Mr. Write Now

by Summer Wynter

  “Tell me you don’t want me.” She said. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”

  He couldn’t say it. Not without lying.

  And then her mouth was on him, and all he could do was bit his knuckles to restrain the groan of pleasure that tried to escape him. The wet, tight heat of her mouth was all he could feel, the only thing he could process.

  His pulse thundered in his ears, and his hand unerringly found her hair. He wound his fingers into the thick curls and tugged.

  It seemed to last for a single, perfect eternity, and as his vision pulsed white and he finally gave voice to the sheer blissful feeling, there was only one overriding thought on his brain.

  I’m going to hell for this.

  Chapter Four

  He had called on Calvin a lot during the class period. He kept his eyes carefully on the front row, where Rosa McCall perched, bending eagerly over her notebook, showing a pleasant amount of cleavage and pointedly wearing the same tie she’d worn at the meet and greet.

  When a pair of students started a heated debate on politics during class he didn’t even try to get the lecture back on track. He leaned back in his chair and tuned it out almost entirely.

  He watched the clock, willing the fifty minute course to go by faster. When the time finally came, he began to back his bag quickly, glad that, in this class at least, there were no papers to collect.

  It wasn’t fast enough, apparently. The tap tap of Rosa’s heels on the tile sent his heartbeat skittering and his libido trying to push insistently to the forefront. He pushed the latter down firmly. That had gotten him into enough trouble as it was.

  He made to swing his bag over one shoulder and walk away, but she was there, blocking his path.

  “Move.” He said curtly. Maybe she’d get the point by his tone and leave him be.

  “Oh come on Professor.” She said with a teasing smile. “Can’t I just stop by for a friendly chat after class?”

  He raised a skeptical brow. “Is it related to this course?”

  “Kind of.” She bit her lip and very twirled a curl around one of her long fingers. It was distracting as hell, and he had to fight to keep from watching the repetitive swirling motion of her hand. It made his mind wander to the other, more pleasant things she’d done with her hands the other night.

  “Well? What is it, Miss McCall?”

  “So formal.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “It’s about our agreement at The Lounge.”

  “What agreement?” He asked, frowning. He didn’t remember ever making an agreement with her, unless it was the unspoken one about telling no one what had transpired in the alley.

  “You told me you’d add ten points to my final grade if I could guess your favorite romance novel.”

  Oh, right. He did vaguely remember striking that bargain. He’d been amused at her sulk after she’d been unable to guess, and simultaneously wondering why so many young women found Romeo and Juliet romantic.

  “Did you have another guess?”

  “I do.” She said, perching lightly on one of the abandoned tabletops that served as desk in the large lecture halls.

  “Well, go on.” He said slowly, curious in spite of himself.

  “Pride and Prejudice.” She said, tone brimming with confidence. “Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy are a classic.”

  “They are indeed. But sorry, you’re wrong again. Pride and Prejudice is not my favorite. You can strike off Sense and Sensibility too.”

  Rosa looked slightly unsure of herself, and her legs stopped swinging for a moment.

  “Emma?”

  “No.” He said with a small smile, and swung his bag up and onto his shoulder, turning away from her.

  “Come on!” She cried, and he heard the sharp sound of her heels impacting the tile as she landed. “Give me a hint at least.”

  “I think that defeats the purpose of the whole exercise. You have to earn those points.”

  He left the classroom, and made his way toward the stairs. He’d never really trusted elevators and an unfortunate incident involving six other members of staff and one toddler had left him with a slight case of claustrophobia. Two hours playing ‘I Spy’ in an elevator was not something he was eager to repeat.

  “Don’t you want to take the elevator?” Rosa gave the double doors a hopeful glance. “It’s more private.”

  “They also have cameras.” He pointed out, finally turning to face her. “So whatever mischief you have planned wouldn’t be a good idea in there.”

  “Mischief?” She scoffed. “What do you think I am, a stupid teen, playing a prank?”

  “I’d be remiss to point out that you are a teen Miss McCall.”

  “Rosa.” She snapped impatiently, crossing her arms over her chest. “My name is Rosa. After what happened, I think you can at least call me by my first name.”

  He shushed her almost without thinking. She looked affronted and her scowl deepened. Further.

  “You can’t talk about that here.” He hissed, glancing around.

  “I don’t see why not.” She sniffed. “We’re both consenting adults.”

  “You are my student Rosa. I don’t think you grasp what that means.”

  A sultry smile replaced the scowl, and damn it, he should not be getting distracted by the lush fullness of her lips now. Not when he’d begun to speak reason.

  “It means while I’m here you’re in charge of my ass.” Her dark eyes smoldered, and she licked her lips. “And any other part of me you want, sir.”

  He turned on his heel and walked out, trying to ignore the sudden tightness in his pants. The cool air outside helped some, but not enough. He actually willed it to blow, to send icy daggers through his clothes to punish his wayward genitals.

  Rosa followed, of course, her long supple legs allowing her to keep pace with him easily enough. They were glad in black skinny jeans today, and he found that he sorely missed the short skirt.

  He halted next to his gas-guzzling Chevy pickup, and rummaged in his pockets for the keys. He knew he ought to get a better car, a fuel efficient Prius like the one Melanie had taken in the divorce. But the old beat up pickup had been his father’s.

  Rosa leaned up against the navy blue door, casually blocking his escape.

  “Look Professor, I don’t see what you’re so worked up over, but if you think what we did was too fast, we can always backtrack.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We could go on a date, if you want to do this,” She gestured vaguely between them. “Thing right. You could take me to Ella’s.”

  “Mia’s,” He responded quickly. Ella’s Restaurant was a nice local eatery, but it was only a few minutes away from campus. Most of his favorite restaurants were clustered around or very near to campus.

  Mia’s Italian Restaurant was located in Springdale, twenty five miles away, and while it was close, he doubted anyone from the school would be eating there on a weekday.

  He shook his head, like a dog trying to shake off an irksome fly. What was he thinking? He shouldn’t be encouraging this madness. He ought to report it to someone, get her booted out of his class.

  But what could he say when confronted about what had happened in the alleyway Saturday night? He’d consented to a sexual act with a student, even if it was implied and not verbal. And he really had no idea what sort of girl Rosa was. If scorned, she could easily cry rape. She’d probably get away with it too.

  Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Fucking hell, he didn’t want to deal with this right now. Rosa’s face broke into a wide, pleased smile, unaware of his inner conflict.

  “Excellent. I’ll try to set up reservations.” She turned on her heel.

  “Rosa, wait-” He tried to call after her, but it was too late. Grumbling to himself he climbed into the cab of the truck and drove home, glaring out the windshield the whole way.

  This shouldn’t be such a difficult decision. Yes, he’d had fantasies before, but he’d had a wife and a child.

 
He struck the steering wheel in a sudden surge of frustration. Had. Had was the operative word. He’d had a wife, and because of said wife, he barely saw Elle anymore. Bitterness welled up inside of him, the sick heavy feeling making his jaw ache and his stomach feel like lead.

  She was keeping Elle from him. Would soon, no doubt, introduce a new man to the household. And Elle would grow up calling the new man daddy.

  He hit the steering wheel again, a haze of tears blocking his vision for a moment. None of this was fair. None of the reasons she’d given made any sense to him. It just seemed like one day she’d decided she wanted better and had moved on.

  Why shouldn’t he indulge? He was single. He could fuck whomever he liked now. Maybe it would get his mind off of the utter insanity of his current situation.

  He pulled into the driveway. His house looked forlorn without the baskets full of flowers hanging from shepherd crooks just outside the front porch. Melanie had taken them to furnish her new apartment. The windows screamed with emptiness, bare of all the window clings that Elle had put up for Valentine’s Day and had not taken down until the move.

  He tried to ignore it as he cut the engine, climbed out and trumped up the walk to his house. The train of thought from the car was comforting. Yes, he decided as he pushed open his front door. He ought to move on, try to ease the ache of loneliness. Surely that was why this Rosa situation was affecting him so badly. Besides the tryst in the alley, how long had it been since he’d touched a woman? Six months? A year?

  He heaved a sigh of relief. That must be it. It was an itch he needed to scratch, had probably needed for months now, and once he satisfied it, this whole situation would seem much more manageable.

  He set his bag down beside the couch and then sprawled across it. He propped his head up with an elbow and closed his eyes. Yes. He’d find a woman. Maybe he’d try one of the new dating sites his brother was always talking about.

  But he wouldn’t be dating Rosa. She was beautiful and precocious but it wasn’t worth losing his job over.

  He sat up after a few more minutes, resolving to tell her that. He fished in his bag, finally coming across the copy of Rose in Summer that Rosa had given him. He smiled wryly, thinking for the first time that her selection had probably been purposeful.

  He had to wipe the indulgent grin from his face though. He had to be firm, and give her a solid denial. He opened the front cover and ignored the flirtatious note in favor of entering the phone number into his cell. He debated briefly on whether to call or text. Texting seemed like the coward’s way out. He’d gotten sick of all the “we need to talk” texts from Melanie.

  On the other hand, talking with Rosa wasn’t a good idea either. She had a way of discombobulating him, and he always came away from the situation feeling wrong-footed.

  “We can’t do this.” He finally texted. “I’m not going to date you, Miss McCall.”

  He lay back, breathing in deeply. He’d done the right thing. What he didn’t expect was her quick reply. He heard the rapid fire buzzing of his phone that meant multiple text messages. He’d gotten used to that sound during the divorce. The reply must be lengthy.

  Rick braced himself for a blistering lecture. Instead, he stared at his screen, riveted by the images on it.

  Oh my. He hadn’t expected her to have that pierced.

  He stared, transfixed by the dark pink, perfect areolas, the round fullness of her breasts, the flush of desire across her caramel skin.

  He flipped to the next image as if unable to help himself. Rosa had reclined on her bed, and he could just make out the deep burgundy of her bedspread beneath her. A small part of his brain wondered when she’d developed the obsession with red.

  But the greater part of his concentration was on the contents of the picture. The curve of one hip was visible, and he followed the line of it up and up. She’d tucked a frilly heart-shaped pillow at the juncture between her thighs, coyly keeping him guessing as to what her womanhood might look like. He didn’t care. His imagination sparked off many ideas in the absence of concrete evidence.

  He flipped through the texts, growing harder with every image. He cursed. This was exactly the sort of thing he ought to avoid.

  He supposed he had only a few choices. He could walk around the house, thinking about his grandmother, snails and other unpleasant things until it waned. He could shock it away with cold water, or he could indulge it, take a warm shower and let the drain wash away the evidence of his weakness.

  He decided on the last, and stripped his shirt off on the way to the bathroom. He set the phone on the counter. He ran the water, testing the temperature. Nothing seemed hot enough. Even the hottest setting felt cool on his feverish skin. He knew he’d scald himself, but he stepped under the spray anyway.

  Ah yes, that was nice. He spent a few luxurious minutes just lathering his body with soap. It didn’t help the problem, as he kept envisioning Rosa, but it felt good, cleansing even.

  He was too distracted dealing with said problem to realize he was not alone in the bathroom until he heard a soft gasp. His eyes flew open, and the soft sounds of pleasure he’d been making cut off immediately.

  He could see a familiar shape through the glass, though it was fogged with steam. He stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel hastily around his waist. It did nothing to disguise his state of agitation, unfortunately.

  Melanie was standing in the doorway, a package tucked beneath one arm, her keys dangling limply from her fingers.

  “Melanie, what are you-” He began.

  “I, erm, came to pick up a package.” She explained, still watching him with the same stunned expression.

  “Oh.” He said, belatedly remembering the books that had arrived over the weekend. She’d said she’d come by sometime to pick them up.

  Melanie’s eyes finally did a once over, traveling from his feet, taking in the rivulets of water still streaming down his body, and stopped at the bulge still apparent beneath the towel.

  She licked her lips suddenly.

  “I could help you with that.” She said, stepping closer. It was his turn to be surprised. They were divorced. She’d screamed at him for months and months. She’d left him, not the other way around.

  But then again, their love hadn’t been rational to start off with. It had been impractical, imperfect, passionate and beautiful. He couldn’t deny that there were nights he thought of her, where he missed her warmth beside him.

  He didn’t stop her when she set the packet aside. He didn’t protest when she stripped off the light blue cotton blouse she wore to reveal a pink bra beneath. Though he was grateful the latter landed on his phone, covering the screen completely.

  When she stepped beneath the spray with him, he drew her in close for a kiss. Melanie let out a breathless little moan when he pressed her against the shower wall, lifting her legs to wrap around his waist.

  His erection nudged her core gently. “Are you sure?” He asked.

  Melanie’s eyes fluttered closed and she smiled softly. “Yes, Rick, I’m sure.”

  He pushed into her, and she cried out. He tried to put Rosa from his mind. He had his wife in his arms. Tomorrow they could talk about Elle. He had his family back.

  This was where he belonged. On the way from the shower to the bed, he knocked the phone with its three waiting text messages into the garbage can.

  Chapter Five

  Melanie wasn’t there when he woke. It wasn’t altogether surprising, as she usually went in to work at six, when many of his classes didn’t start until eight. But it was somewhat disheartening all the same. He got around very slowly, glad that he wouldn’t be teaching Introduction to Texts until the following day.

  He knocked back several cups of coffee before leaving the house. Even so, the day dragged. He nearly fell asleep in-between his first two classes and made it to the next lesson with only five minutes to spare.

  So perhaps it was his luck on such a craptastic day that he’d run into Rosa McCall
on his way to lunch. And she was pissed.

  “You didn’t text me back,” she blurted after two minutes of stony silence.

  “Get out of my way, Miss McCall,” he said, injecting steel into his voice.

  “Not until you tell me why you didn’t text me back,” she said.

  He tried to step around her. He should have just stayed in the teacher’s lounge and reheated his lasagna there. But the student cafeteria had a station for fountain drinks, and he was desperately craving caffeine, if only to stave off the headache he felt building.

  She stepped in front of him again, and he had the insistent urge to push her, to send her sprawling onto the muddy ground and stain her perfection just a little.

  “Last chance, Miss McCall,” he said coldly, glaring down at her. She glared right back. He’d seen more impressive displays of hostility on Melanie’s face.

  “Just give me an explanation,” she begged, her stubborn expression giving way to uncertainty.

  He rounded on her, and the fury on his face caught her off guard. Her legs locked in place, and she wobbled slightly on her heels. Why was it always heels with this woman? No, not a woman. Rosa McCall was a little girl, stealing her mother’s heels and parading around as if she were grown.

  “What exactly were you expecting me to say?” he practically snarled. “Nice tits? Or did you want me to critique it on its artistic merit?”

  Her chin jerked up defensively, and she refused to make eye contact with him. He pressed on.

  “No. You wanted to be a little tease, in hopes you’d get what you want. And for the life of me I can’t figure out what that might be. You want an A? Fine, take it. You can have an A. Now leave me the hell alone.”

  He turned on his heel and began marching back towards his office. He wasn’t going into the school cafeteria where she could make a scene. He’d reheat his damn lasagna in the English department.

  Rosa’s heels clicked loudly on the sidewalk, and he heard every step clearly. Despite the fact that there were students streaming by in droves, all talking and laughing. She followed him into the building and past the administrative assistant at the desk. She smiled cheerily at them both and chirped.