by Naima Simone
“Quiet,” I growl, snatching at my seething temper and grabbing hold with both hands. But it’s slipping right through my fingers. I push off the wall and stalk closer to her, not stopping until inches separate us. Control by intimidation isn’t my thing so I maintain a careful distance. But then again, being accused of blackmail isn’t my thing either. “You don’t really know me that well, so I’m going to let this one slide. You’re surprised. Got it. Even embarrassed. Still got it. But you don’t get to say that to me again.”
She pinches the bridge of her nose, her eyes briefly closing. “I’m sorry if I offended you,” she finally murmurs. “But you’re right. I don’t know you—”
“Let’s change that.”
The words burst out of me before I have time to consider the wisdom of them. And as her eyes widen in surprise, I can tell she’s as shocked as I am. Swallowing a curse, I scrub a hand down my face, but that’s a mistake. Because for a second, I swear I can still catch her scent on my fingers. Of course I’ve washed my hands and showered since last night, but it doesn’t matter. I’d been right. The fragrance from her skin had been thicker, more potent in her pussy. Like a shot of the most expensive, top shelf liquor known to mankind. A liquor I wouldn’t normally be able to afford, but now got a taste of… Fuck it, I’m like an alcoholic the way I’m craving more.
Which explains why I’m standing here asking her to see me again.
“Are you crazy?” she hisses. “Did you not hear what I just said. I’m. Your. Professor. If anyone here found out about last night, I would be in trouble, and that’s when I didn’t know you were my student. But to knowingly carry on something with you? I could lose my job. I walked away from my old life to take this position. I can’t jeopardize it. No, I won’t jeopardize it.”
She’s speaking the truth. This is a small town. And if I was a selfless man, I would walk out of this office right now. But I’m not that man. At least not in this moment. For five years, I’ve been the responsible one. The parent. The provider. The counselor. I’ve been everything my family needed. But last night… I took for myself.
Of course I’ve had my fair share of pussy. Some women’s sole purpose for coming into the shop is to fuck an artist. And until Nikki walked into that lobby, I didn’t care about being used to fulfill some kind of bad boy fantasy. Not when I was using them right back. But Nikki…she was different. Is different.
Yeah, she’s a fucking goddess, but there’s more to her. That courage. Strength. Obvious intelligence. Vulnerability. And though, she just accused me of trying to extort grades from her, she had to trust me with not just her safety to remain in an empty, locked building with me, but she also put her body, her pleasure into my care. True, I only had hours in her company, but in that time, she made me feel like the man I was before Mom became sick and the weight of duty and obligation settled on my shoulders like a backpack stuffed with bricks.
Free.
Call me a selfish prick, but I want more of it. I want more of her.
“I know what you left behind, and I would never ask you to risk all that you’ve worked so hard for, Nikki,” I say, deliberately using her name and shifting closer until the space between us disappears. Unable to not touch her any longer, I trace the delicate line of her jaw, her stubborn little chin…the temptation of her mouth. Her soft pants of breath break across my fingers, and we both shiver. I feel those warm gusts under my shirt, over my skin, dusting the already damp head of my cock. “But this job isn’t your life. A teacher isn’t who you are, it’s what you do. So what does Nikki Barber want? To tie herself to a title, to a job, to people’s opinions? Or does she want to live for herself, her wants? Live without regret?”
She shakes her head, as if denying my words, but she’s also leaning into my touch, increasing the pressure of my fingers on her full, sexy bottom lip herself. I oblige her. Press harder until the tip of my thumb breaches her, and her moist heat bathes me.
I groan, and grip her hip with my free hand, digging in. My chest counters hers, and her breasts rise and fall against me, her nipples grazing me through her blouse and my shirt. My dick digs into her stomach, and with a few less layers of clothing, it would be leaving a damp spot on her skin. And I’d rub my cum into her, leaving my stamp on her flesh.
“I have regrets, Nikki,” I murmur in a voice so roughened by the lust grinding my insides to dust, it scrapes my throat. “I regret that I didn’t get to rub your pretty nipples or suck on them until you begged me to stop.” Her muted whimper and the reflexive jerk of her body doesn’t stop me. No, it spurs me on. “You just gave me a taste of this cock-tease of a mouth on my dick, but I never got to watch it swallow me down. Never got to fuck this gorgeous face. But those aren’t even my biggest regrets. You know what it is, Woody?” She doesn’t answer, but another of those small, tell-tale whimpers is as good as one. I lower my head until my mouth moves over my thumb and her lips. “I didn’t get to bury myself in your pussy. Didn’t find out if you’d take me with one thrust or if I’d have to put some work into getting inside you. I want to know what you look like when you come, if you’d break my eardrums with your screams, rip my back to ribbons with your nails. Or if you’d choke out your orgasm and squeeze me with your arms and thighs, holding me. I want to know, Woody. And if you’re honest, you crave it just as much as I do.”
Her gaze, dark and swirling with arousal, burns into mine. But it’s not enough. I need to hear the words. Hear her admit that this clawing, relentless need isn’t one-sided.
“Dean,” she breathes.
My heart thuds against my chest and my grip on her face and hip tightens.
A knock at the door ricochets in the room like the report of a gun. She yanks away from my hold and throws a panicked look over my shoulder toward the door. Dammit. I clench my jaw, curling my fingers into my palms. My body literally aches from the unsatisfied lust roaring through it like an enraged lion. I grind my teeth together to trap the Don’t answer that fucking door, inside.
So close. So goddamn close…
I turn in time to see Nikki pull it open and reveal the older man standing in the doorway.
“Dr. Russell, hello,” she greets in a voice that’s amicable and only a little shaky. “I wasn’t expecting you. Did we have a meeting today?”
“No, we didn’t,” the man who’s obviously another professor replies. He quickly scans her body, but not quick enough. I battle down the snarl surging up my throat and the inexplicable and crazy impulse to stalk over there and insert myself between them. To warn him to keep his fucking eyes off her. “I thought since it was your first official day, I could treat you to lunch and see how it’s going so far.” He glances over her shoulder to me. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting?”
The yes, you damn well are crowds onto my tongue, but she shakes her head. “No, we were actually just finishing up here. Mr. Shaw, I’ll see you Thursday in class.”
Mr. Shaw. That burns almost as much as her dismissal. But short of refusing to leave, I don’t have a choice but to give in. For now.
Nodding, I cross the room. Halting next to her, I wait until she looks at me. There’s a plea in those eyes, and it pisses me off even as it punches through my chest and squeezes. She obviously still thinks I would put her job at risk by outing her, outing us. But right now, she could ask anything of me, and I would give it to her—even if it was to leave her alone.
But she didn’t ask it.
And as I exit her office and walk down the hallway leaving her with another man, I hold onto that.
Chapter Three
Nikki
“Thanks for walking me to my door, Dr. Russell. You didn’t need to though.” I force a smile as I turn on my stoop to face my co-worker. My co-worker who invited me out to dinner on the pretense that other faculty members would be joining us. Faculty members that never showed up—if they were ever invited in the first place. Which I’m coming to suspect they weren’t. First day of my classes, and I’d been tricked into a da
te by the Humanities professor. I feel like such a naïve ass. Please, God, don’t let this be an omen for the rest of my school year.
“Chris. Please call me Chris,” he says for about the tenth time since lunch and our date-by-bamboozlement. “I had a good time tonight, Nikki.”
Even though I didn’t invite him to use my given name, I don’t call him on it, either. Not tonight. I will avoid anything that will prolong this disaster waiting to happen.
“It’s a shame the others couldn’t make it,” I add, and at least he has the good grace to glance away, not quite able to meet my eyes. I peek down at the hem of his dark pants. Just in case they’re smoking or are on fire. “But thanks again.”
I remove my house keys from my purse, a signal that the evening is most definitely over. But instead of reading the room, Dr. Russell climbs that last step to join me on my porch.
“I would love to do this again,” he says, his gaze dropping to my mouth, and for a horrified second, I think he’s going to lean in and kiss me.
Oh hell no.
“Dr. Russell, I’m flattered, but I really don’t think it’s wise since we’re co-workers. One of my rules is to never date people I work with.” Students, on the other hand, appear to be fair game. Shit. Stop thinking of Dean, I order myself.
“I doubt that would be an issue—”
The peal of my cell phone interrupts him. Thank God. I dig for it and glance at the screen before feigning disappointment. “I really need to take this. See you on campus?”
“Oh…okay. Good night.” He hesitates another moment longer, his displeasure and frustration evident. But when I don’t relent, he turns and descends the steps.
Only when he’s in his car do I hit the decline button, silencing the still ringing phone and ignoring the call like the twenty before it. I don’t need to answer to know how the conversation will go.
How could you do this to me? Your own mother.
You might think you’re too good for us, but I’m still your mother.
Everything I’ve done for you, you ungrateful bitch. Don’t think I’m going to forget this.
My voicemail is packed with vitriolic messages along those lines. A mother’s love. Nothing like it.
Sighing, I turn and insert my key in the front door lock.
“Nikki.”
I whip around, my heart damn near punching a hole through my sternum. My fingers tighten on my cell, and I’m prepared to hurl it before I recognize the figure standing at the bottom of my porch steps.
“Dean,” I half-gasp, half-yell. “What the hell?” Sucking in a breath, I press a hand to my chest, and if I were wearing pearls, I would be clutching them. “What are you doing here? And how do you know where I live? This is inappropriate as hell,” I snap.
He cocks his head to the side, and as his stare travels from my hair, down my lavender wrap dress to my nude stilettos and back up, I brace myself against the tongue of flames licking at my nipples, stomach and between my legs. In the five seconds it takes his eyes to return to mine, I’m aching and wet. Hungry. For him.
“Can we go inside just in case your date decides to return for that kiss he didn’t have the balls to ask for?” he drawls.
All my reasons for not seeing him again are still very valid. Inviting him inside the house is not only foolish but asking for trouble. I don’t trust any part of myself around him. Especially my vagina. That bitch just won’t listen to reason. So, no, he absolutely cannot come in…
“Fine,” I mutter and unlock the door, pushing it open and leaving him to follow.
While my vagina does jazz kicks, my brain warns me in a voice that sounds a lot like Whoopi Goldberg, Nikki, you in trouble, girl.
I walk into my living room that’s directly off the entryway, tossing my purse on the couch and removing my shoes.
“Nice place,” Dean murmurs, entering behind me, hands stuffed in the pockets of his slacks.
I drag my gaze from the sight of his powerful thighs, trim waist and wide chest. There’s a wildness about him that’s emphasized by the civility of his long-sleeved, black shirt and jeans. Well, not all civil. Like earlier, silver glints at the corner of his lush bottom lip, the corner of his eyebrow and his tongue. Good Lord, his tongue. My sex clenches at the sight of it. Yes, I’ve sampled that raw intensity. It only made me ravenous for more even though I know it’s dangerous to even think of wanting more.
“Thanks.” I cross my arms over my chest, the movement defensive. Protective. “Now, you want to tell me why you’re here. And how you’re here.”
“To return this to you.” His long strides eliminate the distance between us, and when he’s several inches away, he removes his hand from his pocket and extends a card toward me. No, not a card. My license. “Nicole forgot to give it back to you last night after she scanned it.”
Well damn. How could I have forgotten my ID? But the answer immediately materializes. Dean. I’d been so preoccupied with him, asking for my license had slipped my mind.
“Thank you,” I say, grateful. But then I narrow my eyes on him. “This address isn’t on my license though. So how did you know where I lived?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “This town isn’t that big. It wasn’t hard to find out.”
“Right. Because you couldn’t return it to me in class Thursday.” Again, he shrugs, and I shake my head, and a small, rueful smile curves my lips. “You just don’t give up, do you?”
“Not when something matters,” he says, and the rumbly, dark tone is dry kindling tossed on a flickering fire. I start to burn.
“And I do? Just like that?” I try to scoff, to wave off his words. “We’ve known each other for twenty-four hours. Or do you just want to fuck me? Get me out of your system.”
“Both,” he states flatly. Baldly. And I’m taken aback by the tangle of emotions his answer sets off. Anger. Lust. Hurt. “Although, I’m beginning to doubt that fucking you out of my system is a possibility. For some reason I believe once I’m inside you, I’ll already be thinking about the next time. And the time after that. And the time after that.”
He shifts closer, and like in my office, he surrounds me even though he’s not touching me. His scent. His gaze. The heat from his big body. All I see is him.
“As for you mattering after only a day, who could meet you for five minutes and not be consumed with getting closer to you? Not want the chance to spend more time in your company just to look at you, hear you speak, find out what’s beneath that beautiful exterior? I saw how Russell was with you. Panting after you. Hard for you. If you’d given him even the slightest sign that you were interested, he would’ve laid himself down at your feet, begging to touch you, to be with you.”
I’m lightheaded because I stopped breathing around “doubt that fucking you out of my system is a possibility.” My heart is a caged animal, throwing itself against my rib cage, desperate to get free and gift itself to this man with blue flames in his eyes and thunder in his voice.
“Do you know why I’m enrolled in college?” he asks, the switch in topics a little dizzying but not enough that I don’t nod. I find myself famished to know everything about him. “My mother had Alzheimer’s.”
“Oh God, Dean,” I whisper, and without thought, reach for him and cup his jaw. Pain for that “had” ripples through me, as does Alzheimer’s. “I’m so sorry.”
“Yeah. Early onset. The signs started when I was seventeen—lapses in memory, mood and personality swings, disorientation with just going to a place as routine as the grocery store. By the time I was nineteen, we had to put her in a home. My so-called stepfather had left over a year earlier, so taking care of the family fell on me. I’d like to say that I didn’t mind, but I did. I was fucking nineteen; I was scared out of my damn mind. But I did it. And I think my mother felt guilty over the burden her absence left on me. Because during one of her more lucid moments, she made me promise to go to college. She didn’t want me to give up my future for her. It didn’t matter that I’ve been a
pprenticing and tattooing since I was sixteen. It’s my passion and all I’ve ever wanted to do. But she didn’t see that as a career path, just a way for me to make money. And I couldn’t argue with her. Not then. So I agreed. Because I loved—love—her, and if I could give her that peace of mind… But,” he pauses, swallows. “But a part of me resents her for making me agree.”
He briefly closes his eyes and a spasm of emotion crosses his face. I lift my other hand to him, cupping his jaw. Silently urging him to continue. To purge himself of the guilt that I sense he’s never unloaded on anyone else.
“I hated walking onto campus this morning. Hated myself because I should’ve been grateful I could fulfill my mother’s last wish. But then you entered the class and, that quick, there was no other place I wanted to be. Because you were there. I got to sit and feast on you like a starving man. I’m in college because of a promise, but you’re the one who makes being there bearable.” He covers one of my hands, shifts it to his mouth and presses a kiss in the center of my palm.
Heat sizzles up my arm and arrows straight for my clit. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip, quelling the moan that rises in my throat. Just that simple touch, and I ache for him. But shame is an insidious bastard, and it creeps under my skin, into my veins, polluting my heart, my thoughts. I pull away from Dean, as if I can stain him with it through osmosis.
Crossing my arms, I shift backwards and smile. But there’s no humor in it, because there’s none in me. “You’re honoring your mother by keeping a promise to her, and I just had mine arrested.”
I drop that information between us like a live grenade and wait. For his disgust, his condemnation. I expect either and brace myself for both. But he just stares at me, those blue eyes clear but sharp.
“What did she do?”
It’s my turn to stare. “Most people usually ask how I could do that to my own mother, not what did she do,” I whisper.
