She combs her fingers through my hair. It’s nurturing, and then she digs her fingernails into the back of my neck when I suck on the flesh of her breast and then twirl my tongue around her perfect nipple. I’m making her come again.
“Oh my God. Holy shit.”
I can’t even form words anymore. This is how a man loses his mind. Slowly and then all at once, with his mouth on a beautiful woman’s tits.
So be it.
She starts rocking back and forth. Gently but enough to make me want to die if I can’t fuck her. Why did I not want to fuck her again?
Her hands are on my belt. This is the part where I’m supposed to tell her to stop. I’m supposed to lift her off my lap, thank her for everything, and then leave.
But I’m not going to.
I groan as I try to find my voice and the words to tell her to lie back on the mattress, when the door behind Fiona opens.
The lights don’t come on, but there’s stomping on the hardwood floor.
I can barely see through my glazed-over, hooded eyes, but Fiona blurts out, “Keiko! Hey!”
I curse under my breath. Words are coming back to me now, all the bad ones.
Fiona covers her breasts, continuing to straddle me. “Um…”
“Not looking. I need my bedding. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”
“I’m leaving,” I mutter.
“No.” Fiona puts her hands on my shoulders and then covers her breasts again. “Don’t go.”
“We can’t do this.”
The woman gathers up a pillow and comforter in her arms and carries them out of the room. She doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t look at us.
Fiona gets up to shut the door.
I try to stand up, but all the blood in my body has gone to the monster erection. I’d be really proud of myself for being hard as a teenager right now if I didn’t have to walk home in a blind, frustrated rage. I can’t believe I let it go this far.
“Please don’t go.” She reaches for me, but I step away from her, holding my hands up to stop her.
“We. Can’t. Do this.” I find my coat on the floor and stumble out of the room, trying to take deep breaths and exhale slowly. Willing myself to keep going until I’m far enough away from Fiona that my brain can respond to her instead of my dick.
Cleveland, maybe.
29
FIONA
Okay, I guess Emmett was right.
It was not a good idea to have any kind of sexual relations while I’m his student.
This has been the longest, most awkward workshop in a series of long, awkward workshops.
There has been zero eye contact between Professor Ford and me today. He hasn’t even made eye contact with my nipples because I’m wearing a turtleneck with a vest over it. You’d think he’d be happy about that, but guess what?! He’s not.
You’d also think that after our last encounter, he’d do me a solid by wearing a ski mask and dark sunglasses and gloves. So I don’t have to see his handsome face and beautiful eyes and those fingers, dear Lord those fingers. And that mouth. He should just wear a paper bag over his head.
Also, he should have stayed on Saturday night and fucked me.
But I can’t be completely mad at him either. Because orgasms. I have envisioned about thirty-seven different ways that Keiko should die, but then I just feel guilty because she’s going through a breakup and is pretty miserable. I think. It’s hard to tell because I’ve never seen what she’s like when she’s happy.
“You have any big plans for winter break?”
Someone is talking to me. It’s Beowulf. People are standing up, so I guess class is over.
“What?”
“You out of town over winter break?”
“Yes. Going home for Christmas.”
“When are you back? Just asking because I’m organizing a writers’ retreat at my family’s place upstate. Easy train ride from Manhattan. Super chill. There are six beds in the house, and it’s really quiet. Great place to write and just hang for a few days. Starting the twenty-sixth.”
“Oh wow, that sounds great. But I’ll be in California until the twenty-eighth.”
“Okay, well, I’ll check in with you anyway. In case your plans change.”
“Yeah, thanks. Thanks for thinking of me.”
“Always,” he says, winking and giving my arm a little squeeze.
Somebody needs to tell him he can’t pull off the winking thing. Or the arm squeeze thing.
I look up and happen to catch Emmett staring at Beowulf. He appears to share my opinion about the arm squeeze. He looks mad. Madder than before. Like, really mad.
“Miss Walker, can I speak to you in my office for a moment, please?” I’m the only Miss Walker in here, as far as I know, but he’s not even looking at me.
“Me?”
He’s still not making eye contact with me. “Yes. You.”
“Oh, Professor Ford, I need to talk to you too,” Veronica coos as she approaches him.
“Give me half an hour,” Emmett tells her, looking her directly in the eyes. “That okay?”
“Sure. See you then.” She wets her lips, smiles at him, and then glares at me. That’s been the usual progression of her facial expressions ever since the semester began. In a perfect world, I could send her a glitter bomb package with a note that says, Professor Ford’s mouth has been on my boobs—love, Fiona. P.S. Your pretentious literary fiction sucks and so does your taste in Netflix shows.
But this world is not perfect, which is why we read books and why we write books and why I’m here in Emmett’s class, with a reluctant semi–lady boner.
Emmett walks out. I should just not follow him to his office, see how he likes it. Except I still like watching his butt in those black jeans as he walks ahead of me, so I follow it to the end of the hall. I mean him. I follow him to the end of the hall.
He has to jiggle his key in the lock because it’s sticking, and it frustrates him, and that makes me happy. That would amount to approximately one millionth of the frustration I endured after he left on Saturday night, although I do realize it was frustrating for him too. But I would have relieved him of his frustration if he’d stayed, so…
He finally opens the door and enters, holding it open for me with his very talented fingers.
I close the door all the way and lean back against it, holding my coat in front of me. “Yes?”
Emmett just stands there, in front of his desk, with his perfect hands on his hips, staring at me.
“Well…I had my meeting with the faculty advisor and the chair. They agreed that I should continue with my novel as my thesis project.”
He blinks and nods once. “Good.”
“Yes… What?”
“Are you going to that guy’s place upstate?”
“Oh. I didn’t realize you were listening.”
“I wasn’t listening. I overheard. Are you?”
“Did you not hear me tell him I’ll be in California until the twenty-eighth?”
“I didn’t hear you tell him you didn’t want to go.” His jaw is so tight, and it would make most people less attractive, but it just makes him more handsome. It’s infuriating.
I cross my arms in front of my chest, letting my coat fall to the floor. “I haven’t heard you tell me you don’t want me to go to other men’s places.”
He shakes his head, drags his fingers through his hair—both hands—messing it up. Now he looks like he just got out of bed, and it’s so unfair because I haven’t been in bed with him. I’ve been on his lap at the end of my bed, but it’s not the same and it’s not enough. Not nearly enough.
“Goddammit, Fiona,” he grumbles. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you.”
“Then don’t.”
He grunts, takes three long strides toward me, takes my face in his hands, and smashes his lips against mine. Even years from now, I doubt that I’ll be able to string a bunch of words together to describe how good it feels to be kis
sed by him like this. If a copy of Wuthering Heights kissed me, it would feel like this. If the song “Whole Lotta Love” by Led Zeppelin kissed me, it would feel like this. If the first few seasons of Game of Thrones kissed me, it would feel like this.
Nope. Never mind. Nothing else could ever feel like this.
There is a constant rumbling at the back of his throat. I felt so wanted on Saturday, but this is almost overwhelming. I am really regretting the turtleneck and vest right now.
His hands slide down the sides of me to my hips, and one hand reaches behind me. I hear the click of the door lock and feel something unlocking inside both of us. He lowers his head and rests his forehead against mine, so out of breath already. “This is bad,” he whispers.
I drop my shoulder bag to the floor, kiss his cheek, and lead him to the sofa.
“Shit.” He stops and stares at the slim window in the door.
“Oh. Hang on. I got this.”
I pick up my shoulder bag and riffle around in it. I’ve been carrying a roll of masking tape and a few flyers in this thing ever since the first time I was in this office. For window-in-the-door-covering purposes. I’ve walked by other offices that have that slender window in their door covered up. It’s not illegal to cover up a window. When I have the stupid glass all covered up, the flyers secured, I drop the masking tape to the floor and turn back to face Emmett.
He’s laughing at me. So hard that he’s not even making a sound. I don’t even recognize his face.
My fists go to my hips. I love seeing him like this, but really? We don’t have all day here. I grab his hand to pull him toward the sofa again, but he jerks me back and leads me to his desk.
He sweeps his arm across the desktop, clearing everything from it. Books and stationery and pens go flying, and he lifts me up onto it, kissing me while unbuttoning my jeans.
He pulls back to ask, “What the fuck are you wearing today, huh?”
“I thought it would make your life easier.” I struggle to remove the vest.
“Nothing about you has made my life easier.” His voice is so deep and breathy and hot. “Not one fucking thing.” He yanks my jeans down past my hips. When he sees the black lace panties, he groans. “Fucking hell. You’re ruining my life.”
I start to pull off my turtleneck, but Emmett’s gotten my jeans down past my knees and he’s pushed my panties aside and his thumb is massaging my clit… So, I just lie back and let him do that. He kisses across my pelvis, around my belly, down to one thigh until I’m trembling all over. My hands are in his hair and I arch my back, silently begging him with my body.
“So wet.” His fingertips trail up my center, an excruciating ghost of a kiss. “You were wet for me in class today?”
“Yes. Every day.”
“You better stay quiet, Fiona. You hear me?”
I nod and whimper in agreement.
He blows a warm breath on my clit, sending shivers up and down my spine and tingles absolutely everywhere. I cover my face with my arms, trying to calm my breath.
Oh my God, it’s happening.
Sweet baby Jane Austen, it is happening!
My yoni’s gonna get some mouth action in his office, and this is already worth the insane tuition and rent I’m paying to be here!
He licks me just once, and now that rumbling sound he was making in the back of his throat is the second hottest thing I’ve ever heard. Because the way he’s groaning right now, it almost puts me over the edge. “Why do you have to taste so good, huh?”
He kisses the inside of my other thigh before circling the tip of his tongue around the throbbing center of the universe, otherwise known as my clitoris. In one direction, then the other. He flicks at it, and it tickles. This is absolute heavenly torture. I clamp both hands over my mouth because I will either start screaming or singing “Hallelujah” very soon, and both of us will get into a lot of trouble if anyone hears it.
Although I suppose we’ve been in trouble ever since we kissed on a park bench at sunrise.
My hips move to the rhythm of his tongue. He sounds so hungry and turned on, and it’s so sexy. He wants me. He’s frantic now. My head is spinning. He’s lapping me up and giving me jolts of pleasure. There’s that thumb, and it’s doing something awesome, and then all of a sudden he’s fucking me with his tongue and the world comes crashing down around me.
I cry out into the palm of my hand. It helps to muffle the sound, but nothing can subdue the quake of contractions ripping through me. The vibrations liquefy my bones. There’s an eruption, a landslide, a tsunami. The entire topography of my body is leveled. Emmett Ford has finally released the pressure that’s been building up inside me for months, and even my eyes are coming. Hot tears stream down my face and into my ears.
It’s happening. Finally.
My eyes are shut tight, but I can sense that he’s watching me as the aftershocks ripple through me. He doesn’t disturb them.
Everything has shifted.
My planet has been renewed.
Or, I don’t know, maybe I just had the greatest orgasm ever and it’s not that big of a deal. But Emmett Ford gave it to me. Professor Mouth Wizard.
My body has stilled, and I can feel him retreating. He moves the fabric of my panties back to cover up my delicate parts. He tugs at my jeans, pulling them up a bit.
Okay, maybe everyone was wrong!
I can totally be in a class with him even though he’s made out with my vagina. I mean, we only have one more class together! We’re both grown-ups! We can do this! We can have all the sexy sex and all the classy classes.
I slowly lift myself up, resting back on my elbows. Emmett wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and then licks his lips. His eyelids flutter.
I want to give him all of the pleasure he just gave me.
I slide off the desk, pull up my jeans, and try to maneuver him to the sofa.
“No,” he whispers.
“Let me.”
He is unmovable. Stands with his legs apart, rubbing his forehead. Scrunching up his face.
“Emmett.”
He places a hand on my shoulder and says gently, “You need to go.”
“It hasn’t been half an hour yet… Has it?”
He shakes his head. “I have no idea. I lost my mind. I need to clear my head. I need to clean up this mess.”
Well, shit.
I zip and button up my jeans. I put my vest back on, adjust my bangs. I start to pick up the papers that are on the floor.
“Leave it. I’ll do it.” He picks up my bag and coat and hands them to me. He kisses me on the top of my head. “You really need to go now.”
“Can I see you later?”
He shakes his head. “That’s not a good idea.”
“Not seeing you later is also not a good idea.”
“We need to finish out the semester and then see where we’re at. Okay?”
“See where we’re at?” My face feels flushed and not from the orgasms. “So you don’t want to see me again until when? Winter break? May?”
“We have one more class together. You’re going home for Christmas, right?” He’s not asking because he’s trying to figure out when we can see each other. He’s trying to console me.
“Right… I’ll see you around, Professor.”
“Fiona.”
I open the door and walk out without looking back.
Screw this.
I am not going on this roller-coaster ride of emotions by myself.
I don’t even realize I just passed Veronica in the hall until I’ve almost reached the end of it. I turn to see that she’s looking at Emmett’s door. I have no idea if the window is still covered up or not.
Guess it’s a good thing I left when I did.
Guess I’m never going back.
30
EMMETT
Merry fucking Christmas to me.
This has always been the most difficult holiday to get through ever since Sophie. Things got better once my niece c
ame along, but now it feels like there are two women missing from Christmas at my parents’ house—Sophie and Fiona. I wasn’t expecting to feel this way. I should know by now that all of my reactions to Fiona Walker are unexpected. Everything she says or does to me is a surprise.
I surprised myself by buying her a bunch of presents when I was online shopping, the night after she was in my office. The night after I’d tasted her—on my desk—and realized I was totally, irrevocably fucked. It scared me.
But it didn’t feel right not giving her a Christmas gift. So I ordered her a bunch of my favorite pens and notebooks and a fucking MacBook. It has always made me nuts that she has such an old laptop. Also, I ordered her a bunch of padded bras as a joke. And a pair of fancy three-hundred-dollar panties from some French store. And a black lace corset—also as a joke. Because I’m hilarious and I have too much money. It made me happy, and I wanted to have them all delivered to her in a big package.
She didn’t look at me all through our last workshop class. I was impressed that she showed up at all. She’s strong, so strong willed, and impossible to ignore. The novel chapters she’s been turning in are better written than most of the other students’ work, and I have never once told her this. She was right. I’ve been overcompensating.
I wrote her a letter and mailed it after class was over. Two days later, I got a text from her, telling me to delete it immediately but that she wanted me to know she can’t do this anymore. She didn’t even call me “Assface.” And I guess I was an assface for not replying or calling her. But what can I say? She’s probably with her parents in California right now, smoking pot around the Christmas tree, doing a family heart chakra meditation or burning sage around Fiona’s yoni to clear my energy from it.
I’m in Connecticut, thinking about her and not telling anyone about her at all.
“Your presence has been requested,” my sister tells me. She collapses onto the family room sofa next to me. Her husband went to sleep two hours ago, and she’s finally convinced Bettina to go to bed. I get the sleeper sofa in the family room, which is fine. If I had a wife or girlfriend, I’d be in the second guest room and my niece would be out here—but it’s fine.
The Love Interest Page 15
