Chapter Eleven
Erin had always known she’d go to graduate school, even in high school, even though no one in her family had gone to college at all. She wanted to work in the political sphere, behind the scenes. And though she was prepared to do grunt work at the bottom, she aimed higher. Her master’s degree would be a statement of intent, telling the world—and herself—that she was damn serious.
She returned to her apartment in the prime hours of morning. The tiny kitchen was silent and cheery, sun streaming through the windows. It was starting to look foreign to her. She’d spent the past few nights at Blake’s house.
A hot shower washed away any trace of Blake’s lovemaking from her body. She moved quietly so as not to wake her roommate, granting Courtney a few extra minutes of sleep. Soon enough she could wait no longer.
She rapped on the door lightly, just in case Courtney had already gotten up. When she heard nothing, she went inside.
Her friend was tangled up in the sheets, snoring softly.
“Wake up, sleepyhead. Time to get our books.” A few more tries were required before a pillow was launched at her. She caught it and tossed it back to the foot of the bed. “Come on. Up and at ’em.”
Courtney squinted at her. “You’re evil.”
“Hey, if you want to drive to campus by yourself…”
“No, I’m up.”
“Okay, because you’re still not moving.”
“Any second now, I swear.”
“I’m sorry, sweetie. I wouldn’t do this to you, but you know they’ll run out if we don’t get there early.”
That wasn’t strictly true. The university bookstore never ran out of the required textbooks—just the used copies, which were all Erin could afford.
One semester Erin hadn’t had enough to cover the five hundred dollar total. Courtney had offered to charge one of the books to her card, saying her parents would never notice. But even if she paid the money back, it felt too much like charity. So Erin had visited the library every few days to use the in-house copy for her assignments.
Courtney dragged herself out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. Erin returned to the kitchen and looked over the notes for her research paper while she waited. In ten minutes, her friend emerged with damp hair, sweatpants, and a tank top that said DON’T HATE in glittery letters.
Dark sunglasses shielded her eyes, though she was still indoors. She looked like a rock star going out to fight the paparazzi.
Erin stifled a laugh. “That bad, huh?”
Courtney stuck out her tongue. She shuddered as they entered the sun and made their way to Erin’s car. “I didn’t get home until three. And this is why Jägermeister is a bad idea, boys and girls.”
“I think I’ve heard this PSA before,” Erin said, pulling out of the parking lot.
“Yes, well, I can’t seem to learn my lesson. Plus Derek was there, so things got a little crazy.”
Derek was Courtney’s ex…and of course he was there. Some said it wasn’t a party until he arrived, so Erin wondered why she kept going to them. Except she knew exactly why. They were on-again-off-again, and Courtney would prefer them to be on. Again.
“You know you should leave him alone.”
She gave Erin a glare that said her hangover was still going strong. “You’re one to talk. Dating the professor.”
“He’s not my professor.”
“Ohh,” Courtney said in mock-relief. “In that case, everything is hunky-dory. So I guess you told your mom about him.”
Erin slanted her a look, and Courtney laughed. No, she hadn’t told her mom. It would only make her worry.
“I’ll tell her soon. She can meet him when she comes for graduation.” Her mother might be annoyed when she figured out how long they’d been dating, but she’d come around, especially once she met Blake.
“Hey, I’m just giving you a hard time. I think it’s a good thing. Everyone needs to do something a little wild while they’re in college. Or in my case, many things.”
“But you always tell me what a bad idea it was.”
“Sure, after the fact. It’s usually fun while it’s happening. Do as I do, not as I say.”
“Hmm.” Though she wouldn’t have imagined it just a year ago, she was indeed following in Courtney’s fun-loving, impulse-indulging footsteps. Surpassing them really, because even Courtney hadn’t banged a professor.
It didn’t bother her on its own. She’d never been a stickler for propriety, and the way she felt about Blake far outweighed any lingering concerns over bylaws. But keeping it a secret crossed some line she hadn’t realized she’d drawn. The old Erin had put her mother and college career first. This new Erin…she didn’t know her too well. The one who got fucked against a wall at dawn. Who was she? It was fun and exciting, but everything had to balance out in the universe. A childhood of secondhand clothes and sewn-up backpacks taught her that nothing came for free. So what was she trading in for this newfound bliss?
The parking lot was already packed full of expensive, shiny cars and yawning students making their way to the university bookstore’s entrance. Inside, she and Courtney split up amid the metal bookshelves and large crates of textbooks.
They’d clearly arrived with time to spare. The place looked well stocked, and besides, Erin only had the one book to find. Her other credits were for her research. No textbook required for that, just many, many regular books at the library which she’d practically memorized by now.
She felt guilty for rushing Courtney out the door. It had been habit and an early-onset case of nostalgia that had her rushing over here. Four years of undergrad and two in graduate school. She would miss this place.
She trailed her finger along the cool metal shelving, feeling the harsh edge where one stopped and the next began. The school was beautifully appointed, with gorgeous oak desks and hardwood flooring. But the basement of the bookstore, where the textbooks were kept, was little more than a warehouse. Strangely, she felt most comfortable down here, strolling through towers of books.
She found the right aisle and made her way down. Ah, here it was. Quantitative and Analytical Political Science. Her last official class, not counting her research. She scanned the small printed paper. Her heart stuttered.
Dr. Blake Morris.
She read it again. That couldn’t be right. But oh God, oh God, of course it was him. The professor’s name had been left blank when she registered for the course. It wasn’t unusual. The tenured professors had their preferred courses to teach, but the adjunct staff was juggled around each semester. This was the course they’d hired him to teach. Her class. His specialty was U.S. history! She’d just assumed… Hadn’t he mentioned the Romans…? Oh God. She was so screwed.
Her earlier words to Courtney came back to her in a sick rush. He’s not my professor. She felt like she was going to throw up all over the shiny textbooks.
In a trance, she paid for the book and stumbled outside to the curb. She stared at the loose gravel on the street, the weeds poking up between the slabs of concrete.
Courtney found her. “Hey, I looked everywhere inside.”
“Sorry.”
Her friend sat beside her. “What’s wrong, sweetie? You’re pale as…well, as I probably am right now. But that’s because my blood alcohol level is still through the roof, most likely.”
Erin forced a small smile. “It’s his class. The one he’s teaching. The one I’m taking.”
She was babbling, but Courtney got the picture. “Shit, are you serious? What are you going to do?”
Well, that was the question. Blake had signed a contract to teach this course. His reputation and professional future depended on him following through. Maybe also his sanity, considering how he’d been cooped up for so long. Not to mention all the students who would be stuck if he backed out.
And she…she needed this class to graduate. Could she put it off, wait another semester?
She hated that she was even considering delaying her graduation. Objectively she knew Blake’s situation was far more weighty and precarious. Her life would be little changed whether she graduated at the end of this summer or after the fall semester instead. But just thinking about it made her burn. She had worked too hard for this. Her mother had worked too damned hard to give her this opportunity.
Besides, she wanted desperately to be on equal footing with Blake. That could only happen once she graduated.
“Nothing,” she finally said. “I’m not going to do anything.”
Courtney stared at her. “But he’ll be your professor. Like, in the same classroom.”
“I know.”
“He’ll be grading you, Erin.”
“I know. He’ll do it fairly. He wouldn’t be able to do it any other way.”
Courtney looked dubious. “I think you’re understating the persuasive power of our girl parts, but let’s put that aside for a minute. You don’t think that would be a little…I don’t know, uncomfortable? He’ll be your teacher. Don’t hate me, but it’s kind of a turn-off.”
Erin almost laughed. His position was a massive turn-on for her. They’d role played the parts a few times before. Always playful and teasing, never with any real force behind the scripted words. Even now, she imagined he would look incredibly hot standing up there, lecturing. That was one of the reasons she’d wanted him to practice on her. Except he hadn’t wanted her to see. That was the worst part. He didn’t want her to see that side of him, the real side, for one afternoon, and now she would sit in his classroom every day for six weeks. At least it was only that and not a full semester. She wasn’t sure either of them could survive three months of it.
“Look, I pushed him to do this. He didn’t want to. He did it for me. So now if he backs out and has to deal with the professional backlash, that’ll be my fault. I’ll feel horrible about that, and even if he doesn’t at first, he could wind up resenting me. Hell, he should resent me.”
“I’m resenting you a little,” Courtney offered.
“Thanks,” Erin said drily.
“Okay, but what if he just explains that there’s a conflict of interest? Surely they won’t hold it against him if he has a good reason.”
“They’d probably hold him to his contract and drop me from the class. Besides, I can’t embarrass him that way. Everyone would find out. We’ve got to keep it a secret until I graduate. Then they can say whatever they want. So that’s why I need to take this class. Sooner rather than later.”
“Oh, sweetheart. I don’t want this to be something you regret. It’s good to be wild and have great sex and all that jazz. Believe me, I know. If it were me, I’d do this in a heartbeat. I’d make dirty jokes all through class. I’d pass him notes and wear my shortest skirts in the front row. But that’s not you.”
No, that wasn’t Erin. She’d had sex in Blake’s university office, just once, and it wasn’t likely to ever happen again. She liked being wild and having great sex and all that jazz, as Courtney had put it, but she preferred it in the privacy of Blake’s home. In that way, they were well matched. He lived like a recluse, and she wanted to seclude herself with him. But the world would intrude and demand its due. And it demanded that he teach this class and she take it. Not a big ask, really. She’d dealt with worse. Hey, it could even be fun. And educational. She’d bet he was a great professor. So thoughtful and enthusiastic—and stern when it was warranted.
Oh God, the thought of him reprimanding her made her hot.
* * *
She was hiding something. Blake knew it, but he didn’t feel compelled to push her. He’d made dinner. Spaghetti wasn’t a gourmet meal, but it was a step up from takeout or pizza. He’d even dug in the back of his pantry for a bottle of wine. They were enjoying a quiet evening. She would tell him what she needed to when the time was right.
Now more than ever, he knew how much he wanted to keep her. Knew it with a bone-deep certainty. Since his visit to Joe, some of the urgency had faded. That drive to possess her, hold her like she might slip away if she weren’t clenched tightly enough. Here in the sweet current of her company, he saw things with more clarity—with a little more faith in the future.
She took a sip. “This is good. Is it a special wine?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Special how?”
“I don’t know. You seem like the kind of guy who’d know about wines. Labels and wine tastings and stuff.”
He shrugged. “It’s Merlot. My mother is the wine enthusiast, and I mean that in the best and worst way. But that has nothing to do with who I am. I’ll serve Kool-Aid next time if you want it.”
She grinned. “You drink Kool-Aid?”
“What, everyone likes Kool-Aid. It’s a childhood staple.”
“Oh my God, you must have been an adorable kid. I can see it. Little Blake wearing his leading strings and suspenders.”
He snorted. “Exactly how old do you think I am?”
“I don’t know…but old.” She blinked innocently. “Like thirty?”
He threw the crust of his breadstick at her.
She ducked, laughing. “Thirty-one?”
Hiding his grin beneath a scowl, he rounded the table. “I may be ancient, but I’m still strong enough to deal with a mouthy little girl.”
“Feeling spry, are you?”
“That’s it.” He lifted her bodily from the chair and carried her into the living room. He didn’t let up even when he tossed her onto the couch. He followed her down and—he felt this was the only logical rebuttal of her accusations—tickled her until she was breathless and panting in his arms. Exactly as he liked her, laughing and so fucking perfect it made his heart hurt.
He pulled back slightly, feeling oddly reticent, like he couldn’t let himself reach too far. Which was crazy, because this was Erin. His Erin, his girl.
Her smile faded. She put a hand to his cheek, stroking gently. “What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Nothing. Sorry.”
“Don’t keep it from me, whatever it is. Remember? Every part of you and every part of me.”
She looked up at him in the dim light spilling over from the dining room. Her dark golden hair framed her face against the brown leather of the couch. He wished her eyes weren’t so wide, her lips weren’t so full. He wished he could turn away.
Instead he stared back, his mind racing with words like steadfast and loyal and kind. With lovely. He understood it now. So much more than how she looked or talked, though that was part of it. Every part of her, and he wanted to drown himself in every sweet, doleful inch.
“You’re so beautiful,” he said thickly, because it was all he could say.
Something flickered in her eyes. Wariness. Guilt? What was she keeping from him?
But she kissed him, pressed those lush lips to his, and he let her. Let her slip the invisible blindfold over his eyes and let her, let her, because he trusted her. Even if it made him an idiot, he needed to trust in that dark place where he’d been beaten and burned and come out stronger this time.
She tasted faintly of wine, rich and velvety. He recognized notes of chocolate and red fruit, because he was exactly as stuffy as she’d thought he was. He’d only had Kool-Aid on the occasions he’d gone to friends’ houses, but that was all in the past. From before. He hadn’t died in that godforsaken bunker, but he’d been reborn. He was a different man now, a better one.
He slipped his hand behind her neck, reveling in the silky strands between his fingers, in the delicate nape cradled in his palm. He felt suffused with her softness, bruised and beaten by it. How could she accept him so fully? But she did. She pressed her cheek against him, right where he was most mangled. Her skin was cool, soothing him. Marking him, like he wanted to do for her.
He stood up, leaving her sprawled and languid on the sofa. The purple dress she wore hugged her curves and rode up her thighs—it had to go. He pulled it off her, careful not to tug her hair and not letting her up either. Her bra and panties went next so that she lay on the soft, cool leather wearing only her black heels.
If he could paint her like this, he would. Make her stay in this position for hours while he stood behind the shield of an easel, capturing a part of her for himself. Instead he could only look at her, burning the memory into his brain. But hell, already he’d never forget. He knew every color of her skin, from the pink of her nipples to the pale porcelain of her belly. The tanned slope of her shoulder and the golden hairs behind her neck. He had catalogued her like the most diligent of researchers, leaving little notes scribbled in the margins. Here she’s sensitive but she likes to be licked. And there, God, she can come right there.
A brief squeeze of her wrist told her to stay. He retrieved a glass of wine from the dining table. Is it a special wine? she’d asked, and yes it was. He would never again be able to taste it without tasting her too.
He dipped his forefinger in the drink and touched her nipple, allowing the deep red liquid to coat her puckered skin. He’d meant to paint her all over first, but impatient lust had him mouthing her breast, swirling his tongue around the tip, and sucking on her. The other one was delicious as well, the dry, spiced wine contrasting with the sweet, fresh flavor of her.
Her eyes were hazy with arousal. Her legs had fallen open in sumptuous abandon. Take me, they said, and fuck yes, he was going to. He tipped the glass and poured a small puddle onto her belly. Muscles quivered beneath his lips as he lapped it up, dipping his tongue into her belly button.
Her legs were spread wide now, one of her feet on the floor, the other inching up the back of the couch. She was asking him to touch her, begging him with her body. He set the wineglass on the coffee table.
She groaned. “Please, Blake.”
Jesus. He loved the sound of her, everything she said, everything she didn’t say.
“Shh,” he soothed.
He loved to make her come, but she was burning up now. On the edge. He could bring her higher, but only with patience. He tucked a throw pillow under her head before shedding his clothes. She watched from beneath gilt-tipped lashes, a small, appreciative smile on her face.
Leaning over the couch, he aimed his cock at her mouth. She opened for him obediently, her dark gaze flicking up to him. The wet heat, the searing lust in her eyes, was like a vise to his balls, wrapping them up so tight he almost came right then. He shut his eyes and forced it back. Not yet.
Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Her mouth had always been amazing, but it was more poignant now that she had knowledge of his body. He hadn’t been the only one taking notes. She slid her tongue along the slit, and stars bloomed behind his eyelids. She scraped the underside with the flat of her tongue, and he groaned, long and low.
“Fuck, baby. Fuck.”
She sucked him eagerly, pulling him in, and his hips moved forward of their own accord. He found his way inside with small, nudging thrusts, tunneling his way into the incredible warmth. It wasn’t enough. She was still tugging on him, her suction a small, feminine plea.
He raised an eyebrow. “You want more?”
With her lips wrapped around his cock, she nodded.
He tapped her cheek. “I’m not sure there’s room in your sweet mouth.”
She moaned in entreaty.
Shifting his stance over the couch, he pushed in farther, using more control now that he was going deep. Her eyes widened, but he kept going. Kept filling her until he felt the resistance at the back of her throat. He heard her deep breaths, the evidence of her focus. He moved to pull out, but she grasped the back of his thighs, her palms slippery from her perspiration and his. He rocked himself right there, holding the position far inside, his eyes rolling back at the sensation along his dick. Sparks of pleasure ran down his spine and into the base of his cock, but he wrenched himself away from her wet heat.
Now.
She was limp in his arms as he lifted her. He settled her over the arm of the couch so that her hands and face could rest on the seat cushion and her ass was exposed to him. She had less control this way, so when he touched two fingers to her swollen pussy, she cried out but didn’t move. Could hardly push back against him at all, her toes digging into the plush carpet beneath them. The sight of her was breathtaking—glistening folds all open for him. Plump and wet and ready for him.
He retrieved the wineglass and set the curved lip right at the base of her ass, sending rivulets of liquid over the puckered hole and down the valley of her sex. The liquid looked black against the leather beneath her pussy. A few dark drops landed on the carpet, but he didn’t give a shit. He leaned in. The first taste of her was wine alone before the undertones of her flavor peeked through. Her moans were a sensual accompaniment to the meal he made of her. His cock throbbed, desperate to replace his tongue, but he ignored it. He licked and sucked at her until every trace of the savory drink was gone and he was drawing more liquid from inside her.
His balls were drawn up tight, his cock aching. He stood and leaned over her, brushing the hair from her face.
“You ready, sweetheart?”
She whimpered.
He plunged inside her, swift and deep. Her cry was muffled by the leather. Driven and desperate, he pulled back before pushing inside. All his control evaporated, his mercy for her missing in action. He could only fuck her as hard as he needed to and hope she could take it.
She sobbed gently, her hands clenching at nothing beside her head. He changed his angle, pushing down where he knew she needed it. She came with a keening cry and a rush of warmth around his cock. Again. He didn’t let up, didn’t slow or change a goddamned thing—just let her climb the peak until she came with a broken sound and more liquid, more heat. He wanted to drain her, to use her up, to fuck her so long and so hard that she would never leave.
He spread the soft cheeks of her ass apart, admiring the view. The bud of her asshole, her lips open for him. Every part of you. He felt his hands clench, and he forced them to relax. He shut his eyes and let himself go, lost himself in the tight squeeze of her pussy, drowning in the helpless sounds she made. Her orgasm clamped down around his cock, and he froze, crying out hoarsely as he emptied himself inside her, as he gave it all to her. Every part of me.
He panted over her back, shuddering at the clenching aftershocks. With regret, he withdrew from her body and helped her up. He pulled her down onto the couch, cradling her body with his own while she caught her breath.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I? Didn’t go too far?”
She sounded drugged. “Let’s do it like that every time.”
His lips curved into a smile in the moments before sleep dragged him under.