It’s an astonishing admission. Everything I’ve longed to hear. He did care. I knew he did. But he was…is…too good and too honourable a man to have revealed it.
But he can reveal it now. He is revealing it. As he reaches for his glass again, clearly on edge, I steal a glance at his groin and discover that he still has an erection. When my eyes flick up again, he catches what I just did and smiles.
“I’m sorry…. Can’t help myself.” His grin is both bashful, and beautifully erotic and wicked. “I thought that seeing you again, I’d realize that I’ve been ridiculous all these years. That I’d created this fantasy in my head that could never be real…. But now you’re here and I just want to be with you. To fuck you like a crazy man.” He shakes his head as if to clear it. “I want to talk, too. I want to know how your life’s been…but hell, I need to get some of this madness out of my system first…. Do you know what I mean?”
“Exactly!”
I laugh. I feel just the same as he does. There’s so much to catch up on, but first I need to feel him against me, and over me, his body naked. I need to have him inside me, and the thought of that is more potent and intoxicating than any amount of premium-quality Hebridean whisky.
Even so, I swig down the warming fluid first and only then rise to my feet and cross the vast expanse of space and time between us. The gap between teenage dreams and adult reality.
Reaching up, I slip my fingers around the back of his head again, relishing the soft silkiness of his dark curls. His hair is longer now, and I glory in that. It feels gorgeous to the touch as I draw his face to mine and start kissing his mouth, exploring it with little nibbles and darts of my tongue.
Mr. Laurence. Beautiful Mr. Laurence. My fantasy man. Here. Now. For real.
Even though I’ve taken the initiative, within a heartbeat he owns it again. His arms slide around me, hands roving, while his mouth matches mine in a contest of sexy little forays, flicks of the tongue, nips and probes. With his lips against my ear, I feel the heat of his breath on my neck as he whispers, “You are everything I dreamed about, Annie. All these years…I thought I’d gotten over you, but I never did, you were still there, always at the back of my mind. Like a beautiful perfume caught in my brain, always reminding me of what I’d wanted but couldn’t have.”
I blink as we kiss. His thoughts are my thoughts. His feelings the same. For an instant, I ache for the wasted years but then realize, maybe I wasn’t ready until now.
“But you can have me now. And I can have you,” I whisper boldly against his neck, opening my mouth on the words, tasting the clean, vaguely salty flavor of his skin.
“Hell, yes,” he growls, his hands on my bottom, massaging, working my pelvis against his erection. “I’d do a ‘me Tarzan, you Jane’ and pick you up and carry you into the bedroom, but my leg is pretty much just screwed together in places and I don’t want to falter and drop you.”
“I’m happy to walk.…” Pausing, I nip at his soft lower lip, then laugh, “In fact, I’ll run there, then strip and wait for you, if you like?”
“Wicked girl,” he purrs, taking control of the kiss and pushing his tongue into my mouth, hot and wild and thrilling.
I’m like a puddle of desire, a sea of burning honey between my legs. My knickers are saturated with juice. If I don’t have him soon, I swear I’ll expire. I want him now.
Saying nothing more, he leads me into the bedroom. His limp is slight, as if desire has given him a new, healing energy. When we’re in there, he crosses quickly to the battered old radiator under the window and fiddles with the control. I’m touched. It’s summer, but the evening’s cooled down now. He always used to be thoughtful and considerate as a teacher, and he’s the same as a lover. He doesn’t want me to feel a chill when I undress for him.
“Thanks.” I nod towards the radiator, nervous now. It’s ridiculous to feel like a fluttering virgin again after I had an orgasm at his hands out in the corridor. But I do. I feel shy. I’ve given him my pleasure, but taking off my clothes is another big step. I start worrying about my body. What if I’m nothing like the way he’s fantasized? Not his type. I’m shaking as I sit down on the bed.
“Don’t be scared,” he says, closing the gap between us, reading my thoughts, “You’re gorgeous, Annie…beautiful. I want to see you, every bit of you.”
“I still can’t believe this is happening,” I blurt out. “It’s just like one of the fantasies I dreamed up.”
Looking into my eyes, he sinks down beside me, settling his leg carefully as he sits. For a microsecond he glances down at it, then laughs. Not bitterly, but with a certain irony. “Only, in your fantasies I don’t expect I had a leg that looks as if it’s been patched together by Victor Frankenstein, eh?”
I open my mouth to say that it doesn’t matter, but he stops me, with a finger firmly across my lips. “You don’t have to answer that, love. And I won’t force you to look at it.”
I almost try to speak again, but he gives me a very professorial look that makes my insides quiver. It reminds me he’s “Teacher” and that’s still so delicious, so forbidden.
I’m almost paralyzed with lust as he goes for the buttons down the front of my light silk top, flipping them open quickly, but not parting the fabric.
The moment is so intense I can barely think straight. I can’t look at him. On a gasp, I close my eyes, tip back my head. His fingers track up, alight on my throat, gently stroking.
It feels as if he’s caressing my sex again. Each light movement of his fingertips transfers itself directly to my clit, making it tingle. I can’t help but moan, loving everything about the way he touches me. I can’t help but smile, too, so happy to be here, now, with him.
Cupping my chin, he leans in to kiss me again, his tongue demanding entrance immediately as his free hand slips inside my blouse and cups a breast, squeezing lightly. Then, still exploring my mouth, he works his hand inside my bra and cups again, holding my naked breast now, his palm warm and dry against my puckered nipple. I start to moan around his tongue as he seeks and finds my nipple with his thumb and starts to rub it. Gasping, I feel as if every molecule in my body is agitated. I can’t sit still. I start to rock my hips against the rumpled duvet, my sex aching.
It’s strange. My pelvis is working as if it’s powered by an engine, and yet my hands and arms remain still, and passive. Am I waiting for “Sir’s” permission to move and touch him?
My eyes still shut, I let Nick peel off my shirt and my bra, while I continue to squeeze my thighs together compulsively. His kiss roves to my cheek and my brow, and then settles like the wing of a butterfly, delicately against each eyelid. He makes a small sound that seems like approval, then I sense him reach away from me for a moment.
What are you doing? What are you doing?
My heart lurches inside me, revving to double time as the soft texture of silk brushes against my face. Nick’s spicy yet fresh cologne seems to fill my head as he ties his familiar paisley scarf around my eyes, knotting it snugly in place.
“But I want to see you!” I protest. It’s true, but I also find the darkness exciting. We can be anything like this, our former selves, our present selves, people who are new and magical and meant for each other.
In the blackness I still see him perfectly in my mind.
“Just imagine me as you remember me. As you think I am,” he whispers, kissing my cheek just below the silk, “My leg is a bit of a mess still…. I don’t want to put you off with the scars.”
“I don’t care. It won’t worry me.” Also true. He’s still Nick, my dream man, no matter what he’s gone through.
“Maybe not.” His voice is deliciously firm, quite domineering. Masterful in a way that I never heard in the schoolroom. “But just indulge me for a while, eh, Annie? I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
I know I will. Anything for him. With him.
“Okay.”
He kisses me hard, and he’s right. Being unable to see sharpens all my other sense
s. I feel his skin against my skin as if I have super powers. The texture of his fingertips as he tracks a hand down again over face, throat, shoulder, then breast. The softness of his lips as they follow the same path. The moisture of his mouth and tongue as he licks and flicks at my nipple, then sucks, tormenting me ever so slightly with his teeth.
I hear his breathing with preternatural clarity, too. And smell the blended scents of his fragrance, his woodsy shampoo and a little hint of male sweat, musky yet clean, as he moves away from me momentarily to strip off his shirt. I feel the waft of air against my bare skin as he flings it away across the bed somewhere.
Then he’s against me, holding me, kissing deep, deep, deep, his bare torso pressed against my breasts. There’s hair on his chest, too. He’s not a bear, but there’s a light mat across his breastbone and pectorals, and it tickles and teases as we move against each other, tantalizing my nipples. I love it, and I love the heat of his skin.
With his tongue still in my mouth, he takes my hand and presses it against his erection, folding my fingers around him through the fine cloth of his trousers. He’s big and vigorous, and as I gasp my delight into the kiss, his flesh kicks in response. I risk a light squeeze and he gasps, too.
“Careful,” he breathes, his lips just resting against mine, “I’m on a hair-trigger, love. I’ve been wanting you all day, and before that, for a long, long time.”
I let my hand still against him, but I can’t quite let go. He’s not the only one who’s been waiting a very long time.
Nick smoothes his tongue around my lips, as if he’s tasting the whisky I drank a little while ago. The movement’s so delicate, yet infinitely stirring. I want him. I want him so badly that I moan again, unable to help myself.
As if in answer, he pushes me back against the pillows, making me lie down. Settling me, he slides off the bed, takes me by the shoulders, moving me across the surface of the duvet. He’s manhandling me almost, but God, I like it. I never realized my elegant academic hero was so strong, but he is and it’s wonderful. I wonder if he’s worked hard on his fitness as part of his recovery.
Cold air tantalizes my toes as he eases my shoes off, then flings them away, too. His lips settle on my insteps, one after the other, with all the finesse and precision that they moved across my mouth. It’s so stirring that my hips shift uneasily against the mattress.
“Relax,” he says, his voice calm yet strangely resonant. I know he wants me as much as I want him, but he has a plan, some scheme to pleasure me, and I’m not going to argue with him. No way.
His hands glide up my legs, palms warm and caressing as they slip over my calves, my knees, and my thighs. My skirt bunches with the action, ruffling into folds against my crotch. He doesn’t uncover me, but locked in my dark world of fired up senses, I smell my arousal, wild and foxy.
“Mmm…” he concurs as if he’s smelt it, too. Not that there’s any way he could avoid it, I’m so hot for him.
Up goes my skirt, farther and farther. I can’t see them, but my knickers are on show now. They’re thin and skimpy, hiding nothing, really. Thin white lace through which my dark, tawny curls must be vivid.
I feel pressure against the front of my knickers, and a waft of warm breath on my thighs. Oh, God, he’s kissing my pussy through the lace. Just lightly, but he’s a master of the understated gesture of sensuality. The little touch or kiss that drives me crazy.
“Oh, Annie, you smell divine. I want to devour you. Let’s have these knickers off, shall we? I’m dying to get at you.”
Oh God, the hunger in your voice!
It’s like he’s touching me again, stroking my clit, already licking it and plying it. His desire is a caress in itself, another mode of pleasuring, working me into a frenzy. I start to move uneasily as he rubs his cheeks against my pussy through the thin, lacy fabric of my panties.
And then his fingers are hooked into the elastic, and tugging, tugging, tugging. Automatically, I lift my bottom to help him, and feel my knickers slip all the way down the backs of my thighs, my knees and then my calves. He gets impatient around my ankles and jerks them free. They fly away to join the other discarded clothing.
I start shaking. I feel so exposed, and being blindfolded only ramps up the sensation. Excitement bubbles through my veins, and as Nick grasps my ankles and draws them apart it feels as if I’m effervescing inside my skin.
I hear the “clump, clump” sound of his shoes as he kicks them off, then the bed rocks as he moves around on it. Does the awkwardness of crouching there hurt his damaged leg? He gives no indication, none at all. I only know he’s looking at my pussy. And though I can’t see his eyes, I can feel their scrutiny panning over my crotch like a heated wave. The urge to wriggle and to move around is more intense than ever, and I want to reach down and touch myself, part the curls of my pubic hair so he can see me better.
I do it. Make thought deed. He gasps “Oh, God! Yes!” and the sound of his voice makes my honey well in my slit and trickle down the inner slopes of my buttocks. Still holding my feet, he swoops forward, bending over presumably, and kisses me there, tasting the slippery fluid. His lips rove over the crease there, brushing my thighs, too, then move to kiss the springy hair between my legs, gently and lightly.
It’s hard to believe this. Again I feel as if I’m dreaming. Daydreaming in class, ignoring what he writes on the board in favor of lurid fantasies inside my mind. Many were the times I pictured the face of beautiful Mr. Laurence between my legs. I’d try to imagine what his hair would feel like to touch…and now I know. It’s soft and thick and silky. I plunge my fingers into it, desperate for him not to pull away and shatter my dream. His own fingers part my pubic floss and he dives right in, settling his tongue, bold and warm, upon my clit.
“Oh, God!” I cry as he scoops his narrow, elegant hands beneath my buttocks, lifting me.
I moan again. I can’t help myself. As before, dream and reality collide so intensely I can hardly breath, much less think. The feel of his mouth is sublime, and his nimble tongue is hot and moist as he licks me, flicking at my hungry flesh in a devilish rhythm as his fingers curve around the cheeks of my bottom.
Now he goes in hard, masterful and domineering again, despite being crouched, almost doubled up, over my crotch. He lashes me with furious tongue strokes, then changes tactics, sucking on my clit while his fingertips tickle the inner slopes of my buttocks with naughty tantalizing forays.
I start to flail, but he’s inescapable, resolute, unstoppable. I’m pulling at his lovely hair, and God alone knows what the awkward position is doing to his still-healing leg, but he doesn’t miss a beat, doesn’t let go, he’s relentless.
It’s a battle of pleasure, and he’s the victor. I can’t deny him.
I howl in ecstasy, bucking against him, jerking and coming.
And he gentles me through the storm, his warm tongue pressed against me, more to soothe now than to arouse. After a few moment, or hours, in a white, dazzling place behind my blindfold, I get the sensation of descending, falling through barriers and back into my skin and my body, on Nick’s bed. With a last kiss, he lifts his face from between my thighs and I feel him sit up again, arranging himself with care. I want to reach out and lay my hands on his damaged leg, as if just a touch of sympathy can ease it.
“I want you, Annie,” he says, his voice not steady, “I really, really want you…. I can’t wait any longer.”
I feel like laughing, but I just smile. “But nobody said you had to wait. I’ve been ready for you since I spotted you across the room.” I stretch out my hand to him, but he’s just beyond my reach. “Hell, I’ve been ready for you since I was nineteen, Nick.” He makes a little sound of frustration or vexation or something. “What I thought was wanting then wasn’t really what I feel now…. This is real, and then it was just like fancying a pop star or something.”
Nick does laugh. He chortles merrily. “Now that’s a first. Me compared to a pop star…I think I should be flattered but I’m n
ot sure.”
“Oh, you were always a star, Mr. Laurence. Everybody thought so and I’m sure they still do. A brilliant mathematician, pretty much a genius…God knows why you’ve stayed here all these years.”
He falls silent, but I hear the small sounds of him undressing. A zipper, the rustle of cloth, the sound of elastic gliding over firm flesh.
“God knows indeed,” he says at last, “Maybe I should have moved on? Maybe I will soon? Who knows?” He pauses, and I hear the noise of a drawer being pulled open. “I—I think I feel restless. I think I need a change now…maybe…”
He needs a change now? Why now? My heart thuds, as I wonder and wonder. Is it me? Has seeing me acted as a catalyst? I start to shake again.
“Are you cold, Annie?” He moves over me, and I’m not cold at all. He’s half kneeling, half crouching beside me on the bed, and his flank is against my naked thigh, skin hot.
“No, not cold…just, um, eager.”
He laughs again. “I’m glad. Shall we get rid of this?” He plucks at my skirt and then unfastens it and slides it off. I hear the soft whoosh of it floating through the air as he flings it away to join the rest of our discarded clothing. I love it that he, too, is eager…and untidy, so much like me.
Rearranging himself on the bed, he lies alongside me, then leans over me, finding my mouth with his again as his hands begin to reacquaint themselves with my body. He touches me slowly, despite his desire, and almost growls as I start to touch him. I’m itching to remove the blindfold so I can see him naked at last, but somehow, I need his permission. Is he so anxious about the scarring on his leg? He doesn’t need to be. It won’t put me off.
Anyway, I don’t go for his leg. I go for his cock. If I can’t look at it yet, at least I can explore it with the eager tips of my fingers.
Oh, hell, he’s magnificent! For a relatively lean, taut and wirily built man, he’s heavy where it matters, his penis thick and hot, its tip slippery.
No Longer Forbidden Page 2
