by Logan Chance
“Listen to me,” I whisper. “It’s fine, really. And this is not the place to discuss things that should not be discussed.” If anyone overheard us discussing what happened, the repercussions would be harsh and swift. Like his spanking. Again, I check the aisle and thankfully it’s clear. What is he thinking? He’s not, clearly, and now neither am I, because he proceeds to make me lose any rational thought by sucking my finger into his mouth. It’s wet and warm. His tongue glides along my skin before he releases it.
“Don’t shush me,” he says. “This is why what happened earlier happened at all.”
I grab his hand and pull him behind me into a secluded corner of the aisle. “Are you saying it was my fault?” This corner was a bad idea, because now he’s pressed against me, his tall body encompassing the small space.
His dark eyes bore into mine. “Yes,” he says, matter of factly. He’s refusing to whisper. What part of library does he not understand?
“Shhh.” I peek around him and the aisle is still clear.
His arms cage me in and he eliminates every inch of space between us. “Do not shush me again, Miss Murphy.” He dips his face down, close to mine. “Unless you want a repeat of earlier.”
Well, I do want a repeat, but it’s probably a very bad idea. He leans close to my ear, brushing the hair away with his nose. “You want me to whisper, Miss Murphy? How’s this?” Goosebumps break out along my skin from the sensuous feel of his lips against the shell of my ear. This is so bad. So bad. Anyone could come around this corner and find us. And how did we get to this point? My fingers grip the edge of his pockets when he whispers again, “Do it once more and you’ll feel the sting of my hand on your ass, again.”
A soft shhh escapes me before I can stop it.
His teeth clamp down on my earlobe. “Fuck,” he whispers in my ear. “You probably shouldn’t have done that.”
Oh, I know. I know. This is all spiraling out of control, and one of us needs to stop it. I hope he does, because I can’t seem to. As if he heard my silent plea, he steps away from me. He gives me one more tease by adjusting the hard on tenting his slacks before he turns and leaves.
6
Houston
March 16th
Last night I had the same nightmare again. But, halfway through, it changed to Marley. She stood before me laughing, reaching her arm out for me to take it. To save me from my misery. That part of the dream was even scarier than my normal one of losing control.
This isn’t working.
She laughs in my dream, she laughs out of my dream.
I wish I could do simple. I wish I could laugh with her, but I’ve forgotten how
Fuck, Marley pisses me off. I still can’t believe I spanked her. Me, spanked her.
It felt good, though. All the tension I’d been holding in was released onto her pretty round ass. A spark ignited inside of me. But, it flickered out the moment she left and reality set back in. I had good intentions when I went to the library, and then she had to shush me. Knowing she fucking liked the spanking makes the temptation of her even harder to resist. Not that I seem to be making much of an effort. Quite the opposite. I’m seeking her out.
I feel like the school-aged kid, being mean to the pretty girl because he’s too afraid to get close to her. But, fuck it. There’s so many reasons I can’t get close to her. She’s my student, my assistant, and she’s too happy for me. I would dim the shining light inside her. The light that beams brightly day in and day out. All cheery and shit. To distract myself from thoughts of her, I grab a medical journal off my shelf and sink into my leather armchair.
Sirens sound in the distance, and I move to the window to check it out. A light in a window across the alley catches my eye. And then, I stand frozen at what I see in an apartment of the adjacent building. A dark haired young woman crosses the room. Is that Marley? It can’t be. I cross to the coffee table and pull up the student directory on my phone. It is. Tossing my phone down, I debate all of ten seconds before I pad across the hardwood floor in my bare feet and flip off the table lamp so I can hide in the shadows. Every ethical bone in my body screams for me to turn away, she’s my student. But, I don’t. For some reason, the fact she’s my subordinate turns me on.
Holy shit.
Marley is spread out on her couch when I return. I have a front row seat to the most anticipated show of the century. Her building is close enough across the narrow alley that I can see clearly what she’s wearing—nothing but a flimsy t-shirt and fuck, red lace panties.
She’s stunning. Her hand travels down to the spot between her legs, and my erection grows strong. I’m going to join her. Have her beauty take me over the edge. Her perfection is unsettling, and I want to drink it up. Like champagne on New Year’s, I want the bubbly fizz to make me high. She spreads her silky legs further apart, and her fingers dip beneath the lace. The zipper of my pants goes down without me registering the action.
I pull myself out, rubbing my hand along the heavy thickness. My mind’s in a haze. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window and stroke my cock.
She leans her head back, and I get a glimpse of her face for a moment. She appears to be enjoying it, but not like she should be. I know I could make her go wild. She should be screaming.
I pump faster as I try to get a better look. I want to see more. To see what her pussy looks like.
Rubbing the head of my cock, I spread the precum all over and beat off rapidly. Fuck, all I can think about is how wet is she? What does she feel like? Does her pussy taste as sweet as her scent?
I want to feel her white hot heat explode around me. It’s been so long.
“Fuck,” I moan out.
My body’s on fire. There’s no stopping the attraction I have toward her. I glance back across the alley, into her apartment, into her privacy.
I don’t care I’m invading on anything. For this moment, it’s between us. Meant for no one else. Is she thinking about me?
Is she thinking about the way I spanked her?
Her lips part as her other hand slips under her t-shirt. I beg the Gods, which I know don’t exist, to let her take the damn thing off.
I’m falling apart. My body is at its peak. I want to tumble over the edge with her. I notice the moment she comes, her lips moaning, her body shuddering. It’s all I can do to keep from crashing down her door and claiming her body.
My orgasm hits me as I picture her sweet body beneath me. I need to make a choice here. I’ve found a way to keep my mind occupied from things that are slowly killing any desire I have to be more than a walking cadaver. It’s wrong to use her this way, but I’m beyond caring at this point. Do I listen to the voice deep inside begging me to fuck her? Or do I walk away?
7
Marley
Intoxication-noun-the state of being intoxicated, especially by alcohol.
Studying, so much studying. What I want to study is the way his hand connected with my ass. Or the way he said my name, all low and sexy. Am I a closet submissive who gets off on the power he wields over me? Ugh, what am I going to do? I’m lusting after my teacher. And there really is no time for lust. The first year of med school has been intense to say the least, and I’m beginning to wonder if I’m cut out for this. I glance at the bottle of tequila on my shelf. Tequila makes everything better.
No. No drinking. I tap my finger on my lip, debating. Tomorrow is Saturday, though, and what’s one shot?
I’m sure you’re thinking I’m some lush who can’t handle her liquor. But, I work damn hard day in and day out to deserve a break every now and then.
When I first started school, I never went out, isolating myself to these four walls.
I’m still isolated with no friends. All I do is work and study. So, a drink, or few, on a Friday night shouldn’t be a cause for concern.
I’m an adult, dammit. And, as an adult, I can do what I want, no judgies. Besides, it’s St. Patrick’s Day, why wouldn’t I have a drink to celebrate my ancestors? T
op of the morning to ya, Miss Murphy.
It’s decided. I grab the bottle and a shot glass, fill it and toss it back. Another won’t hurt, I decide. The burn tears at me, but it’s all good. The next shot goes down easier, and I slam the tiny glass down on the counter before cranking some music and dancing around my apartment. How sad my Friday night is being spent dancing and drinking alone. A Kelly Clarkson song comes on and it makes me think of Texas. Which then makes me think of Houston.
I should call him.
He would want me too.
I grab my phone, dialing the number I have for him from being his assistant. It rings, and my heart skips a beat. It rings again, and I giggle.
“Marley?” he answers, his voice a sexy blend of sleepiness and husk.
My throat goes dry. “Professor Dale. Hellooo, Hi.” I should have planned better.
“Marley, are you drunk?”
“Drunk, skunk.” I giggle. Oh, come on, that was funny.
“I’m hanging up now,” he says all sexy and manly.
I traipse down the hallway. “No, don’t go.”
“Marley, I have things to do in the morning.”
The door to my bathroom comes out of nowhere, and I slam into it. “Ow, shit.” It doesn’t stop there. I knock into the adjoining wall and trip over the corner of the runner covering the wood floor. I go down, hard.
“Marley? Are you ok?”
The phone falls from my hand and skitters across the floor as my ankle throbs with pain. I scramble for it, pressing it back to my ear. “Houston, we have a problem.”
He sighs in my ear, probably rolling his eyes. “Never heard that one before.”
“I think I twisted my ankle. But, I’m ok.”
“I’m coming over. Can you make it to the door to let me in?”
My eyes go wide. It’s late. I’m drunk. He’s going to touch my foot. Oh, God. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, really. How do you know where I live?”
“I’m your Professor. I know everything.”
“Really, I’m ok. Promise.”
But, he’s no longer on the phone.
Hopping to the door is no small feat. He got here quick. I open the door, standing on my good foot, and smile wide. “Happy St. Patty’s day,” I say to him.
“Oh boy.” He stands tall at my door, and I take in his blue shirt and sweatpants. He isn’t wearing any green.
My hand flies to his arm and I pinch his bulging muscles. He drops his head, his eyes on my fingers still clenched around his skin. “Do you mind?” His strong arms wrap around my waist, hoisting me up, sobering me a bit.
He smells so good. Like sleep and man, with a hint of mint all rolled into one. His hair is a frumpled mess and the stubble on his jaw tickles my forehead.
He brings me to my soft, blue couch and sets me down. “Let me see it.”
His skillful fingers press against my tender ankle, and although I love his hands on me, the pressure of it hurts. He’s in serious doctor mode, and I try not to giggle at his concentration.
“Does this hurt?”
I want to be strong, say it doesn’t. But I don’t. I speak the truth, “Yeah, a little.”
He stands and heads into my kitchen. “Where’s your aspirin?”
I point to the cabinet above the sink in my galley style kitchen. He pours a glass of water, and after a minute or two, he returns.
He lifts my leg onto his lap, applying ice to my ankle with an impartial doctor’s touch. Two Advil and the glass of water are shoved at me when he’s done. “Here, this’ll help.”
I smile. “Thanks.”
Aw, a knight in shining armor, rescuing the princess from a great fall. But, I shake off that idea. I’m no princess, and this is not a romantic fairy tale. If it were, he’d probably kiss me.
I glance at his lips as he focuses on my ankle. Soft, full lips. I want them all over me. The couch holds me close as I lean back against it. Mixed emotions tangle up inside me. I want to move away from him, and I want to straddle him all at the same time. Lick the skin along his neck, just a little innocent lick.
He stares at my shirt, the words ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’ in green print across my chest, and he grins. “Nice shirt.”
I tug at the material. “Thanks.”
He leans in, brushing his lips against mine in a feather-light kiss. My breath catches. Pulling back, he gauges my reaction before colliding his lips with mine. All of the emotional turmoil I’ve been feeling pours out of me and into this kiss. This kiss is all I have to show him how much I want him. My tongue swipes along his lips and he opens to me.
His hands fly into my hair, grabbing, twisting, and clinging onto every strand. I moan into his mouth, my body’s message to him to take things further.
If this wasn’t so wrong, I’d invite him to my room, lie on my bed and beg him to touch me.
But, as if Houston can read my thoughts, he breaks the kiss. His hands trace down my jaw in apology. “I need to go before I can’t stop.”
I want to plead with him not to leave. It’s horrible wanting something you’re not supposed to. ‘Don’t stop,’ ‘Keep going,’ are words I want to shout. But, fear keeps my mouth shut, my eyes wide with wonder at the way his lips felt against mine.
He kisses the corner of my mouth, his tongue swiping along my lower lip. “Let me get you to bed.”
Score. I want this. He cracks a smile at the excitement on my face. “To put you to sleep.”
He sweeps me in his arms and carries me into my room.
“Nice room,” he says, glancing around at my collection of handbags and medical journals strewn haphazardly everywhere.
He drops me on the bed, my fluffy, purple comforter cool against my skin, and the room spins for a moment. I let him drape the covers over me, and he rubs my ankle once more through the blanket.
“Sleep well, Marley.”
8
Houston
March 18th
As the day approaches I become a mad man. My thoughts and actions have gone out the window and I can’t control them anymore.
I throw on my tie. Damn, I don’t want to do today. Last night, rushing to Marley’s house was an easy decision for me. She was drunk, she was hurt…but why did I kiss her? Good question.
Her lips spoke volumes to me, begging me to kiss her. I’d never wanted anything, or anyone more.
If I don’t stop, Marley could potentially be kicked out of school. But I don’t care about any of that. Why? Because she’s different. A force has come out of nowhere causing my actions and reactions to misfire.
I grab the PATH train into Princeton, I dread seeing my parents. It’s always the same thing with them.
Pity. Sadness. Pain. Emotions I’m growing sick of. Emotions I wish would go away. And, every day I try to force them out. Who needs feelings?
The train pulls into Princeton, and I grab a cab to my parent’s house.
“Hey, Mom,” I greet her as I enter the happy home I grew up in. And again, I feel nothing.
“Hey, you,” she says, beaming. She hugs me. I hug back.
My father strides into the large entryway and smiles. His posture is strong, and his dark hair mirrors my own.
“Hey, Dad,” I say, releasing my mom.
It was a mistake to come here.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. I love my parents so much, but sometimes they just don’t understand.
No one does.
“Go sit down,” my mom says. “Lunch will be ready soon.”
Dad leads me into the living room. Natural light pours in through the great bay window, and I smile at the cheery atmosphere it creates. My mom is sunny, like the room. Her personality exudes from all the furnishings: the yellow couch standing strong in the center, the bright multi-colored rug covering the hardwood floor, the paintings dripping with bright reds and yellows. And here I stand, the dark thundercloud in her colorful world.
Dad eases down into the large, brown leather recliner and we pass the time wi
th small talk about sports and superficial topics until my mom interrupts. “Let’s eat,” she beckons. She smiles the endearing smile that always made me feel safe as a kid. The smile whenever I was hurting from falling off my bike, or afraid of the dark, made me feel better. Right now, it does neither.
I follow my father into the large kitchen. The stainless-steel appliances gleam and fresh flowers peek out from glass vases on the granite countertops. The warm and inviting ambience is a psychological trick my parents always try to accomplish whenever I come to visit.
“How’s NYU treating you?” my father asks, pulling out a chair at the oak kitchen table.
I shrug, taking a seat. The sun’s rays filter through the blinds on the French doors making me sweat. “Same as always.”
Of course I don’t clue my family in on Marley or my questionable attraction for her. “This looks great, Mom.”
The sounds of eating and more superficial pleasantries fill the room until my taste buds go numb at my mom’s next words, “I saw Jennifer while she was visiting her family. She says you won’t return her calls.” I stop mid chew and look over at her. “I really think you should talk to her.” She appears nervous as the words leave her lips. And she should be.
My mind shuts down.
My expression turns cold. “Ok, maybe.”
I have no intention of calling her, ever again.
We finish our lunch but it’s overshadowed by the tension filling the air. My parents both have something on their minds, but they’re too afraid to ask.
“Just say it,” I finally tell them.
They exchange a glance, and my mother turns to me.
“We just want what’s best for you,” she says, her hazel eyes filled with concern. “We want you to be happy.”
“I’m as happy as I am going to get,” I lie.
I don’t need my mommy and daddy to kiss away my boo-boos. I don’t need anyone.
My father coughs before speaking, and here it comes. I feel the words slice through me before he even says them. It’s always the same thing.
“Houston? Why won’t you call her?”
I close my eyes, wishing the world away in this moment. “I don’t know.” My go-to answer. The chair hits the wainscoting as I push myself from the table. “I need to go.”
