Teach Me

by Lola Darling

  “Professors these days.” Patrick huffs in sympathy. “It’s like they expect us to just be their servants, while they get fat on their tenure payments. I mean, can you even read all that in a single day?”

  He reaches for the folder, but I snap it shut, some instinct of self-preservation telling me not to reveal too much. Jack hasn’t told the whole class about Eliot yet. He must want to keep it under wraps while we’re working—probably because he’s not sure the poems actually belong to him yet.

  I’m sure they do, though. You only have to read through them all, listen to the cadence of the words, the depth and texture of each poem, the kind of writing you could dive into, swim through for days and still find something new on every reread.

  “I did read it,” I reply as I run a hand through my hair. “I just didn’t have time to analyze the part I’m supposed to. Not properly, anyway. I need to spend a lot of time with this one. More than just a day.” I groan and sink in my seat before snatching up my drink for another long draft.

  “Screw him. Forget about the project.” Patrick gestures in the direction of the folder, his drink sloshing dangerously close to its rim above the file. I grab it before it can be subjected to a cider bath. “Just have fun. It’s start of the term, you don’t need extra credit yet.” He tips his glass in a salute, and I drink with him.

  Forgetting about the project for the time being is easy. But forgetting about Jack? Not going to be this simple.

  A whole glass of bourbon and coke later, followed by a round of beer that Patrick bought while I was in the restroom, and I’m still no closer to driving the image of him out of my mind. It doesn’t help that Patrick is clearly a few sheets to the wind and has started taking every chance he gets to pat my hand on the tabletop, or brush his foot not-so-casually along my calf.

  Maybe it’s all the alcohol I’ve had, or maybe it’s my usual penchant for making the wrong decision at the wrong time. But my eye lands on a small square beside our table: Professor Jack Kingston’s business card. Complete with home address. The address where he demanded I drop off this assignment before the night is through.

  Suddenly, I know exactly what I want to do: Give that ass a piece of my mind.

  I grab my bag, stuffing a few stray papers that have escaped into it as well. Finally, I snatch up the business card and study the street address. Only a couple blocks from here—I recognize it from the night I hobbled around town looking for Mary Kate’s Tarts and Vicars fancy dress party.

  The night that started this whole mess.

  I stick the card into my pocket and throw on my coat.

  “Hey, hey, where you going? I was just getting another round!” Patrick reaches for my hand again in an attempt to pull me toward the bar instead.

  “Sorry, at my limit. Besides, I’ve got class in the morning.” I tap on MK’s shoulder, give her a wave to let her know I’m headed out.

  “Text me to say you got back safe?” she shouts over the din of the bar room.

  I flash her a thumbs up and nod at Nick and Patrick. Patrick, alas, is at the point of drunken stupor where he won’t be dissuaded that easily. He trails me toward the door as I go, leaning over to protest in my ear every step of the way.

  “I don’t have to get another round, ya know. I would sacrifice that for your sake, love.” He presses a hand to his chest. “I’m a true gentleman like that. You need an escort home? Or maybe to my home?”

  I can’t help laughing, though I do shove him aside. “Such a gentleman, clearly. Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “Rain check then. Tomorrow night?” He winks.

  I roll my eyes. “Good night, Patrick.”

  “You wound me, Harper. But I maintain hope!”

  “Good luck with that,” I call over my shoulder as I elbow my way out of the pub. The cool night air hits me like a breath of fresh oxygen. It should knock some sense into me, but instead it emboldens me.

  I hug my bag tight against my side and march through the late evening streets. It’s a testament to how much better I’ve been getting to know Oxford over the past couple of weeks that I only take one wrong turn along the way. Before long, I’m staring at a row of townhouses, each one identical to the one next door, and comparing them to the business card in my hand.

  I’m reasonably sure I’ve figured out the right house, though when I march up onto the porch, there’s no little J. Kingston plaque on the mailbox to reassure me. In fact, the whole place looks barren—no signs of decoration like the neighboring houses have donned (potted plants that dangle from porch roofs and wreathes of fall leaves over the door knockers).

  I press the bell once and suck in another gulp of air for courage.

  The house remains dark and quiet. Maybe I have the wrong address? But I check the card again, and yes, the numbers match exactly. I dare a peek inside the mailbox to see if there’s a letter or a newspaper that might be able to confirm the name of the house’s inhabitants. No such luck.

  Then headlights illuminate me from behind. I freeze in place, even though I’m not doing anything wrong. Instinct, I guess. I spin around to squint at the street and watch a small black compact car park on the opposite side of the road. A familiar tall, lanky form climbs out of the driver’s seat a moment later.

  Looks like I do have the right place after all.

  I lean against the doorframe while he approaches. I’ve never actually watched him walk before—he has a calm, purposeful stride that’s both reassuring in how in-charge it makes him seem, and a little unnerving when you’re standing on his porch late at night uninvited after just arguing with him in a pub.

  “Hi Jack,” I say when he hits the second-to-last step, so he’s only a little bit taller than me for a second. My heart throbs in my ears. I’ve never dared to call him Jack to his face before. But considering the fact that he fucked me on his office desk this morning, it seems weird to refer to him formally.

  “Harper,” he replies. My heart skips a beat. Better than the snarky Ms. Reed I was expecting. It’s possibly the first time I’ve heard him use my name in a normal setting. When he’s not talking about said fucking.

  I push that thought out of my mind.

  I stormed over here, still angry from our confrontation at the pub, to ask him what the hell is wrong with him. Now that he’s facing me, his eyes shadows in the dim streetlights, my heart softens. He seemed angry before, in the pub. Hell, even before the pub. This morning, throwing me across the desk, taking me the way he did . . .

  But now that I’m watching him, it doesn’t seem like anger. The way his shoulders sag and his head tilts to the side, like he’s too exhausted to hold it upright. The way even in this low light I can see his mouth twisted off to one side, not a frown but more an expression of defeat.

  He seems . . . upset.

  “What happened to you?” I say, and it comes out angrier than I intended. I tell myself not to feel bad. Not after what he said to me tonight.

  He’s carrying grocery bags, I notice now. One filled with what appears to be a loaf of French bread and cheese, and another stuffed to the brim with wine. I pretend not to notice the soft clank of the bottles as he sets them on the porch and runs a hand through his hair, before he digs into his pocket for keys. “I shouldn’t have done any of the things I’ve done to you, Harper. I apologize. For all of it. It will end now.”

  My throat clenches so tight I can’t reply at first. It doesn’t seem to matter, though, because he doesn’t wait for an answer. He hoists his groceries once more and brushes past me, heading for the door, unlocking a bolt.

  “What do you mean?” I finally manage.

  He pushes the door open and starts to step inside. “From now on, I’ll be in full control of myself. I will be your professor, you will be my student. Nothing more.”

  That finally jars me into motion. I cross the porch and catch the door before it can swing shut behind him. “That’s not what I want.”

  It’s even darker inside his house. He makes no mo
ve to turn on a light, though. Just hovers in the hall beyond the door, those dark eyes inscrutable, though I can feel his gaze burning into mine. “You don’t know me, Harper. You don’t know what I’m capable of doing to people.”

  The fire that’s been burning in my blood since this morning—since the first night I met him, if I’m honest—sings in my veins. A shiver runs through me. “Oh, I think I know that by now,” I reply. After all, if I clench, I can still feel the sharp ache in my ass from his slaps, the throb in my pussy where he fucked me this morning.

  He shakes his head. “I’m not good for you. For anyone.”

  I step up into his house and let the door slam shut behind me, so we’re both closed inside the dark, silent hallway. “If I wanted good for me, do you think I’d be screwing my professor?”

  He moves. I can’t see him do it, but I can sense the air around us contract. Suddenly his warmth is close enough to radiate on my skin, and his breath ghosts across my forehead. If I close my eyes I can almost feel his lips. “Is that all you want, Harper? A good fuck?”

  No, says my brain. What I want is to stop screwing the wrong people, to stop messing up my social life, to stop complicating everything because of my damn hormonal urges. I want to fuck, yes, but I also want to fuck the right person. The trouble is, he’s standing right here, right now, and he feels a whole lot like the right person when it’s just the two of us and this raging desire that boils between us.

  So I tell him what I know he wants to hear. “Preferably a lot of good fucks, not just one, but yeah. That’s all I’m looking for.”

  Liar.

  Except it gets me what I really want. His lips close over mine, and then our bodies meld together, his hard, solid chest pressed flush against my soft breasts, his thick, strong arms nearly crushing my waist as he picks me up, lifts me to his height. I wrap my legs around his waist, moving on pure instinct, and still we don’t break our kiss. His lips are at odds with his body—he kisses gently, almost sweetly. At the same time, I feel his cock dig into my crotch where my legs cling to his waist. I grind my hips against him, and he exhales a soft moan against my mouth as his cock twitches.

  Next thing I know we’re moving—he’s stronger than I would have guessed, carrying me easily across the foyer and into another darkened room. We half-fall half-collapse onto a couch, angled so he’s lying along my body, and our lips finally separate from the kiss.

  “Be careful what you ask for, Harper.”

  His steel-hard erection digs into my stomach where he lies along me, and I can’t help the sudden shiver that passes through me, though whether it’s from what he just said or just from hearing him say my name again, I’m not sure.

  Doesn’t matter.

  We barely take another moment to breathe before we’re pulling at one another’s clothing. His shirt flies off first, though he wrests mine off shortly thereafter. My bra follows, then I manage to unsnap his jeans and kick those down to his ankles. Finally, he lies back down alongside me, both of us completely naked for the first time. It’s too dark to see him, but my fingers trace his chest and the outline of his hard abs. Then I reach lower, brush my fingers along the length of his cock, silk-smooth and yet so goddamn hard beneath, thick and powerful. He jumps in my hands as I close my fists around him.

  “You drive me so fucking crazy,” he murmurs against my neck before he kisses his way down my throat to my chest. “I can’t stop thinking about you. Ever since the confessional, every night . . . ”

  My head drops back against the armrest and I gasp softly as he sucks my nipple into his mouth and lets his tongue swirl around it, once, twice, three times. “You started it,” I manage to say, which makes him laugh. The vibrations from his laughter against my already sensitive nipple send my back arcing up toward him, sparks of pleasure firing through my body.

  I squeeze my thighs around his hips and grab his ass with both hands to drag him closer to me. I can feel the tip of his cock toying with my entrance, but he’s hesitating, pulling away.

  “I’m on the pill,” I say, guessing what he’s thinking. “And I’m clean. If you’re . . . ”

  He lifts his head and stares down at me. My eyes have adjusted enough to the near-total dark that I can see his cheek, the sharp edge of his jaw, and a faint smile that plays on his lips. He runs a hand through my hair, gentle, slow, not like last time when he was all grabbing and pulling (not that I minded). “I am too. I’ve just never . . . ” His Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows. “Are you sure?”

  I don’t trust myself to speak, so I only nod. I’ve only done it without a condom with one person before, because Derrick was the only guy I’d been with enough times to trust that much. Of course, he managed to screw that up, but I’m not going to let it sully me for life. I’m not going to let it ruin any other choices I make, when the moment feels right.

  And despite whatever Jack might think, despite how bad for me he thinks he is, this feels right.

  He must feel it too. The moment I nod, he sinks into me with a groan, his body coming down heavy across mine. “Fuck, Harper.” He buries his face in my hair, and I wrap both arms around him, one hand cupping his neck, the other still grabbing his tight, firm ass, pulling him deeper into me. I can feel every inch of him, stretching the walls of my tight pussy, still sore from this morning’s hard fuck. It hurts, but oh god, so good.

  We don’t speak after that. Our bodies move in sync, his hips pulling back as mine sink into the couch, before we slowly slide together again, savoring the feeling of our bare bodies, his naked cock inside of me. We’re pressed as close together as possible, but it’s still not enough.

  My hips buck, try to make him go faster. His lips catch my earlobe, and I feel them stretch into a smile. Then his hand catches mine, draws my arm over my head, and he keeps rocking against me, long, slow thrusts in, and even slower, agonizing slides out.

  I grit my teeth, trying not to show how wild he’s making me. Every centimeter he moves in me makes my toes curl, my legs around his waist quiver.

  Finally, I can’t take it any more. “Fuck me,” I whisper.

  He flicks his tongue across my chest, kisses his way up my throat to hover over my lips, so close I can almost taste him. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” he says as he thrusts into me again, even slower this time.

  “Fuck me,” I repeat, louder, my teeth gritted.

  “Like this?” Suddenly he pulls back and slams into me hard. I cry out, then again because he’s already pulling away. I struggle to free my hand from his grip so I can grab his hips and make him do that again. He pins me beneath him, grinning. He’s enjoying making me squirm. “Yeah, you like that.”

  I glare up at him, then squeeze my legs tight around him and thrust my hips up hard, spearing myself on him, forcing him all the way inside me, his tip scraping my G-spot.

  He gasps, and his eyes widen.

  Hmm. That is kind of fun. My turn to grin. “Something like that.”

  Finally we both cave in, and we start to move in earnest. I arch my neck so I can watch his tight abs contract over my stomach, his long shaft sliding in and out of me, faster, faster, until I can’t watch any more, and I let my head fall back and grab his neck, pulling him against me.

  His hand drops between us to circle my clit. I’m already so close it barely takes any time at all—a few sharp thrusts while his thumb digs into me, and I’m gasping over the edge, my whole body spasming as I come. He waits a moment, thumb tracing over my thighs, my waist, then back to my clit, where it sends me straight to the peak all over again. He tries to keep it there, force me to orgasm a third time, but I grab his wrist and yank his hand away.

  His turn now.

  He lies alongside me, his chest glistening with sweat. I wrap both arms around his body, dig my nails into his back, and he moans with pleasure, his eyes feral when they find mine in the dark. I stare straight into his eyes as he nears the end—his fists clench in my hair and his face softens again, all those hard angles of hi
s jaw and his cheeks going loose as his mouth drops open to gasp for air. Yet he doesn’t break eye contact. A few more sharp thrusts and he groans, helpless, as his hot cum pumps into me, our eyes still locked. It’s hot as hell the way he stares straight at me as he finishes. I clench hard around him, and I’m rewarded with a faint gasp as he twitches in me, still coming, his body quivering.

  Then he collapses on my chest, and I hug him close, loving the heady scent that fills the air around us, and the cool sweat that pools between our bodies. We lie there for what feels like both forever and far too little time, until eventually he pulls out of me (which causes another hot rush of our mingled juices down my legs), and collapses alongside me on the couch, both our breaths slowing as sleep closes in.

  Jack

  I wake up to the sensation of shivering. It’s a little confusing at first, because I don’t feel cold at all. In fact, I’ve never been this warm in my life—a whole-body sensation that starts in the center of my chest and spills out over my limbs. I’ve heard people talk about the “afterglow” before, but I never fully understood the term until now.

  Then the rest of my brain wakes up enough to figure it out. The shivering is Harper, still wrapped in my arms, still completely naked, curled into my chest for warmth, though apparently not enough.

  For a moment, all I can do is stare. She’s even more gorgeous now, lying bare before me, her hair mussed, her body pressed against mine, completely trusting.

  I want to take care of her.

  The thought startles me. It’s not something I’ve ever really felt before. Not like this. Normally I date the girl who’s there. Sara sat next to me in English class when we were just bairns. Bethany was the first girl to ask me out at college. Kim, Carly, they just made sense, were attractive enough, turned me on physically.

  But I’ve never felt responsible for someone like this. I’ve never, deep down, truly wanted to wrap my arms around a girl and shield her from anything the world wants to throw at her.