Sapphire Beautiful

by Ren Monterrey

  “Don’t you like mac and cheese?” I ask him.

  He shakes his head. “Not really.”

  “Then why did you pick it for our meal tonight?”

  “Because you told me it’s one of your favorites.”

  “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “I know.”

  I grab an olive from my plate and pop it into my mouth. “These are good.”

  He gives me the tiniest of smiles. “I’m glad you like them.”

  “Are you hungry?” I ask. “For something other than me?”

  He shakes his head.

  After I take one more quick bite of mac and cheese I announce, “I’m done.”

  “Good,” he replies. “We’ll have Richard bring our dessert into the guest wing a little later.”

  “Guest wing?” I ask. That’s a part of the house he hasn’t shown me yet.

  “Come on,” he says as he rises from the table and offers me his hand.

  The guest wing on the opposite end of the home is like a small resort. There’s a lovely courtyard filled with greenery in the area between several guest bedrooms.

  “You have your choice of guestrooms,” he says. “There’s a Sir Gawain and the Green Knight room, a room for The Canterbury Tales, one for Beowulf, and Tristan and Iseult.”

  “No Divine Comedy?” I feign offense.

  He shakes his head. “Should I be insulted that Dante has not been well represented in their guestroom designations?”

  I place a kiss on his cheek. “Since there’s no Divine Comedy, why don’t we go with Chaucer instead?”

  “The Canterbury Tales it is.”

  My eyes grow wide when we enter the enormous room. Three of the four walls are decorated with huge murals depicting The Canterbury Tales: The Knight’s Tale, The Wife of Bath’s Tale and The Friar’s Tale.

  “These are amazing,” I tell Dante as I inspect the mural of The Wife of Bath’s Tale more closely.

  “The artist was able to replicate the illuminations and illustrations from the Ellesmere manuscript almost perfectly,” he states. “And then added some original drawings in the same style.”

  It takes me a moment to remember that I’m not talking to one of my colleagues in the Medieval Studies Department, for whom this might be an everyday conversation. I’m talking to the twenty-two-year-old who is paying to have sex with me.

  How does he know about the Ellesmere manuscript, a 15th-century work that many consider one of the most significant Canterbury Tales texts?

  I catch myself before I respond. I don’t want him to know I’m a medieval scholar and anything I say at this point might cause him to ask questions.

  So I decide to do something that will take his mind off medieval literature. I kiss him. “You mentioned something about being hungry for me?”

  He grabs my ass and pulls me close. He’s already hard and obviously quite hungry. He devours my mouth with his.

  The late medieval style four poster bed has a raised canopy and the head and foot posts look hand carved. The bed is covered with stunning deep blue upholstery that’s almost too beautiful to lie on.

  “What wrong?” He asks.

  “This bed is so lovely. Like something out of a storybook. Are we really going to have sex in it?”

  He nods. “It’s a guest bedroom. I’m sure they expect their guests to sleep here. And do other things. That’s its purpose.”

  “Okay,” I agree still hesitant. This is a far cry from the pull-out couch at my sister’s place, which is about as close to a guest bedroom as I’ve ever come.

  “The Nelsons won’t mind. They told me I could stay here whenever I wanted. They know things with my parents are—um—strained.”

  “But do the Nelsons know you brought someone with you?”

  “It’s fine,” he assures me. “Now where were we?” He kisses me again.

  I think he may have underestimated his desire for me when he merely said he was hungry. He looks like he’s starving. Like he hasn’t eaten in weeks and he’s finally been given a meal.

  The black skirt and blouse I’m wearing come off quickly, as do my undergarments. Dante’s clothes fly off just as quickly.

  There’s something about being ravaged in a medieval canopy bed surrounded by illustrations of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales that seems to completely and utterly turn me on. The only thing missing is Dante wearing medieval garb: a cotehardie, hose and a hood.

  The bed is a lot more comfortable than I anticipated. The mattress feels brand new. I’m sure Dante and I will give it a good work-out.

  He starts slowly moving in and out of me, almost teasing me, and not taking his eyes from mine.

  “You’re mine,” he tells me. “I don’t want you ever to forget that.”

  His penetrating gaze sends shivers through me. I’m used to Dante’s intensity, but right now he seems completely driven to claim me. To remind me that my body belongs to him and him alone.

  When he quickens his pace he fucks me like I’ve never been fucked before. It’s hard and raw and carnal. Passion pounds the blood through every inch of my trembling body until the floodgates are finally broken.

  When I cry out for release it’s an odd combination of pain and pleasure that I’ve never experienced before.

  I’ve never had an orgasm so utterly all-encompassing that I felt like I momentarily left my body. The sound of my own voice screaming is what brought me back to Earth again.

  Beads of sweat drip down Dante’s forehead. When I brush at one he frowns. “Don’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s gross.”

  “It’s just sweat. We just exchanged bodily fluids. I think I can handle a little sweat.”

  He smiles as he moves his thumb down my cheek. “You’re glistening a little yourself.”

  I don’t know why, but for some reason I don’t want him to know that was the best sex I’ve ever had in my life. Or that I may be starting to have feelings for him. Or that I really like him.

  I want to go back to this just being about exchanging sex for money and nothing else. Having feelings for Dante makes our arrangement much too complicated.

  After everything I went through with Doug the last thing I need is complicated.

  “You promised me ice cream,” I say instead.

  He nods. “I did. And you will get what you want, because I will give you anything. All you have to do is ask.”

  I gulp. Does he really mean anything? That doesn’t make things less complicated.

  Seven

  Lucy catches me in the hallway on the way to my office. “He’s here.”

  “Who’s here?”

  My mind is still reeling from the events of last night. I’m still having a hard time coming to terms with everything that happened with Dante. I had the best sex in my life with a twenty-two-year old who considers me his. And that I’m wearing his necklace to prove it.

  “The guy,” she says. “Silver Spoon. The one who was awarded the prestigious graduate research fellowship that his daddy bought and paid for.”

  The venom in her voice makes it clear that she will probably never have any respect for our new research fellow. Not that I blame her. She was the first person in her family to go to college, let alone earn a doctoral degree. She worked her ass off holding three jobs while she put herself through school. I can understand her resentment towards someone who seems to have had everything just handed to him on a silver platter.

  “That’s really what you’re going to call our research fellow? Silver Spoon?”

  She shrugs. “It’s better than asshole.”

  “What is that?” Her eagle eye spots the sapphire pendant around my neck. She lifts it from my chest and gets close enough to inspect it. “A beautiful sapphire surrounded by some rather significant diamonds. Where’d you get the money for something like that?”

  She raises a thick dark eyebrow and stares at me waiting for an answer.

  “I didn’t buy it.” There’s n
o way I can lie to Lucy. She’s much too intuitive for that. She can spot a lie before it even crosses someone’s lips. She’s like a living, breathing lie detector.

  “Then where did it come from?” she probes.

  I gulp. How am I ever going to be able to explain my arrangement to her?

  “Are you dating someone?” Her eyes are planted firmly on mine.

  “Not exactly.”

  She looks down the hallway to make sure no one is around. “Are you screwing around? Is he married?” Then she gasps. “Are you screwing around with Andrew?”

  I quickly shake my head. “No, I’m definitely not screwing around with Andrew. And he’s not married. He’s a little bit younger so it’s complicated.”

  “You’re not old, so how much younger could he possibly be?”

  I can feel my face getting hot. I just hope I’m not blushing. “A decade.”

  Her eyes grow wide. “Is he a student?”

  I shake my head. “No. I wouldn’t do that. Not after everything that happened with Doug. And I’m applying for tenure this year.”

  “Well if a twenty-two-year-old can afford to buy you a necklace like that he must have a really good job.”

  I nod because I’m not sure what else to say. There’s no way I want her to know that he was born into one of the wealthiest families in the country.

  “Silver Spoon is meeting with the Dean. Can you believe it? When has a brand new graduate student ever scored a meeting with the Dean? I can’t even get a meeting with the Dean and I’m a tenured faculty member.”

  “How are my favorite colleagues doing today,” Andrew asks as he passes us in the hallway.

  “We’re the only colleagues in your department,” Lucy reminds him.

  “Until our new research fellow arrives.” Andrew glances at his watch. “He should be finishing his meeting with the Dean at any moment.”

  When he glances in my direction Andrew gets an odd look on his face. It takes me a moment to realize he’s fixated on my sapphire pendant. “Wow, that’s stunning. I’ve never seen you wear it before.”

  “I just got it,” I admit.

  A look of disappointment crosses his face. “Must be someone special.”

  I always suspected that Andrew had feelings for me, but he looks like I just punched him in the gut.

  “This is the Medieval Studies department.” Dean Harris’s voice booms down the hallway.

  Andrew, Lucy and I all straighten up.

  My knees nearly give out when I see who’s walking beside the Dean.

  Dante McNally.

  He’s our new graduate research fellow.

  My chest tightens so completely I feel like I can’t breathe. All I want to do is get some fresh air.

  Or maybe runaway and hide somewhere. Preferably a very deep and dark hole where no one can find me.

  But the Dean and Dante are already too close for me to escape.

  “Are you okay?” Lucy whispers. “You look as white as a sheet.”

  “I feel sick,” I whisper back. “Maybe I ate something bad for breakfast.”

  As soon as Dante spots me his demeanor completely changes. Walking down the hallway with the Dean talking off his ear he looked utterly bored.

  Now he’s wearing the slightest of grins and looking like the cat that ate the canary.

  “I’d like to introduce you to the team,” Dean Harris says a little too proudly. He’s never been supportive of our department. Now we’re important because of the McNally’s money.

  “Dr. Andrew Madden is the department chair.” Andrew puts out a hand and Dante shakes it.

  “Dr. Lucy Serrano is our tenured faculty member.” She gives him a forced smile, but doesn’t extend a hand.

  I’m not surprised that Dante just nods in return.

  When Dean Harris turns his attention to me I feel like I’m going to pass out. If I believed in God now would be a good time to start praying that Dante pretends that we’ve just met. I know I’ve expressed to him how important my job is to me.

  “This is Dr. Mary Pine. She’s applying for tenure this year.”

  When Dante’s eyes meet mine the exchange of energy between us is almost overpowering.

  “Nice to meet you.” He extends a hand.

  As I place my hand in his my entire arm is shaking. “Nice to meet you,” I whisper because that’s the only sound that will come out of my nearly closed throat.

  “That’s a beautiful necklace,” he says not taking his eyes from mine. “Someone special?”

  I nod. My heart is beating so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

  “He must really care about you.”

  All I can do is nod again.

  “I’ll let the four of you get better acquainted,” Dean Harris says. “Dante got his undergraduate degree at Yale. He worked with a colleague of mine on his senior Honors thesis. He knows his stuff. I hope you all have research projects he can assist with. I know he’s anxious to get started right away.”

  After the Dean disappears down the hallway Andrew looks back and forth between Lucy and I. “If the two of you don’t mind I’d like to get Dante started on some background research for the textbook I’m working on.”

  “Go for it,” Lucy says before she heads for her office and slams the door shut.

  Andrew looks at me expectantly. “That’s fine,” I manage to mutter.

  “Great.” Andrew smiles. I know he’s been trying to get the textbook completed for a while.

  I hurry into my office and lock the door behind me. As I wipe the sweat from my brow I try to remember the last time I sweated.

  I rarely sweat.

  Except when Dante is inside of me.

  My stomach knots. How in the world did I get myself in this situation? I feel like every nerve in my body is completely frayed.

  I’m not just sleeping with a student in our department, I’m sleeping with our new prestigious research fellow. And I’m getting paid to do it.

  I’m not just being fucked. I am fucked. Completely and totally screwed in more ways than one.

  I’ll have to end things with Dante, won’t I? I can’t continue with the arrangement now that I know he’s our graduate research fellow.

  Then it occurs to me that maybe he’ll want to end things now that he knows I’m a faculty member in his new department.

  The moment I plop down in my chair I’m flooded with emotion. The last thing I want to do is cry at work on top of everything else, but I can’t seem to control it.

  Tears stream down my face and I’m too emotionally drained to wipe them away.

  I’m startled by a knock on my office door. I consider not answering, but whoever it is seems adamant about me opening up.

  When I unlock the door I’m surprised to see that it’s Dante.

  “I thought you were meeting with Andrew.”

  He nods. “I am. I excused myself to go to the bathroom.”

  “It’s down the hallway to the left.”

  “Let me in.” It’s not a request.

  I move over so he can enter my office. “You need a bigger office.”

  “Are you going to ask your daddy to get that for you too?” The words sound more awful than I anticipate.

  “The entire research fellowship was my dad’s idea. I had nothing to do with it. He decided it was time for me to go to graduate school. Earning a Master’s degree is now a stipulation to get my trust fund payments. He did give me the option to earn an MBA like my brother, but I’m not good at math. I’ve always been fascinated with medieval history, so here I am.”

  “We’re going to have to end the arrangement,” I tell him.

  “No.”

  “No?”

  He shakes his head. “That’s not something I’m willing to do.”

  “We have to. We can’t continue to do—what we’ve been doing—and then work together every day.”

  “Why not? His eyes twinkle when he looks at me. “Thinking about fucking a hot professor is gett
ing me really turned on.”

  “I can’t continue to—be with you. Doug ruined his career and killed himself because he got caught sleeping with his students. He told them he’d give them good grades in exchange for sexual favors. Easy lays get easy A’s was apparently his motto.”

  “I’m not your student. I’m not in any of your classes. It’s not an issue.”

  “You’re still a student in our department. You’re our research fellow. And you’re paying me to be with you. That’s not any better.”

  When he closes the small distance between us I gasp. I can feel the heat radiating from his body. My entire office is heating up with the sparks that are being exchanged between us.

  He places an index finger on the sapphire pendant he gave me and plays with it for a few seconds.

  “You’re mine,” he whispers in my ear. “Nothing is ever going to change that.”

  My head is dizzy with so many thoughts and emotions. “I can’t,” I manage to say.

  “I’ll make it worth your while,” he replies.

  “How?” I feel like I’m getting ready to make a deal with the devil.

  “How much do you still owe on your mortgage?” he asks.

  I shake my head. “No. I won’t let you do that.”

  “How much?” he insists.

  “About three hundred thousand.” It didn’t seem like that much when both Doug and I were both making the payments, but now that I’m paying it on my own the debt feels crushing.

  “You’ve got it,” he says matter-of-factly.

  “You can’t pay off my mortgage.”

  “I can, and I will, if that’s what it takes for you not to end the arrangement.”

  Having my mortgage paid off would be like a huge weight taken off my shoulders, but there’s still too much risk involved. I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for.

  My stomach knots when he removes his cellphone from his pocket. I have a feeling I know what he’s doing. He punches keys for several seconds then says, “Check your account.”

  “You can’t do this.”

  “Too late. It’s already done. You know The Club rules. Once the money is in your account I can’t take it back.”

  I remove my cellphone from my purse and log into my account with The Club. There’s three hundred thousand sitting there.