NATE
I lean back in the brown leather chair at my home office desk. While the area was clearly intended for a dining space, I’ve managed to repurpose it quite well for working. The wooden desk and bookshelves are braced against the wall across from the kitchen making it insanely easy to work while cooking. Like everything else in my apartment it’s organized. The shelf to the right is filled with novels I’ve read and the one to the left contains books about the film industry, computer program editing manuals, and college books I thought might still be useful after graduation. My college degree is framed on the top shelf and a photo of me posing with the Hollywood sign in the background is framed on the bottom. Once upon a time, the California picture was positioned next to my bed. It was the best place for a constant reminder of where I was going in life. Now it’s just a reminder of where I’ll never be.
My eyes narrow at the misspelling of the main characters name on the quiz I’m grading. The majority of the faculty at Ollander enjoy online test taking. They prefer having their students type responses, insisting the written word is useless or at the very least no longer relevant, but I disagree. Penmanship will never be completely dead. Having the ability to write without relying on spell check to grammatically police you is a skill highly underrated. I may not teach a class where it’s necessary to instill such skills, but I do it anyway.
I circle the misspelled name with my red pen and mark the correction beside it.
The sound of feet crossing my hardwood floor turns me in my chair to view the traveler.
Ainsley freezes on her tip toes and cringes a smile. “Sorry….”
Unsure of the need for an apology, I question, “For...?”
“Interrupting?” She innocently shrugs, finally letting her feet back to the ground. “You’re working and I…I probably should’ve just laid in bed until you were finished. Or on the couch.”
I drink in her long, brown legs barely being covered by my Clover Rose University sweatshirt. The navy blue material clings to her upper thighs creating an unusual jealousy in my fingertips. My eyes wander upward to her beautiful make up free face, untamed waves of hair, and guileless expression. How on earth could she ever think someone as special as her could be a bother? With a head nod my direction, I command, “Come here.”
She quickly makes her way in front of me.
The minute she’s within reach, I drop the pen, grab her by the hips and pull her into my sweat pants covered lap. “Never apologize for wanting to be around me when we’re alone.”
A smile attempts to cross her lips.
“We’ll get plenty of time apart, so any moment you want to be around me when the opportunity is there, is welcomed.” Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, I tease, “Nice sweatshirt. Did you enjoy digging in my closet?”
Mirth appears in her eyes and my heart thumps a little harder. “Digging? Are you serious? It was like strumming through the pages of a catalog! How are you this organized everywhere?”
“Not everywhere….” There’s definitely one area I am not formulaic.
The sexual implication receives a minor whimper. Ainsley twirls her arms around my neck and shifts her body to better face mine. “I love that you’re not ‘organized’ there. I love the unexpected. I love not being able to predict if it’s fingers or tongue, mouth or ass…”
My cock starts to stir at the descriptions falling from her lips. We haven’t explored the ass territory outside a finger and a well-timed eating, but we will. When it comes to fucking her there isn’t anything I don’t want to give a try. I’m so fucking enthralled with sexually submerging us that she could probably suggest something off the wall like whipping me with a ping pong paddle and I’d be on my knees desperate to have her make me say uncle. Not sure if being this addicted to another person is healthy, but I honestly don’t care. I haven’t felt anything this fun or exhilarating in years.
“You don’t actually mind that I’m wearing this, do you?”
I shake my head.
“Good because this is the only thing I can wear until I head home. Your other clothes don’t exactly fit. Had I known I was going to be staying over, I would’ve packed something.”
Honestly, having her stay over after the film wasn’t in the original plan. I figured we’d see it, grab some dinner, and then I’d drop her home. Somewhere on the ride back to Highland, I decided against my earlier intention and took her back to my place. By the time we crossed the threshold, we had done more than enough talking to satisfy the logical part of my brain that continuously insisted we know more about her than her hatred of panties. It turns out we share a love of more than just film. She has a soft spot for dogs, though she’s never had one of her own, and a love of philosophical questions most eighteen year olds would never ponder over. Her deeper self-quest to understand her spirituality without the nature of organized religion reaches a level of me most people don’t know about. Religion and divine possibility isn’t something me and my bros sit around discussing during kick off. Back at Clover Rose, the topic might’ve drifted our way when we were all a little high on the good shit Wyatt sprang for or when Beth picked up a new spiritual guide manual, but other than that, it was never brought up. Hearing someone with similar questions as my own was like establishing a connection on a different plane of existence. Which is insane. Three days with one person shouldn’t feel like you’ve known them for a lifetime.
“Speaking of staying over…” she drags my attention back to the conversation at hand. “If we’re going to keep dating then we should limit me staying the night to Fridays and Saturdays.”
I immediately frown. “Why?”
“While I doubt my mother would notice the difference, Sloane would when I didn’t ride the bus in the morning. She’d have a million questions and wouldn’t stop until she was certain I was telling the truth. I already hate lying to her, the last thing I want is to create one so big it ruins one of the only friendships I have.”
Her concern brings the negative nature of this relationship in progress back to the forefront of my mind where it refuses to stay. She is still in high school. This is still a terrible, fucking situation to throw ourselves into. Truth is, her best friend isn’t the only person it needs to stay hidden from. “Okay. But along those same lines, no more shit on campus. I…like my job at Ollander. If I make it to the end of the semester, it’ll help me get the assistant job over at Ashwin.”
She lifts her eyebrows. “You’re going to get a job there?”
“Maybe.” My head bobs back and forth. “Possibly. One of the film professors is looking for a new assistant. His will be leaving at the end of the year to try his luck up in New York.”
“Oh my god! That’s where I’m going to school in the fall,” the excitement is unmistakable. “I just got my acceptance letter on Friday!”
“Really?”
Her eyes light up with happiness. “Yeah! Now, I’m just waiting for my scholarship one.”
“Congrats, baby. That’s a huge fucking accomplishment! Ashwin is…insane to get into.”
“Oh, I know. I’ve been planning to go there since I was thirteen…Done everything possible I could to make it happen. Studied their applications and submission desires like it was a piece of religious text. In a weird way to me it was…Being forced to go to Ollander definitely gave me the foot up I was never expecting.” Ainsley pauses as if swatting away information she’s not ready to share. I know she’s one of the few transfers they made for ‘humanity credit’, but there’s anguish in her tone I can’t quite place. Before I’m given the chance to decipher it, she questions, “Eventually you’d be my teacher again?”
“No. I’d be the assistant to possibly one of your professors.”
“You can’t be a professor?”
“Not until I complete my PhD.”
“Which is….”
Uncomfortable by the question, I attempt to adjust myself, though with her in my lap it’s impossible. “Um…I honestly don’t know if I’ll ever go back to complete it. At one point in my life I knew that’s what I wanted, to get my PhD in film and digital media but uh…things change.”
Ainsley’s eyes dance in curiosity yet she backs down. “I understand. Sometimes life throws the unexpected at us just to see if we’re willing to stand back up while we’re broken. To see if we’re willing to fight in a forgotten war for what it is we really want.”
Was it the death of her father that broke her or something more? She didn’t go into great details when she mentioned him last night, but it wasn’t hard to tell the damage his death had done and is still doing.
“Anyway,” she clears her throat, “it will be awesome to see you on campus…Will it be ‘forbidden’ for us to date there too? You know if….if things…progress that far?”
Fuck, I hope they do. The idea of another man taking my place makes me wanna knock her up to guarantee it can’t happen. I bite my tongue at the idiotic, boorish thought. I’d never fuck up her future like that. Hell, I’m convinced I’d do anything to protect it. “I’d have to double check the academic code, but probably not. You’d just need to take a different professors’ course when the time came.”
Ainsley smiles at the thought. After a small pause she asks, “So… what were you working on just now before I interrupted, Teach?”
“I like when you call me that.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because when you say it, I know I can bend that A plus ass over my desk and put my signature on it the way no one else can.”
The moan she lets flow out encourages my dick to stiffen.
With a cocky smirk, I answer her original question. “I’m grading the Wizard of Oz quizzes from Thursday. It turns out for many of my students spelling the main character’s name is an impossible task.”
“Dorothy?”
I reluctantly nod.
“You’re telling me my classmates can’t even spell Dorothy.”
“Not grading your class yet.” My arms tighten around her. “Conflict of interest with you naked in my bed…”
Ainsley giggles as she purposely wiggles her perfect ass around.
A small groan leaves me and I lean forward to brush my lips against her. “Now I want you naked in my lap…” I nip her bottom lip before instructing. “Take it off.”
Without hesitation, she breaks away from me, stands, and removes the single article of clothing covering her delectable figure.
I free my cock from my sweat pants and continue my commands with a simple point. “Straddle me.” Slowly, she crawls into my lap, bracing her thighs on each side of mine, and hovers her pussy right above the tip of my dick. The radiating heat causes it to twitch in excitement. I place a hand firmly on her stomach to stop her from lowering herself. “Open your mouth.”
A surprised look jumps onto her face, but she doesn’t question the instruction.
Her lips part and I smirk at her obedience as I grab the red pen I had been using to grade. Carefully, I place it on the edge of her teeth and state, “Hold it.” Once she does, my voice lowers to a harsh tone. “You don’t come until I tell you to and if you drop it, you’re not coming at all.”
Ainsley whimpers, eyes flooding with elation and trepidation alike.
I place my hands to her hips and forcefully thrust upward. Her sharp cry behind the object shoots straight through my shaft, making my balls ache in anticipation to come already. My fingers anchor themselves as I repeatedly guide her to the tip before slamming her down back to the base. Each hard bounce is filled with a blazing grasp from her pussy and helpless whine from her imprisoned lips. Ainsley’s nails claw at my forearms, first, then my biceps and lastly my shoulders for mercy. The sting of pain encased so tightly by pleasure shifts a hiss of esurience for more out of my mouth. My movements begin to waiver from their restrained precision and morph into fiercely primal with every additional push. Her shaking suddenly becomes tumultuous. The clear indication I’ve began to hit her favorite spot forces the last sliver of sanity to slink away.
She whimpers her grievances.
“You wanna come, baby?”
Ainsley repeats the sound louder.
“You wanna come on my cock?” The question is followed with an increase in speed. “You want me to mark this pussy as mine again?”
Her pleading reaches new levels of desperation while she throws herself into every thrust.
Relentlessly, she bounces until we reach the point of breaking. I wrap my hand firmly around her throat and growl, “Drop it and come for me.”
The object tumbles between us seconds before her head falls back on an earth shattering scream of my name. Her body quakes, pussy ferociously milking my cock. My hand tightens as all the blood rushes one direction, leaving me lusciously light headed. Ainsley struggles to moan my name again while her pussy devours the creamy offering. When I’ve finally stopped shuddering, I let out a deep sigh of exhaustion and free her neck from my barbaric clutches.
She immediately collapses against me in contentment. “God, I hope sex is always this fucking good.”
After a little chortle, I concur, “Me too.” I tilt her face up to meet her gaze. “With you…I have no doubt it will be.”
The feeling of her smile expanding against my skin stirs the unfamiliar feeling in my chest again. “I don’t have any real doubts when I’m with you…”
“Me either,” I quietly confess. Even the one I know should about dating a student. My brain seems to have settled itself between not giving a fuck about consequences and believing if we’re careful enough we can avoid them. “Why don’t you grab a shower and I’ll make us some breakfast?”
“Sounds good.”
“Preference?”
Ainsley shrugs before standing. “Not really. I’m easy.”
“You better not be,” I playfully threaten and watch a drop from the mutual mess we created dribble down her thigh.
She snickers, rolls her eyes, and struts away, taking my attention with her. How the fuck did I get this lucky? Sometimes I wonder if I’ve been given a blessing or a curse that hasn’t shown its repercussions yet.
While Ainsley showers, I head into the tiny kitchen and cook us omelets. The bacon, sausage, mushroom, and cheese creation is accompanied with a glass of orange juice and whole wheat toast. We settle comfortably side by side at the bar and she lets her feet gently brush against mine during our casual conversation over our favorite films. I spend the majority of the meal aimlessly watching how beautiful she looks back in my sweatshirt, and how bright her smile becomes when she passionately describes a scene from a movie she adores. What’s more incredible than her looks is her knowledge of films most people her age haven’t heard of let alone appreciate for their bold directorial choices or how striking the scoring is in comparison to the color scheme of the scene. Our discussion lacks the immature aspect I was expecting from someone eleven years younger than me. It’s beyond relieving every time I learn we have more in common than a mutual shared love of getting off in public places.
“Die Hard is not a Christmas movie,” she argues, pushing her plate to the opposite side of the bar.
“We watch it every year at Christmas.”
“Who’s we?”
“Me and my bros.” A small smile crawls to her lips, which is when I thoughtlessly add, “Who knows. Maybe this year you’ll be around to watch it with us…” The smile expands and I try not to dwell on the craziness of the comment. “Anyway, the movie happens during the Christmas season. That by definition makes it a Christmas movie.”
“It does not!” Her squeak makes me chuckle. “So, if Halloween happened at Christmas, you would call it a Christmas movie?”
I nod. “Yeah, by basic rules, but if it was a movie called Halloween that took place at Christmas, I would have bigger problems than just the title. There’s only one movie that comes to mind that can appropriately mesh those two holidays.”
“The Nightmare Before Christmas.”
Pushing my half-eaten meal beside hers, I grin widely. “Exactly.”
Ainsley leans back into the bar chair and extends her feet to rest in my lap. “Fav movie of all time?”
“Easy.” I begin to massage her foot. “Casablanca.”
“No…” She whispers. “Shut up! No way! That’s my favorite movie of all time!”
I give her a sarcastic look.
“Seriously! I’ve got a poster that hangs above my bed. I have one of those hats that Ingrid Bergman wore, which I got at a thrift shop around the corner from work, and I even dressed up as her for Halloween when I was sixteen. For the record, white gloves are never a good idea.”
After a small chuckle, I shake my head. “I can’t imagine they are.”
“I swear I watch that movie probably every other week.” She pauses in what appears to be reflection. “You know, you remind me of Humphrey’s character Rick.”
My eyebrows fall in befuddlement. “How’s that?”
“He appeared to be cold, callous, and so broken on the outside, but there were so many moments, so many opportunities he took that showed the world it was a façade. That he was really the most amazing, kindest, thoughtful man you could imagine. That even though he couldn’t have his own happiness he still wanted others to have theirs.”
Her words hit harder than expected. Rather than dwell in the truth of her statement, I say in my best Humphrey voice, “Here’s looking at you kid.”
She swoons in delight. “So romantic….It’s weird, but I think kid is sweeter than babe or honey or sweetie. Not during sex or anything because that would be creepy, but a little, ‘make sure you text me kid’ would make my heart skip a beat. I mean, come on! Is there any other word in the English language that can instill so many emotions connected to the greatest film of all time?!”
I smirk at the word vomit she just let spill over.
“I’m rambling…” Her hand flies to her mouth and she giggles behind it.
“It’s cute.” Before she can deny it, I suggest, “Why don’t we put it on while I finish grading papers? Spend a little more time together before you head home?”
Ainsley sweetly leans my direction. “I’d love that.”
Three words I’d do anything to hear.
My mouth gently presses against hers and the light touch of our tongues reignites the foreign feeling in my chest.
I don’t know what the hell that is, but I’m not convinced I actually want it to go away.