Words of Lust

by Lise Horton

  He pulled on a sweatshirt as he headed away from the site, glancing at his watch. He was too late to get home to his parents’ for dinner—if you were late, better not come at all was his mom’s golden rule, so he figured he’d stop at D’Agostino’s and pick up a steak or something. He needed a nice cold beer or three, too. There was probably something on TV, and one quiet night at home wouldn’t kill him.

  In the end, though, he spent way too much time thinking about The Professor, as he’d started thinking of her as he’d watched her hurry down into the subway, all that gorgeous flesh moving real nice under the silky dress she was wearing. Something to be thankful for when it came to early springtime, for sure. She’d had a snooty expression in the beginning, but after he’d apologized for Boxer, she’d lightened up. And then she smiled and man, oh man, his dick saluted like she was a four-star general. A walking, talking green-eyed wet dream.

  Who’d have thunk it? A big lug like him, hard as cement over an egghead college professor. He loved reading, but she wasn’t teaching crime fiction and the only poems he knew usually started something like “There was a girl from Nantucket.” But even if she was out of his league in the book department, they’d had a serious spark. When you got down to basics, attraction was about a man and a woman. The rest wouldn’t matter. And he’d liked the way she looked right at him, and the way she smiled. He wanted to see her relaxed and laughing, enjoying herself, and he’d love to be the man who got her to let her hair down. He thought about her all night long, as he flipped from Spike to the History Channel and surfed until he was bored, then shut off the set. He couldn’t get the memory of her out of his mind and when he’d finished his second beer, he dug out her card. It was plain white with her name, Professor Serafina Luca, a phone number and an email address. He called but got her voicemail, so he left a message saying he’d like to make it up to her for that morning’s altercation and apologize again by taking her out to dinner. Not very original, but a guy had to start somewhere.

  A hot shower helped ease the knots from his shoulders and back, but he should have taken a cold one to take the steel out of his dick. He closed his eyes and recalled images of her round ass and those world-class breasts, envisioning her incredible mouth wide open. He fisted his soap-slick palm around his cock and began to stroke himself. She had the kind of lush lips he loved to kiss hard, feel against his skin, the kind that looked amazing around his dick. Sucking and licking, while he held on to her head, guiding her to take him deeper and deeper down her willing throat. He imagined the suction from a hot mouth, the humming moan as he thrust harder. She’d be kneeling at his feet, the water streaming over her luscious breasts, and down across her stomach and pussy, the curling hair sparkling with drops of water. And her own juices as she got wetter and wetter for him. She’d flick her little tongue and he’d come, hard and fast, and she’d swallow it all while she stared up at him, those big green eyes begging for everything he’d give her. He tightened his grip and gave a few short, hard jerks and shot his load across the shower. It felt damn good, but real satisfaction would require Serafina Luca’s presence. In the flesh. The gorgeous, sweet, round flesh.

  The aggravation of the day had worn him out, but he wasn’t ready to hit the sack yet, so he sat down at the computer and Googled the good professor and Wharton College. Figured a little reconnaissance wouldn’t hurt his cause if she actually agreed to go out with him. Then maybe he could hit the bookstore and buy a couple of the books the site mentioned were part of her curriculum so they’d have something to talk about. Maybe he could impress her.

  Like his baby sister Gia said—you had to have goals.

  Professor Serafina Luca was listed as a newly tenured professor in the English Department. Wharton College—named after “Manhattan’s own female literary icon, Edith Wharton”—was some super-small private college on the Upper East Side. Lots of pictures of artsy-looking girls on the streets around the old buildings that apparently made up a kind of patchwork campus. Certainly no Columbia, but it looked nice to him. He’d taken all his courses at City College but hadn’t done anything with his bachelor’s degree afterward because all he really wanted to do was work with his hands. It had made his mom and pop proud, though, so it was worth it. And a bachelor’s in architecture made an impressive addition to his resume, and had helped him get the supervisor slot with Hocking & Delouise.

  He clicked on her name and was taken to her bio page, where it talked about places she’d taught and things she’d written. She looked pretty in her picture, too, though he could tell she’d dressed to look serious and intellectual. She just looked like a gorgeous woman wearing seriously boring clothes.

  He printed out some of the stuff about her classes so he could look up books. Just in case, he told himself. Then he was diverted from his horny plotting by a call from his mom. Calling to bust his chops, no doubt, for missing dinner.

  “Hey, Ma.”

  “Where were you tonight? I made your favorite lasagna.”

  “Way to hurt a guy. I was stuck at work. Had to fire someone today and then play catch-up all afternoon.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He was drinking and harassing some lady who walks past the site in the morning. Grabbed her and got pushy. And it wasn’t the first time.”

  “Then I’m glad you fired him. Men like that are pigs.”

  “I know, Ma. I’m glad I fired him too.”

  “But probably wasn’t worth missing my lasagna, huh?”

  “No way. But I’ll be there tomorrow night, okay? Will you make me some sausage and peppers if I promise not to be late?” Her sausage and peppers was a close second to her lasagna, though basically anything she made could bring a hungry man to his knees.

  “All right. I’ll give you another chance. But don’t be late this time or I’ll invite Denise Campanello to Sunday dinner.” She clicked off, leaving him groaning in frustration.

  Denise Campanello. They’d made out one Fourth of July when they were sixteen. She’d gone down on him, which he’d been young and horny enough to love, and it led to a few dates over the years, but they just never clicked and ultimately he broke it off. Ever since, she turned up at every party, wedding, celebration—hell, even funerals—trying to get on his good side, whispering all the raunchy things she’d let him do to her in his ear. He liked women who knew what they wanted, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Besides, Denise’s obsession with Thighmasters, StairMasters, any kind of exercise master had left her so toned you could bounce a quarter off her abs. He had a thing for women with a soft side and soft curves. Round women with long, dark hair and big green eyes.

  He smiled as he called to mind Serafina’s curves, that sweet ass and breasts made for a man’s hands to squeeze. Or his mouth to taste. Guaranteed wet-dream material, it was the image that stuck with him as he set his alarm and turned out the lights, still hard and smiling as he closed his eyes.

  Chapter Two

  “Hey, handsome!” Gia jumped him before he got out of the entry hallway of his parents’ house. She smothered him with kisses until he pulled her off and tossed her onto the sofa.

  “Geez, Gia, aren’t you a little old for the leech routine?”

  “Bite me, big brother.” She turned and wiggled her ass at him and he swatted her playfully. His middle siblings were all sprawled around the living room while his mom hollered at them from the kitchen and his pop watched the horseplay with paternal pride. He had to give it to them. They had parented a herd of good people. He took a deep, satisfying breath of the spicy aromas floating out from his mom’s place of pride and joy and he escaped the madhouse in the living room and headed in to give her a hug—and steal a hunk of sausage.

  “Nicky! C’mere and give me a kiss.” She held his cheeks with sticky fingers and planted a big kiss on him. She hugged him and he dropped an arm around her shoulders.

  “Only you can make me feel like a little kid again, Ma.”

  “To me you’re all my kids
. That’ll never change.” She turned back to the pots on the stove as she tucked a strand of curly hair behind her ear.

  There was more gray in her hair these days, and laugh lines a bit deeper than they had been. His mom and pop were getting older, as were his brothers and sisters. Maybe it had been the expectations that as the eldest, he’d watch over the others. Maybe it was just his own protective nature, but he always worried, handed out advice and kept tabs on all of them.

  Thinking of his protective instincts reminded him how he’d come to The Professor’s defense. He smiled and his mom poked him.

  “That’s a naughty smile on your face, Niccolo.”

  “Thinking about a girl. A nice Italian girl.”

  “At last. So you’ll be bringing her home to a Sunday dinner? Not like all those other girls you’ve never introduced us to? Does this one know her way around the kitchen at least?”

  “I have no idea if she can cook or not. I just met her yesterday. It’s the lady I told you about, from the job site.”

  “Excellent! So you were her knight in shining armor? Good, good. That means she’ll remember you. Have you asked her out yet?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did. I left a voicemail message for her.”

  “Voicemail? What kind of a way is that to get a date?”

  “Welcome to the twenty-first century, Ma.” He squeezed her shoulder, grabbed a sausage, even though he burned his fingers, and evaded her swat, leaving her laughing and stirring the massive stockpot of sauce.

  “Did I hear you say you asked a girl out? Looking to end the drought, big brother?” Vincenzo grinned and punched him.

  If he’d had a nickel for every time his brothers punched him, he’d be buying buildings instead of building them. He swung at his brother’s head, but they’d grown up learning to move quickly if they wanted to avoid endless whacks.

  “Maybe you should give her my number so she can date a real man instead of a cheap imitation,” Berto teased loudly from the sofa where he was simultaneously holding Gia down and mussing her Goth hairdo. Her squeals of outrage mingled with the chattering of Cara’s two toddlers.

  He fetched himself a glass of the ever-present Chianti and joined in the fun. Everyone chatted amiably, just catching up since they’d all been together at dinner the prior weekend. Gia, in particular, was all excited about how she was doing in the second half of her sophomore year at college.

  “I’m so glad I transferred to Wharton. It’s much more challenging.”

  “As a matter of fact, the lady I met yesterday is a professor at Wharton. Maybe you know her. Professor Serafina Luca?”

  “Oh my God! Luscious Luca!”

  “Watch your mouth, Gia!” his mom admonished.

  “What did you call her?”

  “That’s what the boys call her—all the jerks who sign up for her class just to hear her talk dirty.”

  “What?” His mom’s shock grew. “What kind of teacher talks dirty to her students?” She cast a jaundiced eye in his direction. He squirmed.

  “She doesn’t. Like I said, the guys are all jerks. She teaches a couple of different courses, but her Flesh and the Word class is always booked—and the waiting list is a long one. But the only students who ever drop are usually those same guys when they find out how much homework and reading she assigns, that she’s a tough grader, and the class isn’t filled with horny girls.”

  “I’m afraid to ask,” he interrupted, “but what makes Flesh and the Word such a popular class?”

  “It’s the study of erotic literature and writings.” She munched some Italian bread and looked around the table, expecting more interest at her statement. His brothers snickered, his parents looked shocked and only his sister Cara looked mildly intrigued.

  For his part he had to admit—intrigue was his reaction too. Given The Professor was the epitome of a sensual woman, whose big green eyes, thick curly black hair, lush lips and a Gina Lollobrigida figure could stop traffic, knowing she spent her days reading the erotic classics made for a smoking-hot picture. And any conversation they had about her work would be far more fun than he’d originally anticipated. He was looking forward to getting some of those books after all.

  The silence that had descended upon the table was finally broken.

  “What does erotic literature mean, exactly?” his mother asked.

  “Dirty books, Ma,” Alberto chimed in before making an obscene tongue gesture at Nick.

  “Grow up, moron,” he retorted and leaned away from the swat his mother sent toward his head.

  “Stop that, Berto, I can still come around there and smack you too.”

  Gia snorted in disgust. “See, guys never grow up.” She turned to her mother, a glow of interest lighting up her face. “It’s about the classics of erotic literature. Anaïs Nin, Nabokov, D. H. Lawrence, Henry Miller.” She glared at all the men, including him, and he felt her scorn at all the gutter-minded males in the world.

  “How about them Yankees?” Vincenzo reached across the table for the bread and his comment broke the tension. It led to laughter and to sports arguments, and he was relieved to have the topic of The Professor and her dirty books off the table.

  After dinner broke up, he offered to give Gia a ride back to her student apartment, hoping to pick her brain about Luscious Luca and those dirty books.

  She was loaded down with her backpack and a massive pouch he called the black hole, from which she was just as likely to pull a rabbit as a wallet, and climbed into the passenger seat of his battered truck. He was thrilled when, without prodding, she returned to the subject of Luscious Luca as they headed over the 59th Street Bridge to the Upper East Side.

  “She’s really a fabulous teacher, and there’s nothing dirty about the books or the class. That’s just small minds.”

  He had to smile. She’d always been the sharpest and most opinionated of the Stellato kids, except during sports debates, which regularly brought the brothers to blows. She loved school more than any of them so it was great to hear her talk, even if her newfound status gave her a bit of a swelled head. She deserved it. She’d worked hard throughout school, earned scholarships and was getting great grades.

  “Talk to me. What’s your favorite book so far?” He figured maybe he could pick up something she’d read and he’d have a segue into the conversation if he and The Professor had a date.

  When they had a date.

  “Wow. Tough question. I mean, de Sade’s twisted and his stuff is dark and off-the-charts sadistic. Nin is more, hmm, cerebral, and of course hers is the female perspective. Lawrence is okay. Maybe Henry Miller? He’s really macho and graphic, but he taps into the male sexual soul. Anaïs Nin was actually Miller’s lover, and their letters are steamy too. But there are some erotic romance novels out there, too, that are incredibly hot. Luca mentions them and compared a few of them to the classics. How popular fiction today replaces what was literary fiction in the past.”

  “I thought you were all about the highbrow stuff.”

  “A girl can be widely read, dude. Don’t make fun of romance novels or I’ll have to hurt you.”

  “Truce, okay? So since I want to impress this professor when we have our date, you think I should read some Henry Miller?”

  “If you can take the heat, dude.” She smiled and he tweaked her spiky hair.

  “I’m a very deep guy, I’ll have you know.”

  “How about I email you my curriculum reading list for this semester and you can pick one? I’ll even put a check mark next to the easy ones.”

  He nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  “I’d loan you some copies, but I don’t want to get them back with the pages all stuck together.”

  He tried to ignore that his baby sister was talking about him jerking off.

  “Not to worry. I’ll pick up my own—but way to talk, gutter mouth.”

  “I didn’t say a thing. It’s all in the interpretation. The French even have a saying for it, honi soit qui mal y pen
ce.”

  “And what does that mean, smarty-pants?”

  “Basically, dirty is in the mind of the beholder.”

  “Gee, thanks.” He pulled up in front of the 83rd and East End Avenue apartment building that was part of the Wharton student housing. She loved the small studio single because, she’d said, after growing up with four brothers and sisters, she’d kill for privacy.

  “You want me to talk you up to Luca? I’ll put in a good word you’re the least ignorant of all my brothers.”

  “Don’t strain yourself. Besides, I can read. I’m not a complete slacker.” He may have sounded a bit testier than he’d meant to and she leaned over and hugged him with a smile.

  “Seriously, dude. I just want you to wow her. We can’t have Mom fixing you up anymore. It’s embarrassing.”

  He remembered the New Year’s Eve bash Denise had finagled an invite to and shuddered. “Yeah, put in a good word that I’m loyal, a dedicated son, good with his hands...” He flushed as she grinned maniacally.

  “Trust me when I say that’s what every woman wants to hear.” She grabbed her purse and gave him a smacking kiss on the cheek.

  “Geez, cut the sex talk, little sister. You’re skeeving me out.”

  “Can’t take a joke anymore, can you, big bro? Must be you’re getting old.” She leaped out and slammed the door of the truck as he hollered back.

  “You don’t know when to stop, do you?” She ignored his bellow and ran up the steps, waving as she disappeared inside and he pulled into traffic wondering when his kid sis had grown into a woman who read dirty books and made snarky comments about masturbation.

  Traffic at that hour was manageable as he headed back over to the West Side and his loft in the Meatpacking District. He’d bought it just as the district was getting all hip and trendy and while he wasn’t fond of the obnoxious crowds from the bars and clubs, he loved his space in the historical section of the city. There were some great old buildings and good restaurants. His loft itself had been a huge project of his own design he’d undertaken with gusto. It was worth the annoyance to be able to escape into his private space, cook, listen to his tunes and have a beer while looking out into the distance at the water.