by T. K. Leigh
“I understand.” With timid steps, I turn around, heading toward the door, using every ounce of resolve not to look back. Now I know why Orpheus did. Because it is so fucking hard not to.
“But that doesn’t mean I can let you go.”
His emotion-filled statement reviving my hope, I pause with my hand on the doorknob.
“That night I found you and your mother struggling in the snow…” Lincoln approaches, his hands sliding down my arms. “I told you I was willing to risk it all for you, as long as you were willing to let me in.” He spins me around, his eyes searching mine. “Are you still willing to let me in? Even knowing things aren’t going to be perfect. That it’s going to be hard. That we’re going to fight.”
I reach up, pushing back a lock of his hair. “If you ask me, perfection is grossly overrated. And let’s not forget the most important thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That make-up sex can be really hot.”
His mouth kicks up into a smile as he cups my face, a flicker of desire in his eyes. “That’s all I needed to hear.”
Without a moment’s delay, he crashes his lips against mine, desperation and devotion and everything in between consuming him. I part my lips, treating myself to a taste of him. But like that first kiss, I won’t be satisfied with just one taste. I need more.
Wrapping my arms around his neck, I arch into him, running my hands through his hair. I dig my nails into his scalp, and he emits a hungered groan, pushing me across the room.
When we reach the desk, I slide onto the edge, parting my legs as I hook them around his waist, tugging him even closer. His lips never leaving mine, he places his hand on my back and carefully lowers me onto the surface.
“Say you want me.”
I grin. Some things never change. And this is one I don’t want to change. I never want to go a day without Lincoln begging for my reassurance.
“I want you.”
“Say you need me.”
“I need you.”
Tremors follow the line his hand draws up my leg, my pulse increasing as it disappears into the slit of my dress, his hold on my thigh possessive, sending sparks throughout my body.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to focus during class knowing you were a few feet away and weren’t wearing any panties. How, if I turned your way at just the right moment when you uncrossed your legs, I may be lucky enough to catch a glimpse of what’s mine.”
I close my eyes as his tongue traces a line from my mouth, down my throat, then across my neck. When he reaches the tender spot where he marked me, he’s surprisingly gentle, peppering the most delicate kisses on my bruised skin.
“And you are mine, Chloe.” His hand continues traveling north along my thigh. When he hits my center, I moan, succumbing to his touch once more. “Say it.” His voice isn’t demanding. Not like it was earlier today. It’s more pleading, as if he can’t go another moment without my declaration.
“I’m yours. All of me.”
His lips find mine, and he breathes into me. “And I’m yours, Chloe. Have been since I first saw you. I knew back then that there was something different about you. That I had to have you. And not just your body.” He slides a hand up my torso, tweaking my nipple before he affectionately rests his palm my chest. “But your heart, as well.”
I grab onto his wrist, keeping it there as his other hand continues exploring me, pushing a finger in, then withdrawing before stretching me even more.
Unable to endure another second without feeling him, I sit up and reach for his waist. With my gaze locked on his, I loosen his belt and lower his zipper, wrapping my fingers around his erection and pulling it out. I stroke him as he continues fucking me with his fingers.
His nostrils flare, his jaw twitching, his eyes dark as they look upon me with pure lust.
“Enough,” he hisses, clutching my wrist, stopping me from jerking him off. Blind to all reason, he pushes me back and enters me in one quick thrust, filling me to the hilt.
Closing my eyes, I release a low moan, forgetting where we are.
“Shh…” He brings his hand to my mouth covering it. “Quiet.”
I nod. He takes his hand away, his pace slow and languid so as to not make too much noise.
“Put it back.”
He pauses, furrowing his brow.
“Your hand. Put it back over my mouth.”
His pupils dilating, he does as I command. “Like this?” he asks in a husky voice.
I nod again, the temperature in my body rising, my core clenching at how dark this man can be. He continues pushing into me, filling me completely, just as a knock echoes between our labored pants.
“Lincoln, are you in there?” a deep voice calls out from the other side of the door.
We freeze, neither one of us so much as breathing. His wide eyes dart to the door, the seconds stretching. My heart is in my throat, adrenaline coursing through me.
“It’s John Morrison.”
“Shit,” Lincoln utters under his breath.
“Do you have a minute?”
He blinks, his gaze shifting between the door and me. “I—” he stammers. “I’m on the phone.”
We both wait in anticipation, praying he walks away. But when no response comes, Lincoln hangs his head and reluctantly pulls out of me, offering a silent apology.
“Give me a minute to wrap things up.”
“Certainly.”
“On the phone? Is that the only excuse you can come up with?” I whisper as Lincoln helps me to my feet, remembering his use of the same excuse mere weeks ago when Professor Gordon interrupted us.
“Would you rather I tell the dean I was in the middle of screwing one of my students and I’d be with him when I made sure she came?”
Despite the gravity of the situation, I can’t help but laugh quietly. “I’d give anything to see the look on his face when you told him that.”
“You may get your wish if I can’t figure a way out of this.”
“Relax…,” I soothe, standing on my toes and kissing his cheek. “You’re lucky you chose to screw the shortest student in class. And probably the most flexible.”
“Why’s that?”
“I can fit in some remarkably tight spaces.” I waggle my brows, grab my coat and bag, then head behind his large cherrywood desk, crawling into the alcove between the drawers on either side.
“Chloe…” His Adam’s apple bobs up and down in a hard swallow. “You don’t—”
“It’s okay. There’s no other option right now. So go see what he wants before he gets suspicious.”
He readjusts his composure, straightening the lines of his suit before walking to the door and opening it. I do my best to remain still, despite my uncomfortable position. I pray it’s a quick conversation. My legs are still sore from this afternoon’s calisthenics, not to mention the pain already screaming from my ass. I won’t be able to stay here for too long.
“Dean Morrison,” Lincoln greets, his voice deep and professional.
“I hope I’m not disrupting you.”
“Not at all. Just had to answer a few questions on a filing we’re making at the office.” His steps draw closer and I see his shoes appear a few inches from me. I glance up at his intimidating physique, oddly turned on at how commanding he looks behind this desk with me at his feet. “Won’t you have a seat?”
“Thank you.”
There’s a slight stirring as Dean Morrison assumes one of the chairs in front of the desk. Lincoln catches my gaze as he sits, but his eyes don’t linger.
“What can I do for you this evening?”
“I heard through the grapevine that Chloe Davenport is back in class.”
He shifts, discreetly adjusting his belt. “She is.”
“That’s good. At least she’ll be better prepared for next semester.”
He cocks his brow. “What do you mean?”
“The school only allows students to miss ten percent of class h
ours. For most courses that meet for an hour three times a week, that amounts to four missed classes. But since yours is three hours once a week, anything after two is grounds for an automatic failure. Well, technically, anything after the first hour of the second missed class is, but I’m being generous. If my calculations are correct, Miss Davenport has now missed three classes.”
“I understand the school policy, but I’ve decided to excuse the absences due to extenuating circumstances.”
“I see.” There’s a pause before Dean Morrison speaks again. “Professor Gordon mentioned you both saw Miss Davenport outside a bar in SoHo several weeks ago.”
The tension in the room thickens, his line of questioning sounding more like an interrogation than a conversation between colleagues.
“Yes.”
“She also mentioned you shared a cab with Miss Davenport.”
I hold my breath, the seconds stretching uncomfortably. I crane my head, stealing a glimpse of Lincoln, his expression unaffected. I suppose that’s the upside of being a lawyer. He has a damn good poker face.
“I did. Again, there were extenuating circumstances.”
“I see.”
I hear the chair push back, followed by footsteps. I send a silent prayer that the dean isn’t about to walk behind the desk. I’d never forgive myself if Lincoln lost his job, lost everything because of me. But isn’t that the game we’re playing?
“The same extenuating circumstances you’re using as grounds to excuse Miss Davenport from missing too many classes?”
Lincoln stands, straightening his tie. “As a matter of fact, yes. Since it’s a confidential matter, I’m not at liberty to discuss the exact nature of the problem without Miss Davenport’s permission, but it is sufficient enough to warrant excusing her. Last I checked, the school policy allowed professors the discretion to determine whether or not to excuse absences, and I’ve used that discretion here. These were the first classes she’s missed—”
“This semester,” Dean Morrison interrupts pointedly. “She doesn’t have the best track record.”
“Compared to her classmates who are fortunate enough to have their parents support them financially and emotionally, you’re correct. But when you factor in that she works a full-time job, I’d say she’s doing pretty well. In my opinion, she’s a brilliant student. One of the most promising I’ve had in my class.”
“I don’t doubt that. Her father’s a brilliant man. But Professor Gordon has voiced her concerns regarding your relationship with Miss Davenport. I must admit, I find it disconcerting you would share a cab with a student, even if she is the daughter of your boss. You’re aware this school has a policy regarding personal relationships between faculty and students.”
Lincoln places his palms to his desk, leaning toward the dean, his eyes narrowed. “What are you insinuating?”
“That your behavior is raising eyebrows.”
“Well, it shouldn’t.” Straightening, he widens his stance. “You’ve been in higher education long enough to know this place is often worse than a soap opera. Miss Davenport needed help. I decided to act like a decent human being instead of ignoring her simply because my actions may, as you put it, raise a few eyebrows. If I saw one of my male students in the same predicament, I’d help him, too.”
“That may be true, but I’d still like to take a look at all the coursework Miss Davenport has submitted so far this year. Make sure it’s on par with the level you claim.”
I study Lincoln’s demeanor, arms defensively crossed in front of his chest, eyes unwavering, everything about him giving the impression that he has nothing to hide.
An impressive performance, considering he’s hiding me underneath his desk.
I notice Lincoln’s jaw twitch slightly, then he sits, careful to give me space, and opens a drawer. Tossing a file onto the desk, he leans back into the chair. “There it is.”
I hear the subtle rustling of pages as Dean Morrison presumably flips through the few papers I’d handed in throughout the semester. Seconds turn into minutes as my heart thunders in my chest. I pray the dean can’t hear it in the strained silence. And that he doesn’t find my high marks suspicious.
“It appears she does have a knack for the law,” Dean Morrison finally says. “Much like her father.”
“She certainly does.”
It’s silent for a moment before the dean speaks once more. “Very well. I’ll let you get back to…whatever it is you were working on. I apologize for jumping to conclusions. This school takes these kinds of things seriously.”
“Completely understandable, sir. I should have informed you of the incident previously. In the future, I’ll be sure to report any encounters with my students outside class or office hours.”
“You do that.”
Footsteps echo, followed by the welcome sound of the door opening. I don’t think my heart has ever pumped as fast as it has these past few minutes.
“And I’d strongly advise you to stay as far away from Miss Davenport as possible. No more requesting she come to your office to discuss her work, as I’ve heard has happened. Even if it’s innocent, you don’t need anything else to add fuel to the fire, so to speak.”
“You have my word.”
“Good.”
When the door finally clicks closed, I blow out a breath, never having been so relieved in my life.
“Hey…” Lincoln crouches down to my level, extending his hand toward me. “It’s okay. I locked the door.”
Nodding, I put my hand in his, allowing him to help me to my feet. “I am so sorry.” Rattled, I adjust my clothes, then collect my things. “I didn’t mean for something like this to happen. You could have lost everything because of how careless I was. You should have—”
“Hey…” He grabs my biceps, forcing me to stop. “You have nothing to apologize for.”
“But you’re risking so much to be with me. Too much. It was fun role-playing earlier, but this…” I step out of his touch and gesture between our bodies. “This isn’t a game, Lincoln. It’s not just a fantasy, although I wish it were. You are my professor. If you stay with me, I will ruin your life. There’s no way around it. No possible way this will have a happy ending, no matter the risk you’re willing to take.”
He stares at me for several long moments, and I expect him to agree and send me on my way. Instead, he smiles.
“Do you know how my parents met?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’ve read about your father because of what happened to him, but other than that…”
“He was the teaching assistant in one of Mom’s English electives. Granted, it’s not the same as our situation, but they still weren’t permitted to be together. They had to wait. They weren’t allowed to date while he was the TA assigned to her class.”
“So he waited for her?”
He lowers his mouth toward mine, his breath kissing my lips, sending a shiver through me. “He did. Said he knew she’d be worth the wait. But that’s where I’m different from my dad.”
“How’s that?” I murmur, craning my neck back.
“I’ve already had a taste. And I’m greedy for more. So I’m not going to stand by and wait for you, Chloe. I need to have you now, even if that means we have to be careful while we figure this out.” He traces my jawline with a single finger. “I already lost you once. Already pushed you away when I should have begged you to stay. It’s going to take a lot more than the risk to my career for me to push you away again.”
Comforted by his sweet words, I fling my arms around him, kissing him with everything I have. I’ve never been with a man who was willing to risk everything to be with me. I still don’t know how I deserve this, but I won’t question it. Not now.
“There’s just one problem,” I murmur against his mouth.
“What’s that?”
I glance at the door. “How do you suggest we get out of here without raising any suspicion?”
A contemplative look crosses his face as he
scans his office, weighing his options. “Right.” He shifts his eyes back to mine. “I’ll leave first. It’s probably safer. When the coast is clear, I’ll text you. I can’t guarantee you’ll have much time, so when you get my message, make it quick.”
“But what about locking your office?”
“I’ll double back and lock it once you’re in the clear. Okay?”
“Okay.”
He collects a few papers, meticulously separating them into their appropriate folders before sliding them into his messenger bag. He heads toward the door, pausing when his hand touches the knob. A thoughtful expression crosses his brow as he looks back at me.
“What are you doing tomorrow night?”
I give him a sideways glance, seeing the wheels spinning in his head. “Why?”
“I want to see you.”
“What did you have in mind?” I saunter toward him.
His lips brush mine. “You’ll have to wait and find out. I’ll have a car pick you up at seven. Wear a dress.” His eyes skate over my body before returning to mine. “And heels. Definitely wear heels.”
“Any reason why?” I bat my lashes.
“Because I love the way they dig into my skin when I make you come.”
I whimper, rendered speechless by his wanton and lust-filled statement, the way he says it with no hesitation. It makes me want him right now, code of conduct be damned.
Smirking, he twists the knob, pausing before opening it. “For the record, I don’t regret a thing. We’ll figure this out, Chloe. Promise.”
My lips curve into a smile, my heart warming. “Okay.”
He holds my gaze a moment longer, then says, “Seven o’clock.”
“It’s a date.”
He beams, his eyes sparkling. “I like the sound of that.” Then he disappears, closing the door behind him.
“I like the sound of that, too,” I whisper into the darkness, feeling unusually content, despite our close call. He’s right. Our situation isn’t ideal, but it’s better than the alternative of not being together at all. I don’t want to go back to that. Not now that I have him again.