“You’re early,” she breathed. He scooped her into a hug and growled in her ear.
“I couldn’t wait any longer.” With that, his lips met hers again and she melted into his arms. There was a clear difference between this kiss and the one she’d instigated. He was all in. Total control. Absolute domination.
It left her weak in the knees and sent heat rushing to her core.
He broke the kiss and she took a much needed breath. “I have to get back to the pork chops,” she whispered.
“God you’re sexy when you talk dirty,” he said, and she giggled. He smiled and planted a quick kiss on her lips before letting her go.
With quick steps, she rescued the pork and pulled out plates. To her surprise, Christopher began to help, finding silverware and napkins and left. She peeked out and caught sight of him setting the table. He took great care to place the silverware in just the right spots on the dark wood of the tall table. Precision that he used in every facet of his life shone even in such a small task.
He met her glance and shrugged. “I know how to set a table.”
She shook her head. “It’s not that.”
“What is it then?” he asked, his expression serious on her face.
“I can’t believe you’re here, I my house. That we’ve kissed. That I think I’ve got feelings for you.” She shook her head. “I’m so stupid.”
He gave her a slight smile. “You know,” he said, nodding to her, “I’ve never let anyone wear that necklace.”
Her fingers flew to the pendant and she stared at him, beyond flattered.
His green eyes reminded her of verdant mountains as he spoke, “I didn’t tell you all of it. My grandfather told me to give it to the girl that made me feel lucky.”
He stilled and her heart began to pound. “No matter what,” he said, his expression absolutely serious, “I want you to keep it.”
“I couldn’t,” she whispered, her voice scraping painfully in her throat. Taking something with such sentimental value would keep her up at night.
But he shook his head. “I insist. I’m lucky you came into my life. Do you know how long I’ve waited for someone to just be honest with me without worrying who I am or what I might do?” He placed a fork carefully where it belonged on the table, suddenly engrossed in the task of setting the table.
“Still…” she said, unable to even consider keeping the necklace.
“And at your most vulnerable, you trusted me,” he said, seeming to be talking more to himself than her now.
“You’re trustworthy,” she said, needing him to know how she felt and what her reasons were. To her shock, he halted, his glare hitting her full force.
“I’m not.” He said, his tone forceful.
But she wasn’t buying it. “You are.”
“Would a trustworthy person go behind your back and by up your stock?” He asked, but she refused to listen.
“A trustworthy person would give them back and stand by me when I needed him to.” She said, her voice low.
He growled, the sound raising the hair on the back of her neck. “Would a trust worthy person the prey on you while you’re in said vulnerable place?”
“What?” She asked, confused.
“Kissing you when you’re in no position to be in a place to give consent?” He said, dropping the napkins into place.
“I kissed you,” she said, a blush stinging her cheeks. It was really out of character for her, but with him, it felt so natural. He wouldn’t tease her for her innocence.
“You think that. When I first saw you that day, I knew you were a virgin and I wanted to take that from you.” His jaw rippled like he was wrestling with himself internally.
“I want you to.” The words popped out and shock roared through her even as he jerked his head up and stared at her.
“You won’t judge me,” she whispered, needing to explain. “You won’t make me feel bad for not knowing. You won’t hold it against me. I bet it would be amazing.” Her voice ended on a whimsical note, and she found herself in his arms before she even knew he’d moved.
“You’re going to destroy me,” he whispered, and she giggled.
“Maybe you’re doing it wrong,” she said, her heart singing. He was interested in her. In making love. In her.
He growled, and his lips met hers, but the kiss was chaste. Still, his lips promised sizzling encounters, incredible nights filled with passion and maybe, just maybe, a dirty four letter word she refused to consider. She wasn’t there yet. But her heart was.
“Dinner,” she said, before planting a kiss on his chin and slipping out of his arms.
“You’re lucky,” he said, and she laughed. Once in the kitchen, she dished up the pork and the perfectly sliced, sautéed potatoes and carrots.
Taking both plates, she found him standing still, staring off into the living room. Following his gaze, she saw his words framed on the mantle.
He turned to face her, his eyes sparkling with joy and something warm, something so sweet it felt like home. To her surprise, he felt like home. He made her apartment feel fuller, perfect.
“It’s perfect there, right?” she said, taking the plates to the table and placing them at each spot. She turned and found herself in his arms once more.
“Not as perfect as you are right here,” he said, his voice a growl that sent her heart into overdrive.
“Agreed,” she whispered, looking up at him. She swore she could see promises in his eyes that she wasn’t ready for. It wasn’t love, not yet. But it was something that promised to hold her hand and lead her down that path, should she so choose.
CHRISTOPHER
Christopher had never expected to meet someone quite like her. She was unique in more ways than he thought she knew. It was a full system shock to be here, in her home, feeling like someone important in her life. Not just in a business sense. Not because he had money. Not because of his power. Not even because of his influence.
But because he was himself.
Christopher stared down at her, aware of how much she meant to him. She was perfection personified. Sure, she had issues, but so did he. So did everyone. But her issues seemed to fit him just right, and he had a feeling she’d soften his had edges without thought or worry.
And he realized that she offered something totally alien for him: he felt free.
Free to speak his mind. Free to act. Free to be himself. Free to enjoy the glory that was life without fear of what she might think or say.
It was the ultimate gift, and he could only hope that someday, somehow, he could give her something so valuable.
And, if he was lucky, maybe she’d give him more than enough time to find an opportunity to do so. Maybe forever wasn’t in their future. But he’d spend every day – of the rest of his life if he had to – trying to show her just how much she meant to him.
But for now, he’d settle to see if her pork chops could even hold a candle to her baking skills. If they did, he’d have a hell of a time letting her go. Because she put love into everything she did, and he was craving another taste.
They sat at the table and she spoke of her childhood.
Between bites, he asked questions, loving every flavor that crossed his palate. She spoke freely with an animation that captivated him. The food disappeared, time flew, the sun settled out of sight, but he couldn’t get enough of her words. He wanted to know everything about her. Every moment, everything that made her into the amazing woman before him.
And he shared with her. She listened, fascinated at his words.
The night faded into early morning, and they continued talking, though they moved to the couch. The necklace sparkled at her throat, and the dress was as out of place as his suit. But he didn’t care. It was perfect.
She was perfect.
He’d happily spend forever just listening to her, learning about her, talking to her. Because she was so much more than he dreamed. Not just because o
f her life’s story, but because she was quick to smile, because she spoke with an honest intensity, and because when he kissed her, she didn’t melt; she kissed him back.
Perfect.
THE END
Ambivalent Heart
Chapter 1
So here we were, on our first day of College; or more realistically, our first day of lectures. Fresher’s week had been chaotic; UV raves at the student’s union, foam parties, and copious amounts of drinking. We’d made friends with our fellow dorm mates, and gone through the usual spiel of explaining that Tim and I had come to university as a couple and this would be our first time living together. Although we had separate dorm rooms, we spent every night in the same, small dorm, with a single bed, a small desk and chair, and a little sink which seemed to aggressively splutter water out every time you turned it on.
Tim’s room down the hall was basically unused; we pretty much just stored our stuff in there, which freed up the much-needed space of my tiny dorm room where we slept.
Throughout the foam parties, UV paint and drinking, I felt like something of an observer, rather than an active participant in the drunken shenanigans and debauched sexual stories. For most people, this was the first time they’d lived away from home, and that meant it was party time. No parents, no rules, just a bunch of horny teenagers drinking and having the time of their lives.
But now fresher’s week had ended, and lectures had begun. The infamous ‘fresher’s flu’ had taken its toll on the campus, that - in combination with the week of drinking a partying - meant that the lecture hall was made up of a collection of weary, lethargic looking students; lamenting the week-long holiday they’d just endured, and the reality of studying for three years, which was about to begin.
I wondered if I was the only one who was glad that fresher’s week was over. For me, it wasn’t nights of booze-fuelled antics and sexual encounters, but one of profound loneliness. I wanted to dance in the foam, drink myself sick and experiment with the cute boys I’d seen around campus; but I couldn’t. Though we tried to join in with the drinking games, once people realized Tim and I were a couple, we were treated differently. Sure, we’d made friends with the people in our hall, but everyone knew that we’d be the first ones to turn in during a night out; guys who chatted to me seemed to lose interest once they realized I was there with Tim, and the same applied to him. It’s not that I wanted anything to happen, it was more the freedom of possibility that I wanted; the freedom to not know how a night might end.
Anyway, fresher’s week had ended. Soon, normality would resume, and I’d be able to focus on completing my degree, and my relationship with Tim. I loved him, and for the last three years, he’d been my rock. We’d spent some of the best parts of our high school years together. I wasn’t about to throw all of that away for a drunken fumble with a horny student.
I sat at the front of the lecture hall, my eyes focused on the tutor. He was explaining how the semester would pan out, what books to buy and which ones to avoid. Though I tried to pay attention, my thoughts were wandering wildly, wondering what fresher’s week would have been like if Tim and I had decided to go to different Universities.
Come on Cara, stay focused.
The lecturer - Mr. Osidipe - which he said was pronounced ‘Oss-ee-dih-pee’ was a tall African man, with an unusually stoic nature about himself. His explanations were succinct, powerful and confident, wildly throwing his hands about as he spoke.
“I am not just a tutor. I am here to guide you through every step of this course. I will encourage open debate and forum. The last thing I want is to be yet another tutor who stands in front of his students, says a few words, clicks through a few PowerPoint slides, and then expects them to regurgitate it later in an essay,” Mr. Osidipe explained.
I looked down at my notes, realizing I’d barely written two lines.
“The advancement of knowledge comes from each and every one of you exploring new ideas, studying new ways of thinking; it does not come from simply repeating what has been said countless times before.”
I looked across at Tim, who sat idly staring around at the sullen faces of the freshers. He didn’t believe in taking notes. He believed that his subconscious mind would simply absorb all the information he needed, and he’d be able to use it later. It was that kind of thinking that meant we were doing a Criminology course together, instead of Forensic Psychology. His grades just simply weren’t up to scratch, but mine were. We compromised, and now here I was, surrounded by sneezing students and listening to Mr. Osidipe’s meandering philosophy about the process of learning.
***
“The Stanford County Prison Guard experiments showed that anybody –when given authority- has the potential for sociopathic behavior,” Mr. Osidipe spoke. “It also showed that the institution of imprisonment has the potential to propagate and create criminal behavior.”
The seminar had been an interesting one so far. Mr. Osidipe had separated us into two groups, one labeled as ‘Guards’ and the other as ‘Prisoners’. The prisoners were not allowed to leave their desks, nor move their thumbs from the tables, whilst the guards had to ensure that none of the prisoners moved their thumbs or left their tables; if they did so, they could subject them to the punishment of writing the line “I am a criminal”, as many times as they deemed fit.
I had been labeled a ‘Prisoner’ and had been assigned a guard. After my thumbs began to ache, I moved one slightly, without removing it from the table. My guard - a tall, dark-haired man - demanded that I write ten lines. I protested my innocence. He increased the punishment to one hundred lines. Eventually, I began throwing my pens at my guard, and - like many others - became angry and unruly, as the guards handed out harsher and harsher punishments.
Mr. Osidipe’s micro-demonstration of the Stanford County Prison Guard experiments was quite effective. As criminals, we became angry, insubordinate, some even tipped over their tables. As guards, we became cruel, loud and demanding.
I personally remembered my guard - whose name was Nathan - and the cocky smirk upon his face as he doled out punishments. There seemed an arrogance about him that I did not like, a cocksure attitude possessed by entitled public school boys with wealthy parents. Despite Mr. Osidipe’s demonstration being little more than a microcosm of a wider societal issue, I still harbored resentment for Nathan.
I told myself not to be childish; it was just a game, nothing serious. Let it go and move on.
“Now as you can see,” Mr. Osidipe explained, “my teaching methods are unusual, but tell me which one of you won’t remember this seminar in the future?”
The class collectively nodded in agreement.
“Now, I have an assignment for you,” he continued. “A presentation on the Stanford County Prison Guard experiments. It can be a PowerPoint, it can be done on paper – however you choose to do it. And you’ll be working in pairs.”
I breathed deeply, knowing what his next words would be.
“The same pairs you were just in,” he announced. “And you have three weeks.”
Chapter 2
“How was your day?” Tim asked as I crawled in beside him.
“Weird,” I answered. “Very weird.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked with the interest. “Why’s that?”
“We had to do this weird experiment in my seminar. Mr. Osidipe is an unorthodox teacher, to say the least.”
“Really?” Tim inquired, massaging my shoulders meanwhile.
I arched my back, letting his thumbs undo all the knots in my upper back.
“I didn’t even go to mine,” my boyfriend suddenly confessed.
“What?” I asked. “Why not?”
“I don’t really learn much from seminars, to be honest,” he yawned.
I pulled away from the massage. “Are you joking?”
“What? Cara, I’ve told you this before!” he snapped.
“I’ve seen you in lectures, you don’t even take notes!”
“I
don’t need to take notes, Cara.”
“So what’s your grand plan here, Tim?” I was becoming increasingly annoyed with his attitude. “Take no notes, attend no seminars and somehow pass this course? You can’t just coast through everything Tim!”
“You know me,” he grinned. “I always pull through in the end.”
“No, you don’t!” I said furiously. “I didn’t even want to do Criminology, I wanted to do Forensic Psychology. Remember? But you couldn’t get to university I wished to study at. I’m only here because of you!”
***
Next morning I was heading down the campus to attend another seminar while my boyfriend was still in bed claiming he had no school until the afternoon. I could not get his behavior out of my head. Well, to be honest, I always knew he was the laid-back type of guy and I would usually admire this quality, however, this time, his attitude really worried me. We were no longer kids at the high school, but instead, young adults with their responsibilities. And he seemed to not get it.
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