by Havana Scott
Liam, Liam, Liam. I don’t think there’s ever been a more beautiful, masculine name in all of history. I want to write it in my notebook over and over inside little hearts, but I have learned that lesson the hard way. Oh, yes, I have. Liam. MacKenzie. Dr. Liam. Professor Liam. Liam and Sabine. Mrs. MacKenzie.
What does he want to talk to me about? I can’t take the agony of the anticipation much longer. In just a few minutes, I—Sabine LaFleur—am going to be sitting in Dr. Liam MacKenzie’s office, facing him, listening to him mention embarrassing things, most likely the contents of my Law of Attraction notebook.
“Sabine.”
I turn around. There he is, heading this way. In the solace of the hallway, he seems bigger, taller, larger than life, and I find myself holding my breath. Jesus, Sabine, calm the fuck down. He’s a man like any other.
No, he’s not, and I resent that my brain is attempting to trick me. He’s a god of wisdom and dimples. Two of them, apparently. “Hi, Professor. Is it still a good time? I know you have another class to get to,” Mature Sabine says.
“I do, but I can spare a few minutes.” He gives me that winsome professor smile and shuffles past me, sticking his key into the lock and turning it. A fantasy hits me—we’re about to have a tryst, and he’s opening the door for us to slip in and engage in a passionate embrace. In a moment, he’ll have me bent over his desk, pulling down my jeans, and fucking me from behind, searching for that fabled G-spot.
I shake off the image. “Great lecture today,” I say sheepishly. “Quack never made statistics sound so fun.” Maybe I should begin imagining Dr. MacKenzie as Quackenbush to cool myself down.
“Oh, thanks, Sabine. I appreciate that.” He holds the door open for me, and I walk into his office. He leaves the door wide open. The smallest flash of disappointment flutters through me. “I like your turtleneck, by the way.”
Turtleneck? Ah, yes, the turtleneck that’s stifling me at the moment.
Why on Earth did I wear this again?
His office is modern with touches of classic things like sepia toned globes, an old typewriter, and that pad you see on desks called an ink blotter or something. Above his desk on the wall behind him is a small sign with a motivational saying—He who dares to teach must never stop learning. As a student preparing to go into Elementary Education, that really speaks to me. Overall, his office is masculine, sexy. I take a seat in a comfy leather chair opposite his desk, thinking he’s going to sit behind his desk like at the dean’s office, but instead, he plops into the chair next to me.
A waft of subtle manly scent hits me. It’s sweet, spicy, and utterly intoxicating. It’s just me and him now. Alone. The hot professor the girls all stand in line to talk with is alone with me. In his office. He left the door open, but still—me in his office. Alone.
“So…” He smiles.
“So.” I nod, wringing my hands. I nod again and look at the amazing view of another building outside his window instead of his stunning steel eyes. Nodding. Why am I nodding?
“Sabine, I’m a pretty honest person, so it’s only right…and fair…that you know I looked inside your notebook. I wanted to find a name to see who it belonged to, but I saw something personal.”
I knew it. He read my orgasm wish.
But wait…to see who the journal belonged to? Not sure I buy that one. “On the last page, Professor? Aren’t most students’ names written on the inside cover? Or on the outside?” I’m not exactly mad, but he doesn’t need to pull the wool over my eyes, especially if he’s telling me what an honest person he is.
He stares at me, his breath suspended in the electric air between us. I think I hear his heart beating, and it prompts mine to race as well. “Okay, you got me.” He sighs, grabbing the edge of his chair. “Look, I didn’t mean to see anything personal in your notebook. I thought I’d find notes, see your handwriting…sometimes the smallest clue gives insight into that person. I never expected to see what I saw.”
Judging from the way he’s not saying explicitly what he saw, I know I have my confirmation. But why would he want insight into me? I’m just another female undergrad who creams her panties whenever he’s around.
I can’t speak, only look at my hands shaking with fear and embarrassment.
“Listen, there’s nothing to be ashamed of,” he goes on. “Sabine.”
I look up at his full mouth. My name coming from his lips sounds strange and wonderful. And yes, it’s a lot to be ashamed of. “You have no idea. None.” My lip trembles, and holy shit, I think I’m going to cry, but I hold myself back.
He shoots out of the chair, reaches over to grab a tissue from his desk, and hands it to me. “I don’t. You’re right. But it’s a common problem.”
“On Monday, you said it was highly rare.”
“I meant if it’s a true case of anorgasmia. But most people figure it out eventually. It’s just…for whatever reason, you haven’t figured it out yet. Maybe you get stuck at the plateau phase. That happens to a lot of people.”
Ah, yes, the plateau phase. On Monday, he went over the phases after I stopped with my questions. The plateau phase is that period of consistent stimulation that comes right before you peak and hit orgasm. Yes, that rang a definite bell.
“That sounds like me,” I say, pressing the tissue to the corners of my eyes.
He swallows softly, but I still hear it. “And if you remember, I also said that women take on an average of forty-five minutes to build to orgasm. Maybe—”
“I take way longer than that, Professor.” I wipe away hot, stinging tears. I can’t believe I am talking to Dr. MacKenzie, the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life, a man at least ten years older than me who I only met two days ago for the first time, about my SEX LIFE, for crying out loud. “I’ve done everything, read every article, tried every strategy…”
I’ve even tried every sex toy under the sun, but I’m not going to tell him that. Well, maybe not every sex toy, but a lot of them. They’re all sitting discarded in a box high up in my closet.
“It could be a trust issue, Sabine. Are you religious? Because sometimes, that can mess with your head too.” He chuckles lightly. “You don’t have to answer any of my questions, by the way. I’m not a licensed therapist. I’m just throwing things out there for you to consider.”
I appreciate that, but I don’t mind, now that the ice has broken. Dr. MacKenzie has an easy way about him, and I can tell he really does care. He’s not coming across as the perverted sicko I imagine most men his age to be. “It’s fine. I don’t care anymore.”
“Well, I do. Sabine, look. I only wanted to let you know that I understand your interest in the class more now. But I still think you should call that therapist whose number I gave you. She could help mediate. It would be you and a sex partner, then she comes in to see what either of you might be doing wrong. You have a boyfriend…girlfriend…?” His eyebrows arch, and I see where he’s going with this.
“I don’t have a boyfriend.” I stare at his clear, honest eyes. He’s a good man. I can tell from the patient way he talks to me and from his sighs, as he absorbs my frustration as if it were his own. Even though I’m face-to-face with Bearded Superman, it’s good to tell somebody.
Something in his facial expression, a slight flare of his nostrils maybe, tells me he’s happy to hear that I’m boyfriendless. But from the way his fingers curl around the armrest a little harder, and his breathing changes ever so slightly, maybe knowing I’m not with anyone makes things more difficult for both of us. Call me crazy, but I think Professor MacKenzie is crushin’ on me. I may not be able to orgasm, but that doesn’t mean I’m cold, or nonsexual, or that I can’t sense when a man is attracted to me, regardless of age.
He leans back in his chair and lets out a slow, deep breath. Off come his glasses, and he rubs his eyes. “Then, we’ll have to figure something else out.” We. Like it’s his problem too. Like he’s already onboard with me in this mission, and I’m not alone in this world.<
br />
I could be crazy for saying so, but I don’t want to talk to a woman I’ve never met. Now that the professor is the only person on the planet who knows my secret, I only want to talk to him about this. The thought emboldens me, so much that time slows down. I hear the words come out of my mouth as if I’m speaking underwater—slow, and fluid, and daring.
Yes, I’m crazy for saying this, but only big risk can yield big results. And I am so ready for change. I touch his knee. “Can you be my surrogate, Professor?”
4
LIAM
I knew it.
I told myself a hundred times this morning, Don’t invite her to your office. Don’t. Do not.
Did I listen? No. Because I wanted to see her again. Subconsciously and consciously. I wanted to see her face when I told her I read her notebook. I wanted to hear more about her anorgasmia. I wanted to get rock hard over it, challenged by the prospect of helping her. And now, my stupid fucking brain has brought me to temptation’s door.
It’ll be quick, I told myself. You don’t even have to close your office door. Just tell her you read the notebook and offer one last solution. Then, go about your merry way, and that’ll be it.
Yeah, sure. Instead, I’m rock hard and contemplating her request, a thought which should never, ever cross my mind. Be her surrogate? No way.
It’s not that Sabine is legally off limits. She’s a sophomore, which means she’s probably twenty. Above the legal age. That’s not it. The problem is, she’s my student, and if I know our rules and regulations here at Crofton Cliffs or any university, for that matter, professors are not allowed to have physical relationships with students. And as of two days ago, she officially became my student. Damn it, damn it, damn it. Why? Why did I accept to teach her class?
Okay, no. Focus, Liam. Twenty is too young, even if she weren’t my student. Anyone might think I’m taking advantage of her when nothing could be further from the truth. I only want to help her. As a friend. As a human being to another human being. I don’t like seeing anyone suffer. I take her hand, the one touching my knee. “Sabine, I can’t be your surrogate. First of all, I’m not licensed to be one.”
“Can’t anyone be a surrogate, technically, Professor? All you have to do is watch, right? You could tell me if I was doing something wrong.” This can’t be easy for her. Her fingers knead my hand nervously. Her palms feel sweaty. I imagine how they’d look wrapped around my cock, pushing my length into her cherry lips.
“Sabine…” I shake my head to dislodge the vision.
“I can find a partner. My roommate, Leo. I’ll ask him. He’s gay, but maybe he can help. In the name of research and all. Ugh, I’m crashing and burning, aren’t I?”
“Sabine, no. Your gay roommate doesn’t want to help you. He’s not the right person, and I can’t—”
“Professor, please.” Her soulful brown eyes rimmed with pain implore me, her fresh tears smudge her eyeliner. She removes the glasses she wasn’t wearing yesterday and wipes her lower lids. “You don’t understand how frustrating it is. I do everything I’m supposed to do, and nothing works.”
“It’ll work with time,” I tell her. “I understand—”
“No, Professor,” she cuts me off, a sudden angry outburst. “Until you’ve had a boyfriend leave you for another woman because he thinks it’s his fault he can’t make you come, because he thinks you’re not compatible or calls you ‘cold and emotionless,’ you’ll never understand.” Another round of tears wells up. She looks at the ceiling, takes a deep breath, then closes her eyes. A minute later, she’s resumed her composure. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.”
“Yell at me all you want. You have every right to feel that way.”
Whoa, this girl is carrying a load of guilt for shit that’s not even her fault. I just want to take her into my arms and hold her tight until the frustration vacates her body like an unwanted spirit. Exorcise the shit out of her demons.
I sigh and watch Sabine sitting there so vulnerable, helpless. I believe her when she says she’s tried it all, because who else but someone so desperate would ask their professor to be their surrogate therapist? But here’s another possibility she hasn’t mentioned—she may just need the right man. Her boyfriend was too stupid and insecure to go the distance with her, but hopefully, she’ll find a patient, smarter guy soon.
Damn it.
If she brings someone along, I guess I can watch. Technically, it won’t be a physical relationship because I won’t be the one touching her, but shit. I’ll see her naked, and that’s a thought I will never get the fuck out of my head as long as I live. Sitting here, my cock twitches, as my brain fights me. I don’t like the idea of another guy trying things out on her, even a gay guy.
It should be me. I alone know her secret.
“What about Veronica? The therapist whose name I gave you?” I ask, fighting this to the death. God help me. Because guess what—I don’t want Veronica helping her either. I want to help her. I want to figure this out with her. I want to spread those legs, slide my fingers into her sweet, wet pussy, and rub her clit just right until she comes all over my hand. Then, I want to lick my fingers clean of her juices and do it all over again.
FUCK.
I almost slap my own face.
“I don’t know Veronica,” Sabine sniffles. “I know I barely know you either, but at least you understand my problem. Not even my mom knows about this, and I’m too embarrassed to tell my best friend back in Miami. She thinks I have multiple orgasms on the daily.”
I laugh. “Why would she think that?”
“It’s a lie I started when I was fifteen. I kept hearing her talk about her orgasms. I was jealous. Please, Professor. You don’t know the half of it.”
And that’s the problem. I want to know the half of it, the three quarters of it, and the full of it. The problem I’m having at the moment isn’t whether or not to be her surrogate but how much I’m going to want to fuck her myself if I get to that point.
“Jesus Christ.” I rub my face and cross my legs to hide my erection. I’m going to burn in hell for this. But I’m going to burn so happy. “Fine. We can meet tomorrow night if you’re free. I’ll bring my wetsuit and a bucket of ice water.” I can’t believe I’m doing this.
“Oh, my God! Thank you!” She leaps out of her seat and almost lands in my lap. Her slender arms wrap around my neck, pulling me into a massive hug. On one hand, I’m totally fucked, but on the other, I’m happy. This woman needs help, and I’m happy to help her out in some way. “Ice water?” She pulls back to look at me.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
I know what I’m doing tonight in the shower, and it’s not exfoliating.
We agree to meet at my house an hour away from Hendersonville. Feels safer this way, farther removed from the university. Sabine didn’t feel comfortable at her apartment around her roommates she barely knows, she said, and I can’t blame her.
I pace the living room, my mind running a million miles a minute. I think about Sabine’s determination, her willingness to overlook privacy and a romantic partner just to achieve this goal. Also, her willingness to let an outsider assess her performance. She’s right—until I’ve walked in her shoes, I’ll never know what it’s like. All I know is that I feel strangely honored to be helping her.
When the doorbell rings, I check my shirt and hair in the mirror before opening the door. Sabine stands there, a rainstorm pouring behind her. She’s alone. “Where’s your partner? You said you’d get one.”
“He chickened out.”
“Who?”
“Leo, my roommate. At first, he was curious then said the most he could do was kiss me. That’s not going to stoke any fires,” she says. I think about how kissing can stoke fires—with the right person. “Anyway, he still accompanied me in case you turned out to be a mass murderer.”
“So, he is here?”
“In the car.” She gestures to the white Prius parked on the street,
a skinny guy sitting in the driver’s seat watching videos on his phone. He looks up and nods intimidatingly, and I nod back, closing the door slowly like a mass murderer.
Sabine pushes her hair behind her ears. She’s nervous. “Should I go? I mean, since it’s just you and me?” She stands in the foyer, pretty green dress showing off her curves and shapely legs. Hair is straight and shiny, and her body is bangin’. Rainy dampness clings to her skin, making me want to peel that dress off and push her up against the wall.
“You’re already here, so…just come in.” I move aside to let her in, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do. I can’t perform any physical acts of surrogacy. “Do you want something to drink? Wine, beer…soda?” Wait, she’s not even old enough to drink, for God’s sake.
“I’ll have a beer, thanks.” She wrings her hands while I get her a bottle and pop off the top. I open one for me as well. “I love your house. You live here alone?”
“Yes, all me. Thanks, I think I’ll keep it.” I don’t tell her how I used to live here with my ex, Mariana, or how we broke up amicably and now she lives in NYC. I don’t tell her how it tore me apart having her leave, or how one night, she announced she didn’t want to have kids. Never did. And then, she was gone. She wanted to focus on her kitchen supply store, soak up the city, maybe adopt when she was older. And maybe it was selfish of me, but I always wanted to have my own kids. Sooner rather than later, so it wasn’t meant to be.
It’s been bachelorhood for me ever since—two whole years. And not a single woman has made it back to my house. Once is the limit. Two feels like overstepping boundaries, like we’re starting a relationship, and the last thing I want with any Hendersonville girl is a relationship when I’ll hopefully be moving to Cambridge in the next year or so.
Sabine shrugs and swivels her beer bottle around. “I’m not sure what to do if I have no partner,” she says, swigging back a sip. “I guess we’re cancelling, right? I mean, I don’t want you to get in trouble by being alone with me, which I know you’re worried about, Professor.”
