by Havana Scott
But I can’t.
I pull my hand away and shut my eyes tight. A whole well of guilt and shame rises up inside of me. It’s like twenty years of life and seven years of wondering when I’ll ever orgasm all come running up to my face to confront me head on. I can’t take it.
“I’m scared,” I hear myself saying, pressing my hands against my eyes. What if it hurts? What if it doesn’t? What if I love it so much, I’ll want Professor MacKenzie forever? A man I can’t have? Should I be taking that risk, too?
“No, hon, it’s okay…seriously.”
I sit up and pull my dress over my body, feeling my cheeks flush. What’s wrong with me? He was making me feel so good. Better than anyone ever has, ever, and I’ve had two longtime boyfriends before, both who got frustrated with me. “I’m sorry, Professor.” I jam my panties into my purse, slide my heel onto my foot, and book it out of there. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sabine, don’t leave. Let’s forget this. We can just talk about it. No more pressure.” He says something else, like there’s no need to apologize, but I don’t hear him clearly. My mind is filled with embarrassment. I have to go. I can’t believe I came here, can’t believe I asked my professor to watch me and a gay friend do each other. Can’t believe my first orgasm was going to be by myself while a stranger watched me. What was I thinking?
But this is what you wanted, Sabine.
Yes, but not like this.
I’m in the car soaked and crying when I hear Leo. “Sabine, are you okay? Did he hurt you?”
“No,” I utter. He didn’t hurt me. He didn’t do anything wrong. He was sexy and helpful and respectful and utterly amazing all at the same time. But I shouldn’t have been there. He’s my professor, not my boyfriend, not a therapist, not a surrogate, not even a casual acquaintance. How desperate am I that I was willing to give up so much just to experience something that should be special?
Besides—ugh—I was scared to come.
And now I feel like a fucking idiot. I thought I could handle a sexual lesson, but I can’t.
“Just drive home. Please.”
6
LIAM
The Prius drives off, taking my sweet night with it.
Fuck.
I shouldn’t have invited her in. I should’ve sent her home when she told me she didn’t have a partner. Fuck it, I shouldn’t have accepted being her mediator in the first place. Most girls her age are immature, some are deceptive and play head games, and last thing I need is a twenty-year-old reporting that I took advantage of her. I don’t know her from a hole in the wall. She could’ve set up our meeting on purpose, claiming to have an orgasm problem, claiming to have a friend that could help, all of it lies just to get me into bed, so she can turn around and tell the other girls that she did it—she got into Dr. MacKenzie’s pants.
What the fuck was I thinking? I punch the couch pillow a few times then throw it across the room. It lands near the fireplace. I go over and pick the damn thing up.
No, that’s the stupidest story I’ve ever thought up.
No, Sabine doesn’t mean any harm.
I know she doesn’t. She’s a rare creature. A beautiful, intelligent, funny, determined, HOT AS FUCK rare creature. She’s sincere, and her problem is real. I saw the tears. I saw the mounting frustration, how she couldn’t get herself to come, and now I feel unworthy because I couldn’t do it for her. Though I almost did. Something is missing. Still, I’m no therapist, and it’s not my job to figure out what it is.
Fact is—I can’t see her again.
I might have fallen into temptation for a nanosecond. A minute. Maybe a day. But tomorrow, I get back on track. But first, I should talk to her and apologize. Heading to the kitchen, I down a much-needed huge glass of ice water then sit at my counter. I open up my laptop and quickly compose a short email telling her she did nothing wrong, I’m sorry I couldn’t help her, asking her to please meet me at the library at noon tomorrow.
Staring at the email, I think the better of it. I erase the entire message except for the part about meeting in the library, then add “to discuss your question” in case the email is ever intercepted. The fact that I have to watch what I say tells me I’ve already crossed a line, and this just can’t happen again.
I check the email several more times for tone and finally send it off. Then, I head to bed dejected, stopping at the couch on the way to stare at it. Run my hand over the spot where she sat. Remembering her there. How completely beautiful she looked. How pained and tormented and compelling she was.
Before she aborted mission and left.
At lunchtime, I wait inside Duffman Library grading papers from one of my graduate classes. Sabine still hasn’t answered my email, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she ignores it. At a table across the room, two gorgeous undergrads stare at me. They huddle close to discuss something then look at me again. I’m used to the looks. I know I’m a bit more of a look than the average guy my age, hell maybe even than the younger ones, but today I’m paranoid.
Do they know Sabine and I were together last night? Did she tell her friends?
Do they know I sat in my leather chair and watched the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life? Witnessed a young woman explore her sexuality, give in to feelings she’d probably never had before for the first time? Do they know I was dying to take her right there on the couch, flip her over the armrest and fuck her hard?
I feel like they do.
But then, I have to remind myself that Sabine isn’t like them. She’s the one who turned around in class Monday and ripped those students a new asshole for taunting her. She’s the one who goes above and beyond with her questions instead of just getting by. She’s not one of them. She’s not a gossip girl. She’s the lone wolf, the outsider, and I can’t and shouldn’t dump her into the same category as the others.
I wait for over an hour, but she doesn’t stop by. I have to talk to her. She can’t hide from me forever. Most students in the library leave for their afternoon classes, and I’m about to do the same when the library door opens. I look up for the hundredth time in the last hour, hoping it’s her, but instead, Dean Albert strolls in.
He sees me and gives me a balding head nod. “There you are, MacKenzie.” He smiles, walks over to shake my hand. “I’ve been looking for you.”
“Have you?” I try not to sound surprised, but Dean Albert never comes looking for me. Did Sabine report me? I would totally deserve it if she did, but shit, I hope not, or there goes my chances for getting nominated.
“Yes, Quackenbush called.”
“Oh?” I’m only slightly relieved. “How’s he doing?”
“Better. Much better. He wants to know how things are going in his class.”
Relief washes over me but now I’m afraid of how I’ll sound. Forced and artificially thrilled. “Great. Things are going great. I’m moving faster to catch up to the syllabus, but the students are keeping up.”
“Good.” He nods, glancing around. “Good to hear. And uh, everything okay regarding the students?”
The door to the library opens again, and this time, it’s her. Sabine, wearing jeans, a fitted T-shirt that accentuates her gorgeous small tits, and a sad expression. I want so much to ask her to wait for me where she is, but I don’t want to alert Dean Albert to her presence. “I’m sorry, sir?”
“The students. Is everything alright with the undergrads?”
My veins turn to ice. Why is he inquiring? “What do you mean?”
“Well…” He chuckles. He wouldn’t laugh if I was in trouble. “I’m talking about the sensitive subject matter and the fact that half the school is talking about how the ‘hottest bachelor on campus…’” he hooks his fingers into air quotes, “Dr. MacKenzie, is teaching Human Sexuality. At your age with your looks, I imagine you’re breaking quite a few hearts in that room.” He slaps my shoulder good-naturedly. “Just make sure you stay on your side of the line. Not that I have to tell you that. You’re as good as they come, Mac
Kenzie.”
“No, sir. Of course not.” Thank you, I needed that slap. I needed a reminder to behave myself now that Sabine is here, inspecting a literacy poster nearby, probably trying not to eavesdrop. “Thanks for checking in on me.”
“Not a problem. Have a great weekend.”
“You, too, sir.”
Dean Albert strolls right past Sabine without incident. If the man only knew.
Once he’s gone, she looks at me and approaches. “Did anything happen?”
“With the dean? Nah, he’s just making sure everything’s going well with the class.”
“Oh.” A discernible sigh escapes her lips. She’s as worried as I am about what happened, which is a relief. She hasn’t ratted me out or she wouldn’t be here. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yes. Can we go somewhere to talk? I thought here would be good, but not with Dean Albert lingering.” I try a chuckle, but she remains pensive. I hope she didn’t take that the wrong way. I’m not embarrassed to be seen with her. It’s just…circumstances being what they are. “Outside maybe?”
“It’s raining again.” She stares longingly out the library’s glass wall. Again, as in, same way it was last night when she came over and I watched her masturbate on my couch.
“We needed rain.” I watch her face shift through shades of torment. She’s sad and confused and so much will be decided in the next conversation. “Come with me.” I lead her to the corner of the library where a study room looms cold and empty. Opening the door, I let her in first and follow her inside, then four walls enclose us.
Sabine and I are alone.
She hangs back a distance, arms crossed, book bag resting on a work table. Safeguarding. “Dr. MacKenzie, before you say anything, I just want to say I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to your house. I shouldn’t have dragged you into this…” She lets out a breath she’s been holding.
“You didn’t drag me into anything. I saw what you wrote in your notebook, and I wanted to help. Okay? Don’t take the blame for this.”
Her sad eyes analyze my every move. “Just help? That’s all?”
I don’t know whether to admit more, but I know I can’t have her feeling like there was nothing between us when there was. “Not just to help, Sabine. I wanted you to come over, because I also like you. A lot. Which is bad. You know it is.” I move in closer, despite the way she clutches herself tightly. “Sabine, all week, I’ve thought about you. About your problem, yes, but also about the way you put your mind to solving issues, your personality, your beauty…” I can’t help it and reach for her hand. “Your sexiness…everything. I’m obsessed with you.”
Her pretty eyes flare, and she lets me take her hand with a shake of her head. “I feel the same. And not just because you’re my professor. Because you’re smart, older…definitely hotter than any guy I’ve ever known.” A short laugh bursts from her throat. It’s good to see her laugh. “More mature than the dorks I’m used to, and that scares me.”
“The thought of you with a useless dork scares me, too.” I try to keep things light, but this is tough. Reluctantly, I take my hand back.
“It scares me for a number of reasons. What if you get in trouble?” she asks.
“Yes, or you. Which is why we can’t do this anymore, Sabine. At least not for six weeks, at which point we can see where we stand, maybe try it again if you’re still having the same problem. Who knows? Maybe you’ll find some hot guy between now and then.” I chuckle, but inside, I’m slowly crumbling. I’m not even sure I can see her once she’s done with my class. It may be against the rules to get physical with any student, my own or otherwise.
She’s shaking her head before I can finish. “It’s not going to happen. Trust me. Only you can do it.”
“But I couldn’t…” My eyes narrow. Am I missing something? As far as I can tell, she didn’t come last night.
Her mouth opens to say something, but she seems to think better of it and closes it again.
“Six weeks,” I tell her again. “After you’re done being my student, we can try again, see what exists between us.” It’s the best I can offer, though I wish we could just say “fuck it” and explore what there is now. It’d be playing with fire but would feel so damn good.
However, I can’t lose this job. I can’t put it on the line just for pussy.
Though it’s definitely sweet, tight pussy. Fuck my life.
“I would like that.” She smiles.
So, that settles it. We’ll part ways for now and try again later.
Which would be fine.
Except…
How the hell will I get through these six weeks when I want her so badly? When I nearly slid my hand all the way up her leg last night to touch her clit the right way, all so I could watch her spill over the edge? How, when all I can think about are her eyes gazing at me underneath perfectly shaped eyebrows, lips parted, whispering about me fucking her? She may not remember herself saying that, but I do.
“I only have one question,” I say. “And then we’ll return to our regularly scheduled program.”
She laughs. “Yes?”
“Why did you stop yourself? Last night. You were almost there. You know that, right? You almost had your orgasm.”
“I got scared,” she breathes. “I was so close to something I’ve wanted for so long, it freaked me out.”
I nod. That makes sense, though I never thought about it that way. Sabine, a twenty-year-old, teaching me things I never knew. She drives me crazy biting her bottom lip. I want to suck on it, bite it, see what she tastes like.
“But it’s something else, too,” she says, eyeing me with that cross between a baby face and a sexy woman’s. “The closer I got, the more I realized I didn’t want it that way. I’ve been treating myself like a science experiment for so long, I almost forgot it’s supposed to be special. I mean…I didn’t even get to kiss anyone!”
Damn.
And I fucking love kissing. A great kiss is so intimate, makes all the difference in the world. It was all I could think about last night while she spread her legs on my couch like a model in a post-modern French painting.
I’m rock hard and fighting. Fighting not to take her into my arms now.
Seeing her in front of me, forlorn but determined, with that damp hair and those plump lips, looking at me with those longing eyes, reminds me of how amazing she is. And I was a lucky bastard last night. It’s not every day you get to see a beautiful woman naked and touching herself before you ever kiss her, but so far, Sabine is winning the Things I Never Expected But Blowing My Mind category.
“I didn’t even get to kiss anyone…” she repeats, as if she dodged a bullet.
Unseen energy crackles between us.
I shouldn’t touch her, but I need to so much.
The more she stands there, lips parted, panting and fighting her feelings, the harder I get, the more I have to taste her, drink her in. It’s now or never. I reach for that doll face and reel her into me, tight, small frame melting into my arms. “We’ll have to correct that, won’t we?”
And those cherry lips become mine.
7
SABINE
They say one kiss can change your life.
Mine changes in an instant.
In the cold A/C of the study room, his warm mouth covers mine, takes what it wants, weakens my legs and punches me in the gut all at the same time. His lips are sweet, tantalizing, and his beard feels soft against my face. I’ve never kissed a man with a beard before. I can’t imagine having to wait six weeks before I kiss like this again. Or never again. The professor takes full command of my mouth and my soul, and at this moment, I’m his. I’ll do anything to keep his lips and tongue, tasting me deeper and consuming me, from stopping.
With Glenn and other boys, kissing went too fast, too eager, too sloppy, too everything, or not enough. But Dr. MacKenzie could write another thesis on kissing. He could write the Magna Carta of Kissing, the Declaration of Kissy-pendance. His hands
slide into my hair, his body presses against mine. I feel his every contour, his rock hard cock against my stomach. He’s tall, so I have to look up, which makes me feel like I’m falling. And in so many ways, I am.
It’s no wonder I’ve never come.
I’ve never had a man like the professor kiss me this way either.
But then, suddenly, he pulls away and presses his forehead into mine. “I shouldn’t have done that. We can’t, Sabine. I’m sorry.” He takes my hands in his, squeezes them, then lets them go.
Fighting to catch my breath, my tongue clucks inside my cheek. After laying that kiss on me, he can’t? Is he serious? He’s more of a tease than a fifteen-year-old girl. Pfft. “Fine. Then, I’ll find another guy who can. You’re right, maybe someone else can do it for me. After all, I got close with you, so the next guy will probably be the one to do it.”
Yeah, I’m being manipulative, but he just rejected me after blowing my mind for the first time in my life. A kiss like that will never happen again. I’m certain of it. Yeah, I’m angry, motherfucker.
I see it in his face, in the way he pants and bites his lips, looks around, as if searching for the determination he needs to walk away. But he can’t. Because he feels this, too. He knows there’s unequivocal chemistry between us. He knows it has to be him to make me come. Nobody else will do.
I feel his walls coming down, and when his walls come down, he starts acting less professional and more commanding, telling me what to do. He’s coming back my way. I love, love, love this power. “What are you doing now? During the next hour or so.” He leans into me, breathes in the smell of my hair.
I reel just from his proximity. He’s suggesting we go somewhere, isn’t he? Yes. I win. “Did you email me to come to the library, all so you could lock me in a study room?”
“I was hoping to talk to you then stay away from you.”
“Well, that didn’t work, did it?”
