[The Shifters Committee 05.0] Sensual Hero

by Rebecca Foxx

  “Baby…” he echoed, eyes wide at the sight of her unleashed. “I love you… my princess…”

  “My love… my love…” she whispered, still winding slowly, her body now soft and submissive.

  Luciano sat up and eased her on her back. He stood on his knees, grabbing her thighs firmly, dragging her into him, pushing into her, at first slowly and long and she moaned with each thrust and muttered:

  “My love… I love… I love you…”

  “Baby… oh… you are on fire…” he threw his head backward, eyes lost, with a deep tint of red on his cheeks and chest.

  She coiled her legs around his waist and drew him all inside her. He moaned and shuddered and she responded, his every sensation echoing through her.

  “Come… come to me…” she whined.

  He threw his body over hers, hugging her tightly, letting himself go, his skin wet, breath coming loud and abruptly pounding into her ever faster until he reached his release with a cry of pleasure.

  Tallah felt everything climbing to her head once again and for a moment, she didn’t know where she was anymore, then her eyes were lost in the fantastic sight of the Earth, out of his window.

  I’m on the Moon. She thought. When she came back, he was in her arms, breathing heavily, inside her still, a warm stream flowing between her thighs.

  She heard him chuckling softly and then he gathered her lovingly to his chest and fell to his side, with her in his arms. She was also wet and still dizzy and breathing heavily.

  She felt like laughing, too, and she chuckled in her turn to which he hugged her even tighter.

  Chapter 6

  When she remembered all that, Tallah realized she had not once thought of using a condom, or telling him to be careful.

  On the contrary, she had wanted to feel him coming inside of her, throbbing and pulsating, to fill her up with his essence. Never once she had thought about the possibility of becoming pregnant.

  Yet, that is exactly what happens when you make love passionately and unprotected, in the middle of your ovulating period. Note to myself.

  When they parted that night, it was with the promise that he would not look her up anymore. But somehow it didn’t feel like closure, but like the start of something more.

  Tallah had wanted to say that to him, but the next morning when she was taken to the starport, he wasn’t even on the same side of the moon as she was anymore. He had gone away on business.

  She was handed a substantial check and boarded the private shuttle. By the end of the day, she was back on Earth. By the end of the second week, she was feeling sick. And by the end of that night, she needed to decide what to do.

  She took her mobile in her hand, for maybe the tenth time and, for the tenth time, she remembered she didn’t have a number. She started when the intercom to her apartment rang suddenly.

  Who could it be at this hour? she thought.

  She almost jumped out of her skin when she heard his voice.

  “Tallah! Don’t hang up! I know I promised I wouldn’t look you up, but you’ve left with something of mine. Would you please let me come up?”

  She opened the door and while he climbed the stairs to her place, she fidgeted, smiled and covered her mouth. By the time he had gotten to the door, she had composed herself. When he came in, a hand behind his back, she scolded him:

  “What did I leave with? I am sure I…”

  Without a word, he handed her a moon flower, then he moved closer to her and lowered his forehead to hers, simply saying:

  “My heart.”

  Tallah felt tears filling up her eyes.

  “I…” she began, with a trembling voice. “I’ve left with something else… of yours.”

  “Oh?”

  She hugged her belly and looked at him, biting her lips, in excitement. Luciano smiled widely and hugged her, lifting her feet off the ground.

  ”I have hoped you had!”

  THE END

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  Professor Wolf

  Chapter one

  Since the time of her childhood, Alisha Stewart always had been enchanted by the treasures of yesteryear; those priceless artifacts that adorned, glorified and defined the eras of the past.

  Whether admiring some rare fossils from ancient civilizations or a sampling of glowing, glimmering Egyptian jewelry, she lost herself in the magic of the ultimate mementoes; the sole remainders and reminders of another time.

  So when she enrolled in the esteemed alma mater known as Princeton University, she decided immediately on a major that would allow her to explore her interest and longtime passion. As an archaeology student, she felt that she could immerse herself in the study of those mystical artifacts; yet, one year into her term of study, she felt a bit too immersed for her own comfort.

  Aside from taking on a full course load at Princeton, Alisha funded her tuition through a position as a head barista at Moon Dance Coffee House; a local café that claimed students and professors among its patronage, serving up coffees, cappuccinos, Frappuccinos, cocoas and teas brewed by hand in the Moon Dance kitchen.

  “My work schedule is morphing me into a fossil,” the 21-year-old mused now, suppressing a yawn as she stood in the low lit, clean tiled dining room of the Moon Dance; a place where she worked days and nights, 20 hours per week.

  “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I love my job; but after working on my feet for an eight-hour shift, the last thing I feel like doin’ is sitting through a lecture—even one that happens to concern a subject I love.”

  Of course, aside from out and out exhaustion, she faced another significant mental block; one that could prevent her from successfully passing a class that she had to complete in order to graduate.

  “My professor,” she thought now, biting her lip hard as she contemplated the instructor who taught her entry level archaeology class.

  Oh, make no mistake; as a certified instructor in ancient history and a number of related subjects, Damian Wolf had the knowledge and experience needed to educate and inform his students—and for the past five years, he had earned a stellar reputation on campus for reigning among the top teaching professionals in his subject and field.

  “No doubt, the dude is sublime at what he does,” she reasoned, adding as she smoothed the folds of her foot length scarlet hued work dress over the curves of her tall rubenesque form, “He does, however, boast a single fatal flaw in my eyes; one that makes it blasted near impossible for me to concentrate on a single word he says in class.”

  To put it simply: The dude was too hawt for his own good.

  “Not just hot,” she mused, adding as she arched her eyebrows to playful effect, “Michelangelo’s Statue of David is hot. This dude is HAWT.”

  Tall and statuesque with a muscular frame, Damian Wolf boasted a lush shoulder length mane of golden blond hair; a soft, luxurious mane that framed a chiseled face boasting azure blue eyes, carved cheekbones and full soft lips.

  “The man exists as a walking artifact, if that makes any sense—which it most assuredly does not,” she thought, smacking her lips as she considered the divine masculine beauty of her instructor.

  “Oh, not that he has any age on him—I do believe, in fact, that he is just a few years older than I am. I decided to take some time off between high school and college, whereas he probably hopped on the tenure track the moment that he stepped out of the womb. In all other ways, though, this dude has the beauty, intrigue and mystery of an artifact.”

  His mystery arose from the fact that no one on campus seemed to know overmuch about one of its most esteemed professors; other than a few select factoids that revealed almost nothing about his personal life.

  “I know that he’s unmarried. Yes!” she recalled, tossing her waist length ebony weave in a single smooth flourish. “He did have a girlfriend for a while last semester; a cute, skinny blonde teacher who left
him and the school, under very mysterious circumstances, to go home to her native country of Romania.

  I know that he lives alone off campus, in what is supposed to be an elegant manse—one so allegedly grand that it makes me rethink pursuing ye old teaching credential. I’ve also heard that he refuses to teach night classes—which is why I have to drag myself into his blasted classroom at 9 in the a.m. every Tuesday and Thursday, and after working a late night shift here at the Moon Dance.”

  Of course, she reminded herself once again, the inconvenient timing of their intellectual interactions did not in itself inspire her inability to concentrate on his lessons.

  “When the man is that unbearably hawt, it is difficult for any heterosexual female student to concentrate on his words—even one bright enough to earn admittance into a school like Princeton,” she reasoned, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “And to make matters worse, his speaking voice makes Sean Connery sound like Pee Wee Herman by comparison.

  When he speaks in that deep, smooth voice about “the lost treasures of another, better time” and the “golden mementoes that serve as our only reminders of a bygone era,” what’s a girl to do?! Whoa, babe!”

  Yet as much as she and her female classmates—and, she couldn’t help but notice, just a few of the males as well, the man was just that appealing—laughed and joked about their ‘pin up professor’—one sure to score a centerfold in Smexy Scholars Monthly—his overall effect on the smitten Alisha was truly no laughing matter; not when one considered the fact that her last two quiz grades had been less than stellar—pulling her class average down from an A to a B.

  “I always made it my ambition to earn a straight A record throughout my college career, just as I did in high school,” she mused, frowning with concern as she added, “Unless I earn a grade of A on our final exam, which just happens to be next week, I might as well kiss that dream good bye.”

  With little time to study and an ongoing struggle to concentrate in class, Alisha figured that the only way she could ace the final exam was to seek out Prof.

  Wolf for some after school tutoring sessions; yet considering the fact that she always had to rush off after class—either to hightail it to work or to another class, depending on the day—she couldn’t find the time to request after school tutoring sessions, let alone attend them.

  “I might as well forget it,” she released with a sigh, venturing behind the coffee bar to attend to a small stream of customers that had just poured forth through the clear paned, brass handled doors of the Moon Dance Coffee House.

  “Forget what, Ms. Stewart?”

  Freezing behind the bar, Alisha laughed in disbelief as she heard the deep sonorous sounds of an all too familiar voice.

  “OK Stewart, you are officially losing it,” she muttered aloud, adding as she shook her head from side to side, “In your addled mind, even the customers are beginning to sound like your hawt professor.”

  She froze again, and nearly spilled a pot of hot coffee all over her fire red pumps, as a round of deeply voiced melodic laughter met these last words; a stylish and soothing sound that could emanate from only our source.

  “The man even laughs sexy, blast him,” she mused, raising her eyes to meet the familiar blue eyed gaze of her archaeology professor, Damian Wolf.

  Dressed that evening in a sleek black muscle shirt and ultra-tight blue jeans, Damian Wolf regarded her with an unsettling azure eyed stare; his bronze skin and golden hair glowing in the low lights of the café dining room.

  “Good evening, Prof,” she spoke finally, adding as she gritted her teeth, “I said at least part of that mess out loud, did I not?”

  Again with the sexy laugh.

  “You did indeed, and I’m very flattered Ms. Stewart,” Damian told her, adding as he arched his eyebrows, “I’m also very pleased to find you here this evening.”

  He paused here, adding with the shrug of his bulging shoulders, “You have mentioned several times in class that you needed to speak to me about something. And since I needed a good strong cup of coffee anyway before heading home for the day, I thought that I might as well stop in and see what you had on your mind.”

  Grabbing a tall cinnamon hued mug from the side of the coffee bar, Alisha filled it to the rim with jet black brew and passed it across the bar to her watching professor.

  “You take your coffee black, correct?” she asked him, adding as she inclined her head sharp in his direction, “That’s always how you drink it in class.”

  Damian nodded.

  “You, young lady, are very observant,” he praised her, bringing his cup slowly to his full moist lips for a deep, fortifying sip.

  “Very observant,” Alisha repeated, tone dry and caustic. “Is that a nice way of saying that I can expect to receive a restraining order in my inner campus mail, any day now?”

  Tossing his head back in a leonine flourish, an amused Damian guffawed outright.

  “You, Ms. Stewart, are a delight,” he praised her, adding more seriously as he shuffled on the surface of his slick cherry red bench, “We must all times remember, however, to maintain a professional teacher/student relationship. So with that in mind, what questions did you have for me regarding my class?”

  Alisha frowned, shuffling her feet beneath her as she considered this question.

  “Well Mr. Wolf, you may have noticed that my grades in your class have slipped a bit since the beginning of the term,” she said finally, “Falling from supremely fabulous to just sort of fabulous, I guess you could say.”

  Damian nodded.

  “Indeed I have noticed this, and to tell you the truth I’ve been a bit concerned,” he admitted, adding as he narrowed his eyes in her direction, “During the early days of our semester, Ms. Stewart, I predicted that you would rank among the top students in the class. You were a bright, funny, enthusiastic student who—for a freshman year pupil—showed an amazing knowledge of archaeological history, in all civilizations.”

  He paused here, adding as he pursed his full lips in a show of confusion, “As of late, though, your test scores have not reflected your overall level of intellect and enthusiasm for our subject.”

  “In other words, I ‘ve been screwin’ up—and big time,” Alisha interrupted, adding as she looked her teacher straight in the eyes, “And that, Prof. Wolf, is precisely why I need to speak to you. If I stand even the remotest chance of passing your final next week, I’m going to need some extra attention from you.”

  She took in her breath as Damian met these words with a wolfish white toothed grin.

  “Do you now?” he asked her, tone softening as he seemed to consider the implications of these words.

  Alisha grinned.

  “Now heed your own words, Mr. Professor. We have to keep things all nice and professional!” she reminded him, wagging her manicured finger playful in his direction.

  “When I say extra attention, I’m speaking in reference to tutoring sessions. I haven’t had that much time to study this term, and you have to admit that you’ve been throwing a lot of information at us—so many different cultures and civilizations, and all of those pesky fossils, jewels, weapons and other assorted souvenirs that they left behind for us to study. Sheesh, didn’t the peoples of ancient civilizations ever clean their cribs?”

  Damian guffawed outright.

  “I do love your way of speaking, Miss,” he flattered her, adding in a more serious tone, “I am not so sure, however, that your plan is a workable one. It is against university policy to offer special tutoring sessions to students outside of class—under any circumstances.”

  He paused here, shaking his head from side to side as he told her in a conciliatory tone, “I’m so sorry Alisha, but I’m afraid I must decline your request.”

  Alisha looked at him for a long moment, contemplating his words as she refreshed his mug with a steaming stream of hot black coffee.

  “OK Prof, I’m going to get down to the brass tacks here,” she said final
ly, pinning him with a challenging stare. “I’ve heard you brag and boast in class about the fact that you have—what do you call it?—a perfect pass rate; that no student has left your class with anything lower than a grade of C,” she reminded him, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “Well let’s just put it this way. Our final exam, as you know, counts for half of our semester grade. If you so happen to decline my request, then you might as well host one heckuva going away soiree for that good ol’ perfect pass rate.”

  Damian thought a moment, then sighed.

  “All right then, we can meet for a half hour in the evenings—with my schedule, Alisha, that’s about the only time I have available,” he relented, adding as he waved a teasing finger straight in her direction, “You sure know how to hit a man where it hurts, you crafty woman.”