by Noelle Adams
“What’s the matter?” I repeat in a harsh whisper. I’m about to let him have it when a couple of students walk by.
There’s no way I can get into this here.
There’s probably little sense in getting into it at all.
“Nothing’s the matter. Nothing at all.” I take an abrupt step away from him when it looks like he’s reaching for my shoulder. “I’m going home.”
WHEN I GET HOME, I cry. I can’t help it. But I don’t let myself mope for long. I take a shower and eat a couple of cookies, and then I pull out a book I need to reread for my upper-level class. I stretch out on my couch to read.
It’s a struggle to focus, but I eventually do, and I’m almost halfway through the book when the doorbell rings.
I sit up abruptly, glancing at the clock. Five after five.
I have no idea who would be at my house at this time.
Nothing to do but go answer the door. I gasp audibly when I swing it open to reveal Evan.
He’s standing on my front porch in his suit and a sober expression.
He looks at me gravely as I process my surprise.
“What are you doing here?” I finally ask. It sounds rude, and I don’t mean it to sound that way. But those are the only words I can shape.
“Can I please come in?”
I hesitate. I’m on the edge here, and it won’t take much for me to completely fall apart. I really don’t want to cry in front of him because he doesn’t want me.
But I take a deep breath and step aside to let him in.
When he’s in the entryway and I’ve closed the door, I ask again, “What do you want, Evan?”
“You’re upset and I want to know why.”
He could have said any number of things and I would have been able to respond in a calm, reasonable manner.
But he said that.
I choke on my indignation and fist my hands at my sides. “You want to know why? You want to know why?”
His eyebrows lift at my outraged tone. “Yes. I want to know why.”
“Screw you, Dr. Evan Jones!” I have no idea why I use the honorific in my angry retort, but it just comes out.
His eyebrows go even higher, and his lips part slightly. He’s surprised. Definitely surprised.
I don’t even care. I let him have it. “How can you possibly not know what’s the matter with me right now? Do you not understand women at all? Maybe it’s perfectly normal for you to fuck women and leave them with nothing more than a thank-you and then pretend it never happened at all. But it’s not normal for me. It’s not normal, and I don’t like it!”
His face changes, and he takes a step toward me. “You mean you want to do it again?”
I make a choking sound. My throat closes up so much that for a moment I can’t get a word out. Then I explode. “Yes, I want to do it again, you big... big jerk!”
Okay. Not the most biting of insults. I’m never very articulate when I’m emotional like this.
Something has transformed in his eyes. He’s not cool and serious anymore. He gets even closer to me, and he reaches out to touch me, but I pull away, still angry.
“It’s not very nice to treat a girl the way you treated me!”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I thought...” He turns his face away, his expression tightening dramatically before he controls it. “I didn’t know what to think. I’ve never been in this situation before. I didn’t know if it was just a onetime thing, and I didn’t want to make things awkward if it was. So I kept telling myself to take my cue from you, and you acted like... I just assumed that’s all you wanted.”
I’m gaping at him. “Of course that’s not all I wanted. How big an idiot can someone be? How was I supposed to know you wanted to do it again?”
“I figured it would be obvious. I mean, how could I not want to do it again. I’ve never had sex like that before. I’ve never experienced anything so... I figured you’d know I was totally gone on you.” He pauses, his eyes still looking for something in my face. “Isn’t it obvious?”
“No, it’s not obvious! You’re the most hard-to-read man I’ve ever met in my life! If you want something, you need to come out and say it.”
“Okay. Okay.” He swallows so hard I see it in his throat. “I want to have sex with you again.”
“All right then. I want to have sex with you again too.”
“You do?”
That horrible knot in my stomach has finally loosened into a flurry of butterflies. “Yes. I do.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
I clear my throat, having to stop myself from saying good again.
“So?” he says. He reaches up and I think he’s going to take my face in his hand, but he just brushes a strand of loose hair back behind my ear. It’s the sweetest little touch.
“So what?”
“So if you want to have sex again, and I want to have sex again, maybe we can go ahead and have sex again?”
I bite my bottom lip, my cheeks flushing. I’m trying hard to contain my excitement, but I’m not sure I’m doing a good job. “Right now?”
“Why not right now?”
“I don’t know. It’s just after five, and you’re still in your suit and my hair is a mess, and neither of us have had a shower since morning. So I thought maybe you’d want to wait until later in the evening until—”
He breaks off my babbling by kissing me.
It’s a really good kiss. Strong and hungry and just demanding enough. I open to his tongue and melt against him as I reach up to hold on to his head.
He steps me backward until we tumble onto the couch, barely pulling out of the embrace. That seems like a reasonable place to end up, so I adjust to get more stable, and he climbs on top of me. The kiss deepens even more until we’re rocking together to the rhythm of his tongue in my mouth.
He’s already hard. I can feel his arousal pushing into me.
He’s so hard. Hard all over. Hard in all the ways I’m soft. I hold on tight and squirm beneath him as a pressure of desire builds between my legs.
It’s not long until he’s fumbling to take off my clothes. First my top. Then my bra. Then my skirt and my panties. So then I’m naked on the couch while he has on all his clothes, and for some reason it’s ridiculously hot.
He kisses and caresses me all over. I come once against his hand while he’s suckling my nipple, and then I come again from his mouth, my legs hooked over his shoulders and my body making all kinds of shameless gyrations as I sob out my pleasure.
Since he’s still wearing his clothes, I make him go into my bedroom to grab a condom from the drawer of my nightstand. The blinds on my windows are all open. I’m not going to wander around my house naked at this time of day.
Evan limps back, flushed and sweating and visibly aroused.
I giggle at the sight of him and pull him back down on top of me. This time I work on his clothes, and it’s not long before he’s as naked as I am and we’ve rolled on the condom.
Then he pulls my legs apart and folds one of my legs up toward my shoulder.
As you can probably guess, I’m not the most limber of women. I definitely can’t manage weird contortions of my body, even in the interest of hot sex. But this position is doable for me, and it feels raw and slightly raunchy and vulnerable. My whole body throbs as he gets himself into position at my entrance.
“How’s this?” he asks thickly. His eyes are running up and down over my body with a delicious kind of possessive dominance.
Like what he’s seeing is his.
“Perfect.”
“You want it like this?”
“Oh God yeah. Please. Take me like this.” Again, I don’t usually talk this way in bed, and it makes the whole thing better. Wild and deep and real at the same time.
I groan as he pushes his way inside me. My inner walls cling to his erection, and both of us gasp as we adjust to the penetration.
Then he braces himself on the arm of
the couch and starts to thrust. It’s hard and fast and animalistic, and I’m making loud, helpless sounds from the very beginning, babbling out how I need more, need it harder, need it so much.
He gives me what I need, and his soft grunts get louder as the tightness on his face intensifies. I can see he’s working himself up to climax, and I’m almost there too.
I cry out, digging my fingernails into his firm ass and trying to ride him from below.
He lets out a muffled bellow, jerking his head to the side and growing momentarily still.
I sob at the halting of stimulation. “Not yet. Not yet. I’m almost there.”
He makes a roaring sound and starts pumping again, so forcefully it shakes the couch, shakes my body. His groin slaps against mine.
Then I’m coming. Hiding my face in the couch cushion so my screams won’t be heard outside the house. The pleasure continues as Evan keeps pushing against my contractions. Then he’s coming too, jerking and moaning through his release.
We end up as a boneless tangle of limbs and flesh on my couch.
It’s a long time before I can catch my breath. Even longer before I can move. Evan gets up eventually to take care of the condom, go to the bathroom, and pull on his underwear.
But he doesn’t leave this time. He sits down on the couch, repositioning me so my head is in his lap. He strokes my hair and face.
If I wasn’t a puddle of sated sentiment before, I definitely am now. I grab a throw blanket to cover my nakedness and cuddle up against him.
“That was amazing,” I say when I’m finally able to form words.
“Better than amazing.” He smooths my hair back from my face and meets my eyes. “You’re the sexiest thing I’ve ever experienced in my life.”
I smile at him, rather sappy. “Same to you.”
He leans down to kiss me. “I’m sorry I messed up after the first time. I’m not good at... at this.”
“I’m not sure anyone is really good at this.”
“But you want to keep having sex with me, right?”
“Uh, yeah. I’d really like that.”
He smiles, warm and soft and serious. Just like him. “I’d really like that too.”
Six
FOR THE NEXT MONTH, Evan and I share an office during the days, and we have a lot of sex in the evenings.
Needless to say, it’s a very good month.
I don’t tell anyone at the school except Jennifer and Katrina, and Evan doesn’t tell anyone at all. Jennifer probably tells Marcus about it, but he’s not going to blab. It seems smarter to keep things private at the beginning until we see what happens to us.
Small colleges are like small towns. Sometimes even worse. And I really, really, really don’t want my students to know that I’m sleeping with the new English professor.
On a Monday morning in early October, I wake up when Evan gets out of my bed. He doesn’t usually spend the night on workdays since he keeps such early hours, but we’ve spent most of the weekend together—except when he drove to Richmond to eat lunch with his sister on Saturday—and he never made it home last night.
I kind of like that he slept beside me all night. I wouldn’t mind if he does it more often.
When I mumble out a “Good morning,” he turns from where he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, pulling on his T-shirt.
“Hey,” he says with his quiet expression. “I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I can always go back to sleep for an hour or two.” It’s just barely five. I have at least an hour and a half to stay in bed before I need to get dressed and head to campus. If I push it, I can sleep until seven and still make it in time for my eight-o’clock class.
He lets out a long breath and slumps his shoulders like he’s tired.
I reach out to wrap my fingers around his forearm. “You can stay in bed with me for a little while longer.”
“I should get to the gym.”
“You could, but you don’t have to. Don’t you deserve a morning off?”
“I had the weekend off.”
He took a two-hour bike ride on Saturday morning while I was sleeping in, but otherwise he hasn’t worked out since Friday morning. “Well, you can take one more morning off if you’re tired.”
He shakes his head, his eyes soft on my face. “Are you trying to tempt me?”
“Yes. I am. Why do you have to drive yourself so hard? You’re in great shape, and working out four mornings a week instead of five isn’t going to change that.”
“You think?”
“Yes. I think.” I’ve got a clench in my heart because he seems to be genuinely wavering. I never imagined I could actually talk him out of skipping his morning workout. Then I think of something. I push down the covers and pull up the bottom of the tank top I slept in, flashing my boobs. “There. How’s that for temptation?”
I’m teasing. It’s perfectly clear. And he chuckles in response. But his eyes are drawn to the sight of my bare breasts, and they don’t waver, even after I pull my top down.
He likes my breasts. A lot. I mean a lot. That much has been made clear to me over the past month. Sometimes he just gazes at them with an awed expression as if he can’t believe he’s gotten so lucky. It’s enough to go to a girl’s head.
“That’s pretty good temptation,” he murmurs. He climbs over his side of the bed toward me.
I’m surprised and delighted by his shift in mood, and I kiss him with exuberant abandon when he claims my lips and moves over me.
We kiss for a long time. I’m so wrapped up in him and filled with sappy pleasure that the possibility of morning breath never even occurs to me. After a while, he starts paying attention to the rest of my body. He’s a very attentive lover. He’s never once found his own release without making sure I’ve come first. I’ve never been with a man so thoughtful and generous in the bedroom. I keep wondering if he’ll eventually drop the sensitive act, but I honestly don’t think it’s an act.
I think it’s just him.
It takes him a while to relax and warm up, but once he does, he’s very, very warm.
I come once from foreplay and am feeling so much, so deeply for him that I want to do something special. So I turn him over onto his back before he can bring me to climax again.
“What are you doing?” he asks, blinking up at me as I pull down his underwear. His smile is pleased, almost drowsy. “You want to be on top this time?”
“Something like that.” I kiss my way down his chest and belly until I reach his groin. He’s already hard, and I see his erection twitch as my mouth hovers over it.
I’ve gone down on him before, but he always stops me before he comes.
I want him to come this time.
I look up toward his face and meet his eyes for a moment. His are smoldering. Tense.
I lick a line up the underside of his shaft, and he lets out the sexiest sound. Something between a sigh and a growl.
It gives me all kinds of shivers.
I try to focus on the task at hand, however, so I play with his balls as I give the tip of his erection a firm suck.
His hips buck up. “Jesus, baby, you’re going to kill me.”
“What do you think I’m trying to do?” I suck him again.
He groans and tosses his head back and forth. It’s intoxicating to see him so helpless, so out of control. “I’m serious. I’m not going to last long like this. So if you want to do something else...”
“This is exactly what I want to do.” I wrap my fingers around the base of him and slide my mouth down until it meets my hand. I apply rhythmic suction as he rocks his pelvis in tight little pumps.
I can see he’s getting closer. The muscles of his thighs and belly tighten. His fingers fumble against the sheet. He arches his neck and lets out a long groan as he gives a few helpless jerks into my mouth.
Then he’s coming in shakes and spasms. He grabs for my head and holds it in place. His face transforms with a look of pri
mitive satisfaction that gives me as much pleasure as another orgasm would have.
I awkwardly swallow his semen. It’s not the nicest part of this activity, but he didn’t actually come that much since we’ve already had sex so many times over the weekend.
He’s limp and gasping as I crawl up his body and settle myself at his side. He wraps one arm around me and presses a few kisses into my hair. “Thank you, baby.”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re good at that.”
“I’m glad you think so.”
“But you’ve blown your chance for another round,” he says. “I’m not sure I can get it up again this morning soon enough to go again.”
I giggle. “I’ve blown my chance.”
He snorts, realizing his unintended wordplay. “Something like that.”
I nuzzle his neck. “I already came once, and that’s not counting all the other times I’ve come this weekend. You take very good care of me. I wanted to do that for you.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome again.”
He is a very polite man, but I’ve gotten to know him better now. And I’ve discovered that he was telling me the truth when he said he only says nice things when he means them.
So he’s genuinely grateful for the blow job, and that makes me very happy I made the effort.
We lie together enjoying the aftermath for a while. I feel a little tired but not like I’m going to go back to sleep.
I want to talk to him. I want to feel close to him.
And the only way to get what I want is to ask a question.
So I finally say out of the blue, “Why did you come to Milford?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean why did you take the job at Milford? Didn’t you want a bigger, more impressive school?”
“I don’t know.” He’s idly stroking his fingertips up and down my arm. “What makes you think I could have gotten a job at a better school?”
“Don’t be that way. Are you telling me you got no other job offers?”
“I got three,” he admits.
“And were the other two at bigger universities where you could have had more time for research?”