Seducing Sarah - Book 3: The Educator: Scott

by Ami LeCoeur

  By the time we’d made our way through the museum, I knew more about German art than I’d ever imagined I could.

  I suspected most conversations with Scott would undoubtedly be interesting. He was an endless source of knowledge, and he clearly loved sharing it. I wondered if his need to excel extended to every corner of his life.

  Chapter Six

  “But then again, most people are simply too uptight about sex.”

  I sputtered, almost choking on my wine. “Excuse me?” I looked around, wondering how many people heard him. I had been listening to his conversation for a couple of hours, but I wasn’t sure if the other diners in the rather upscale restaurant would appreciate it or understand the context. Especially when he had practically shouted the last sentence.

  “See? Your reaction tells me that regardless of what you say, you’re one of them.” He looked smug.

  “Hardly,” I answered, feeling the stiffness in my voice. “I was more surprised than anything else.”

  “Oh, but then you looked around, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. I thought the other diners might have overheard you, especially considering the volume of your voice.”

  “Because you’re uptight.” He shrugged. “That doesn’t make you unique, believe me. Freud had the right idea. But it is a shame, since sex is one of the most natural things in the world.”

  “You don’t have to tell me that,” I assured him. “I’m plenty comfortable with sex. I happen to enjoy it.”

  “Well, that’s good to hear.” He raised an eyebrow. I returned the look. I wouldn’t let him “shrink” me or intimidate me. I had been impressed with his knowledge, sure, but I wasn’t overwhelmed.

  “So, you’re a devotee of Freud?” I asked.

  “Yes, his work has always appealed most to me. I studied Jung for a while, but I didn’t agree with him on religion. So I turned to Freud. He believed the driving force behind all human activity was sexuality—whether it was repressed or expressed.”

  “All of it? Everything?” My eyes went wide, not sure what he was getting at. I tried to be lighthearted, but he wasn’t joking. He took his opinions very seriously. Part of me wondered just how seriously…

  “Everything. Throughout history, the most notorious serial killers experienced sexual problems. They were either forced to repress their sexuality at a young age, thanks to an overbearing mother in most cases, or to religious hang-ups. Or they suffered from impotence. Or they were molested at some point. The sex drive is very powerful, and it’s tied closely to the subconscious, which everyone knows is the ‘behind the scenes’ controller when it comes to our behavior.”

  The conversation had taken a clinical, and slightly macabre, turn. But I reminded myself that he was a psychologist, and this was his area of interest and expertise. Plus, it played some part in the focus of his book. He clearly found it fascinating, and I decided I should probably try to read the book fairly soon. Perhaps it would give me more insight into his mind or at least his thinking process.

  He changed the subject shortly after that, but the conversation lingered in my thoughts.

  He was definitely a multidimensional man with a huge interest in human sexuality. I wondered how much that carried over into his own sex life. Which led to me wondering just how interested in me he might be. And if that interest would be clinical or personal. Or if it might end up in a book.

  And that led to me wondering… if he did express an interest in me, would I accept his advances? And how might he approach the situation? Would he be aloof, clinical? Or would he take the Die Brucke focus and be sensual? Or had he used the evening’s event to simply gauge my interest?

  His intellectual complexity didn’t make it any easier, and although I did my best to stay in the moment, I couldn’t stop thinking about sex throughout dessert and coffee, and later while we were in the car. He carried on with his subject matter, as usual, only requiring a polite response from time to time. There was some relief in that, since I was having difficulty stopping my mind from whirling with my own silly thoughts and second guesses.

  Because I was distracted, it took a minute for me to realize we weren’t heading to my office. “Where are we going?”

  “To my place.” He turned the car into a big parking garage beneath his building. I felt a little unsettled, wondering why he assumed I would go back to his place without asking. But I had, after all, been taking his lead ever since I’d met him.

  Then I wondered if he was checking on how sexually open-minded I really was after all his Freudian talk at the restaurant.

  Well, that was, after all, the end game of any courtship, wasn’t it? I shouldn’t be surprised, and somehow I wasn’t. Not really.

  Chapter Seven

  I stared out at the view from Scott’s sixteenth-floor apartment. It was pretty amazing, the lights of the city stretching off into the distance. The moment we stepped through the door, my eyes had been drawn to the floor-to-ceiling windows at the end of the room.

  “Impressive,” I said, enjoying the view. College professors must make a better living than I realized, if this apartment was any indication. It was certainly nicer than where I lived. But then, I didn’t spend a lot of time at home, so I didn’t indulge in many luxuries, and besides, I got my sightseeing in through the spectacular view from my office.

  “It’s home,” he shrugged, as though he expected me to be impressed, “glad you like it.”

  I smiled to myself. In the reflection of the windows, I watched him walk over to the bar cart and pour drinks. I wondered if he would ask what I’d like to drink but wasn’t terribly surprised when he didn’t.

  I turned around, taking in the rest of the living room. Mine could have fit into this one three times, and I stifled a laugh. I’d always been so pleased with my living room’s size. My eyes traveled over the furnishings, and I noticed I could see the kitchen from where I stood. It was spacious and impressive, filled with shiny appliances and marble countertops.

  Scott handed me a drink. “What’s this?”

  He tapped his glass against mine. “Something to loosen you up.”

  I raised the thick crystal to my lips but didn’t drink as his statement sank in. “Trying to get me drunk?”

  “Hardly. I prefer my women to have control of their faculties.”

  “Oh, your women?” Is that what he thought of me? “Have there been many… women?”

  He gave me a Mona Lisa smile and raised his glass in a toast.

  “Let’s just say I know my way around. No complaints yet.”

  “There’s a first time for everything,” I warned, only partly in jest. We toasted each other, but before the drink was half gone, Scott took my glass and placed it on a table beside his. Then he stepped close, hands on my shoulders, staring down into my eyes.

  “Want a taste?” He cupped my chin, pulling me closer. “You know you do,” he whispered into the curve of my neck and shoulder, trailing kisses back up my jaw.

  I had to admit, he hit one of my most sensitive spots. My whole body tingled from his kisses on my neck, and before I knew it, his mouth and hands were all over me. I closed my eyes and gave myself over to pleasure. He was right—the man had skills. And charisma.

  He ran his hands down my hips, pulling at the edge of my skirt before slipping his hands underneath and trailing his fingers back up to the edge of my panties. Then he hiked the dress up around my waist, running his fingers inside the waistband of the silk as he plunged his tongue into my mouth and moaned. He surprised me by fisting his hand and briefly pressing upward against my wetness, creating a sudden desire to feel his rock-hard cock against me.

  He slipped his hands around me and lifted me, his hands beneath my ass. Almost in a trance, I automatically wrapped my legs around his waist and let him carry me to the bedroom. He threw me back onto the bed, and I gasped. I remembered the pressure of his fist and wanted more. This man was more exciting than I’d imagined.

  Yes, he was good, and he knew e
xactly what to do to make me burn for his touch.

  He undressed me, slowly, sensuously, running his hands over my body, massaging and pulling and smiling down at me while I writhed and moaned. His mouth explored me, from neck to knee and back again, his kisses washing over me as they dialed up my desire.

  He turned me over on my stomach, pulling me down the bed until my legs hung over the edge. Then he repeated the process, from knee to neck, nibbling and kissing, licking and gently biting. All while he massaged my ass and moaned softly in my ear.

  Then he straddled me from behind, reaching under me to grab my breasts and squeezed them gently as he pressed his rigid cock against my ass from behind. I arched up, forearms pressed against the bed, trembling, unable to stop the heat that was spreading through me at his touch.

  “Please,” I whispered, nearly undone.

  “Mmmm,” was his response as he stepped away for a moment, then turned me over again. He reached down and cupped my breasts, lapping at them one at a time, gently pulling at the nipples with his teeth and watching as they sprang loose, still at attention.

  When he slid his hand inside my panties to run his fingers along my slick cleft, I thrust my hips against his hand in response. I told myself to wait, to slow down, but my body refused to listen. Instead, I moved faster, closing my legs around his hand to hold his fingers fast. My first orgasm came in a long, shuddering cry.

  “Yes, baby. Oh, yes.” He smiled down at me with a combination of pleasure and… smugness? It was hard to tell in that light, but there was definitely some other emotion hiding in there. But at that moment I was too distracted to care about it. “Come for papa.”

  He pushed me back gently, helping me move further onto the bed, as he slid out of his clothes and grabbed a condom from the nightstand. I watched as he sheathed himself, pre-cum dripping slightly, lubricating the condom as he quickly rolled it down his thick shaft. It gave me a measure of satisfaction to see that I was turning him on also.

  He positioned himself above me, smiling down at my upturned face. I ran my hands over his arms, down his chest to where our bellies met. He moved against me languidly, smiling at my sense of urgency, teasing me with his cock.

  “You like that?” he asked, pressing against me with a grin. “You want some more.”

  Not a question, a statement. But he was right. I wanted more. I slid my hands around to his ass, gripping him hard, pulling him in toward me. I was excited—as he obviously was. Yeah, well, two could play this game. He groaned and thrust forward, sliding home. He held there in a long sigh before rocking into me.

  I moved with him, wrapping my legs around his waist and jerking my hips in time with his movements. He groaned, then picked up his pace and pummeled me with a series of hard, sharp thrusts that left me grunting like an animal until I came again. When he followed me, he cried out just once, then raised himself up and away from me.

  “You weren’t kidding,” he gasped. “You’re not uptight at all.”

  I stifled a grin, feeling almost like a schoolgirl, but I kept my mouth shut, kept my thoughts to myself and surrendered to everything I was feeling.

  I looked over at Scott, and his eyes closed as he breathed deeply, trying to regain his control. The man was good at foreplay, sensuous and appealing in a way that showed he knew how to get what he wanted. But when it came to actual intercourse, it had been over pretty quickly. I had to admit I was a little disappointed. In fact, it was almost like he had a script—from Point A to Point B, then on to Point C, and done.

  No question I’d been satisfied, and had my orgasm to prove it. But somehow, after the wonderful foreplay, I’d expected more from the actual sex.

  For all his other faults, Tony had been a much more exciting lover and had stamina for days. I stifled another grin, hoping Scott wouldn’t open his eyes at that moment to ask me what I thought of his lovemaking.

  Tony would have been ready to go again by the time Scott caught his breath. Still, it had been fun, and I really shouldn’t compare the two. At least not on just the one dimension.

  “You showed me a lot about yourself,” Scott said, bringing my attention back to the present moment.

  “I guess I did. I’m sort of naked, aren’t I?”

  “That’s not what I meant, not entirely. You liked teasing me, didn’t you? Oh, you put up a good front, but you were being a bit of a tough customer, at least until I took control. After that, you were all too happy to give in once I firmly held the reins. That’s not a bad reflection on you. A lot of people are like that—both male and female. They’re reluctant to admit what they want until it’s shown to them, or better yet, given to them.”

  I pursed my lips, suddenly uncomfortable. More psychobabble. His pillow talk definitely left something to be desired. For all his confidence, something was missing. What I really wanted to do was tell him a woman doesn’t like being talked to in third person, as though she wasn’t even present. Or talked about like she’s some kind of social science experiment.

  But, he had given me an orgasm, and for all this man’s intelligence, I somehow doubted he would get the subtlety of what I was saying. More likely he would consider it a challenge, an opportunity to display his obvious superiority. The last thing I needed at that moment was an intellectual debate.

  I sighed and sat up, running my hands through my long hair to smooth it down. “I should go,” I said and moved toward the side of the bed.

  “Wait, what?” His hand circled my arm.

  “I’m getting dressed,” I explained, talking a bit slower. “So I can go home.”

  “Really?” He pushed himself up on his elbow, looking incredulous. “Is this just a fuck-and-run to you? After everything I’ve gone through to make you happy? Somehow I thought you had more class than that. I was actually planning, hoping, for you to spend the rest of the night with me. I’m really not looking forward to getting on the road again.”

  A fuck-and-run? Seriously?

  “Oh, you don’t need to worry about that. I can take a cab. No problem.” His hand still held my arm, though, and he didn’t let go.

  “Come on. It’s so warm and cozy in here, isn’t it? Why do you want to run away like this? You have nothing to be afraid of. I really was hoping you’d stay.”

  I met his eyes. “You were?”

  “Yeah. Unless that makes you uncomfortable for some reason.”

  With that statement, he let go of me, as if dismissing me after analyzing my behavior. Then he looked down at the covers like some forlorn child who had just lost his favorite plaything. Some part of my mind considered it might be a ploy. As if he was testing me against his previous analysis. Still, something in his countenance stopped me from moving away.

  “You wanted me to stay? The whole night?”

  He looked up at me with an almost lovesick expression in his eyes. “I was looking forward to waking up with you in the morning.”

  Well, shit. Who could refuse a line like that, especially with those puppy dog eyes? Even if he was a know-it-all, at that moment, he struck me as a lonely little boy.

  I sighed, shook my head, and settled in beside him with a rueful smile.

  The next morning, I was up before the sun. Scott was out cold, and after a fitful night’s sleep, I asked myself again why I’d stayed. I slid out of bed without waking him, took a quick shower, and pulled my clothes together to dress in the living room.

  Within another five minutes, I was outside, flagging down a cab.

  Chapter Eight

  The second busiest day of the week was always Friday, when I tried to wrap up as many tasks as possible before the weekend and set my to-do list for the following week. There was a time when it hadn’t mattered so much because I would end up working through the weekend anyway.

  But now that I’d decided having a life outside of work was a personal priority, I couldn’t rely on the extra two days for work tasks anymore.

  Rhonda had just finished dropping a pile of folders on my desk when th
e office phone rang. “Of all times,” I grumbled, pulling a pencil from my hair to mark up a series of proofs. I held the receiver between my ear and shoulder. “Sarah Pilsner.”

  “Ouch. You don’t sound very happy today. I thought you’d still be floating a little after our fun last night.”

  Scott. I sighed. “Not unhappy. Just mind-blowingly busy,” I told him, a note of apology in my voice.

  “I won’t keep you long then. But I was wondering why you skipped out on me this morning before breakfast.”

  I rolled my eyes. I should have known why he was calling. “I’m sorry. You were sound asleep, and I knew I had a big day ahead of me. I needed an early start.”

  “Gotcha. Maybe we can do a weekend date soon. How about a movie tomorrow night?”

  “Okay, that could work,” I said, a little pleased and a little uneasy. “Give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll plan it out.” He let me go after that, which was a relief. The proofs weren’t going to check themselves.

  Just as I got to the bottom of my pile of work, Rhonda knocked on the door again. I groaned quietly, hoping she wasn’t about to throw more work at me.

  “Sorry, I know you’re swamped. I have projections for the Easter campaigns for you to review.”

  I reached for the report Rhonda held and scanned through it. “This looks great. And right on the heels of our very successful Valentine’s campaign too. Things are looking better than ever.” I sat back with a sigh, happy to have some good news in the midst of my hectic day. The stress was a result of success, of course, so I wasn’t going to complain. In fact, I wondered again if it was time to think about opening a second office. That was looking more possible all the time.