended. I stood before Dr. Taylor in my wet boots, my lips parted slightly as I searched for a memorable way to say goodbye. My chest tightened knowing I wouldn’t see him again. God, what the fuck was my problem? Why couldn’t I just throw my test on the pile and hurry from the room without a backward glance, like every one of my classmates?

  “Merry Christmas, Dr. Taylor.” I basked under the warm smile he returned.

  “Merry Christmas, Angela.”

  Angela. He’d said it again. My full name. Everyone else called me Angie or Ang. The life he breathed into my full name made me feel special and like an idiot at the same time. He was being polite, and I was reading too much into a single word. This kind of wishful thinking was like an arrow through my heart.

  I headed for the door, needing to escape as much as I wished to stay. It sucked being pulled in two directions. I was the last few strands of a fraying rope in a game of tug-o-war, barely holding together. I told myself it was a combination of the holidays, graduation, a car on the fritz, and the fact that I’d be spending the next two weeks by myself before my new job started in January. My parents were vacationing in Europe and I was reluctant to spend Christmas with my brother out of state. Flying during the holiday rush held less appeal than a trip to the dentist.

  “Angela?”

  I paused in the doorway, my heart beating out of my chest. “Yes, Dr. Taylor?”

  “Look at me when I’m speaking to you.” His tone was clipped.

  Shocked, I turned to face him with my best fuck-you glare. A hint of surprise stirred in his eyes for the briefest moment before amusement took over. As he strode from behind his desk toward me, the air went out of the room and the walls closed in. I was suffocating by the time he stopped an arm’s length away, but I kept my chin raised and my eyes steely in the face of his rudeness.

  “Do you have a ride home, Ms. Monroe?”

  Huh? Taken aback by his question, I twisted my hands together and took a deep, calming breath. “Yes I have a ride home. Uh, my friend is waiting outside the building, so I’d better go.”

  “You’re lying.” He folded his arms across his chest and his expression held a note of interest. My little white lie had him captivated, and this realization left me confused and angry.

  So what if I didn’t have a friend waiting outside? It was none of his business, and I wasn’t about to ask the professor who starred in most of my late night fantasies for a ride home. I squared my shoulders and smiled, no longer trying to hide my guilt. I could infuse some humor into the tense situation. Yes, humor would save the day.

  “All right, Dr. Taylor, you caught me.” I threw my hands up in exaggerated defense. “I don’t have a ride waiting. Are you going to make me write lines on the dry erase board for telling a lie?”

  “No, Angela, I’m not going to punish you.” Something strange passed between us when he said punish, a spark of dark desire I fought to hold on to forever, but it vanished in a flash. “I insist on driving you home though. I know you live a few blocks away and some of the sidewalks aren’t clear of snow, so no arguments.”

  Alone in a car with Dr. Taylor? Before I could respond, he packed up the tests and headed for his office down the hall. I followed like a kitten on his heels, half-believing I’d wake up to the sound of my blaring alarm clock at any moment. All business, he packed up some papers in a black leather bag while I lingered in the doorway. The building was dark and empty. Students
cleared out as soon as their last final was over, teachers too.

  “Come in and have a seat. I’ll make coffee. You look positively frozen.” He gestured to a chair facing his desk.

  Although his office was like another dimension, and as forbidding as Dr. Taylor himself, I entered and sank down in the chair. I’m not going to punish you. His words sent a chill up my neck. Punish was a trigger word that awakened my most perverse desires. I watched him set up the coffeemaker. Was Dr. Taylor kinky?

  I imagined his tongue trailing over every inch of my body while I was bound to a bed, unable to move and completely under his control. He would tease me, bring me to the brink of orgasm before pulling away and leaving me empty, longing. “Don’t come until I give you permission,” he’d say. I would try to obey, but in the end I would fail and earn a much deserved punishment.

  “Angela? Hello? Ms. Monroe?”

  I jumped. “Sorry.” Oh God, I’d spaced out. How embarrassing.

  “Cream? Sugar?”

  I nodded. “Both please.”

  “How much?”

  “Surprise me. I trust you.” Shit, I was playing with fire. I accepted the mug and held his gaze as he leaned back against the front of his desk directly in front of me.

  “What are your plans after graduation?” He took a sip of coffee.

  I inhaled the strong aroma of the hot drink between my hands, appreciating the warmth of the beverage as it rolled down my throat. Then I launched into a brief description of my new job working for a local nonprofit. He seemed to approve, especially when I mentioned my interest in attending grad school in a few years.

  “You’re a non-traditional student, aren’t you?”

  My cheeks burned. Did he think I looked a great deal older than most students? Or was that information readily available on his class roster?

  “Yes, I didn’t go to college right out of high school.”

  “Why not?”

  I inhaled the coffee again and took another drink. Why indeed? I nearly spaced out again as the memories came rushing back. France. Vacation. An older man. Pleasure and pain. Three weeks turning into three years that ended when the man tossed me aside for another toy with tits. I returned to the States an empty shell of myself, and I filled the void with meaningless sex and lots of alcohol for another two years. My parents dragged me to therapy and I eventually recovered— sort of. Enough to enroll in college and hold down a job.

  “It’s a long, long story, Dr. Taylor,” I finally said, awash with sadness. I tried not to think about those three years, but they followed me around like a sinister shadow, ready to darken my brightest day. Ready to pull the rug out from underneath me the moment I felt strong.

  “Everyone has a long story, Ms. Monroe. It’s the long stories that shape us.” He placed his mug down on the desk. “Ready to go?”

  “Sure.”

  The drive to my apartment was only five minutes, but it was too long — and not long enough. I sat in the passenger seat of his black sedan, grateful for the heat blasting out of the vents yet feeling out of place, like I didn’t belong in his car—let alone in his presence. Oh, but I wanted to belong.

  “What are your plans for Christmas?” he asked as he parallel parked in front of my building.

  “No plans,” I admitted. If he hadn’t caught me lying once today, I would’ve said I was spending the holidays with my family.

  “Why not?” He turned to me and I caught a whiff of his cologne. Mmm.

  I sighed. Seriously, what was with the Spanish Inquisition?

  “My parents live nearby, but they’re frolicking around Europe for a couple of weeks. I have a brother in Oregon, but I can’t stand his wife and I hate flying, especially during the holidays. I’m probably going to curl up with a bottle of wine and watch The Christmas Story all day.” Ugh. Why was I opening up to him? I didn’t open up to anyone except my therapist, and I saw her only once a month now.

  “That’s a terrible movie.” He grinned and I relaxed—just a little.

  “It’s not so bad.” I shrugged and glanced at a truck passing by. “So what’s your favorite movie?”

  His expression darkened a shade, enough to reignite my anxiety. “Anything with a good mindfuck.”

  I forgot to breathe for a few seconds, and I raced to comprehend yet another crumb of information Dr. Taylor was tossing at my feet. He climbed out of the car and circled to my side. Speechless, I stepped out when he opened my door. We faced each other on the sidewalk as the wind picked up, blowing my hair around and sending a chill to my bones.

  “You really should wear a jacket, Angela.”

  “So should you,” I was quick to point out.

  One dark eyebrow raised and his lips tightened, though I detected a strand of humor veiled behind his stern façade. “Have fun getting wasted and watching bad movies.”

  I laughed and stepped back. “Merry Christmas to you too, Dr. Taylor. Oh, and thanks for the ride.”

  By the time I reached my cozy apartment overlooking the street, his black sedan was gone and I felt ridiculously empty inside. Despite the void in my heart, hope surged through me like a gulp of hot coffee. For the first time since France, I felt a real connection to another man —a man who threw words like punish and mindfuck around. Even if I never saw Dr. Taylor again, at least I knew I wasn’t dead inside.

  Chapter 2

  New car battery? Check. Tight fuck-me jeans and a low cut sweater? Check. Fresh- baked gingerbread cookies? Check. I smiled as I sped down the road toward Dr. Taylor’s house. To my mega surprise, he called last night to say I’d aced the final exam. As a thank you for driving me home, I casually suggested he deserved a plate of my famous cookies. One semi-awkward phone conversation later, and I had an invitation to his house outside of town.

  A turn here. A turn there. A few more winding roads that led deep into the woods. Talk about the middle of nowhere. If it wasn’t for my GPS, I would’ve gotten hopelessly lost. The last turn found me traveling down a long narrow driveway hugged by the surrounding snow-covered forest.

  The house I came upon was a huge log cabin with a wraparound porch. I parked beside Dr. Taylor’s car, grabbed the plate of cookies, and headed for the front door with my heart in my throat. The sound of water dripping off the trees circled me, soothing my nerves if only a little. The college town I lived in was a twenty minute drive away, but it was like another world out here. Beautiful, isolated, and magical.

  The door opened and I gulped, forcing one foot in front of the other. A thin smile lifted Dr. Taylor’s lips, and I gave him a friendly wave in return.

  “Angela.”

  “Dr. Taylor.” I entered the house with more confidence than I’d expected. He wasn’t my teacher anymore. And I was pretty sure he was kinky. Not restrained as his student or by doubt, he was no longer out of reach. Intimidating, sure, but not out of reach.

  “No jacket again. Tsk tsk, young lady.” He closed the door and I fought to control my emotions —and my hormones.

  I batted my eyelashes playfully. “I brought cookies.” I held them out like a peace offering, grinning in the face of his mock scolding. He accepted the plate and I casually glanced around. What a house. High ceilings and an open floor plan didn’t give it the cozy cabin feel I’d expected, but it was welcoming enough.

  “Follow me, Ms. Monroe.”

  Oh, so I was Ms. Monroe again. Was he teasing or attempting to add formality to my visit? Dr. Taylor was a hard man to read. A peek inside his head for a few seconds would be nice. Too bad I didn’t have any extrasensory perception powers.

  I followed him to a living room with two large leather couches and a few scattered tables. A tall bookcase contained several books and little sculptures of bears, wolves, and moose. The lush green curtains of a wide window were pulled back to reveal the pristine
winter forest. A huge speaker with an iPod docked on it was attached to the wall above a table. No television.

  “Make yourself at home,” he said as he placed the cookies on the coffee table. “I’ll be right back.”

  Whoa. I was inside Dr. Taylor’s house —his very secluded bachelor pad. Clinking noises escaped the kitchen and I soon caught the rich aroma of brewing coffee in the air. Cookies and coffee in a cabin in the middle of nowhere. A girl could have worst first dates.

  Ugh. Where did that thought come from? This wasn’t a date. Dr. Taylor didn’t seem like the candy, flowers, and dinner and a movie, type of man. With his raw sexual magnetism and cool confidence he didn’t need all that pageantry. I was proof —drawn to his house on the ridiculously shallow pretense of thanking him for a five minute car ride home.

  “I took the liberty of adding cream and sugar.”

  A warm mug was pressed into my hands. Standing at the window, I felt silly for not taking a seat already. Mirroring Dr. Taylor, I sank down beside him on one of the couches.

  Lulled into a false sense of relaxation by the hot beverage cascading down my throat, I angled my body in his direction until our knees rested a mere inch apart. My flesh tingled.

  “I don’t like the idea of you spending Christmas alone, Angela. Don’t you have any friends in the area?”

  I leaned back and felt each individual crease on my forehead come to attention. “I grew up here, so of course I have friends nearby, but I’m quite content to spend the holiday alone.” My words tasted as bitter as my tone sounded. Jeez, I was a bad liar.

  He laughed. “Have you always been so stubborn and proud?”

  The humor he responded with sliced the tension in half. I sighed and relaxed in my seat. “I asked enough people —friends, family, and strangers —for help over the years. I’ve been back on my feet for a while now. Inviting myself to one of my friends’ houses on Christmas makes me feel needy and uncomfortable.”