by Dark Angel
I finish the last of my wine and let the memories and the loneliness I suddenly feel sting together.
I've been fine with the bachelor life for so long. Didn’t care that my relationships never went anywhere. That no one ever interested me. I didn’t know what I was going to do with myself if that changed.
How would I ever find someone appropriate when I wanted Emmaline? Even if dating a student could work, that was really the least of my concerns. Fucking Joelle would skin me alive if she knew I was over here thinking about pawing her daughter.
Of course, that’s all assuming that I could date Emmaline. I’m thinking about fucking her…and suddenly I want to feed her dinner? Date her? Have a future with her? I’m just about the clingiest fucking creep there’s ever been. Give me a day and I’m going to be thinking about getting her pregnant.
Yeah…that offhand thought makes me nearly burn myself on the stovetop. Christ almighty, I never thought I’d have a kid of my own. But Emmaline, I can’t write her future for her, shit.
I shouldn’t see Emmaline until class in a few days. I need to give all of this insanity some mental space.
I finish my dinner and pour over The Mary Shelley Reader. My well-worn copy has such a frequent place at my table that I have bookends centering my table. Her concern with the results of emotional drama, well, they are my concerns now.
I’m one of those dramatic, literary obsessed types. That’s why I teach English courses in a college rather than running any of the media conglomerate that pays my bills. They called Mary a hack, they made fun of her, but Shelley was wise and gifted as her contemporaries. I wrote about her as much as I wanted during my time in school, and my family money, well, that meant I had certain loyalties in those that were supposed to be my teachers.
It's no wonder that my respect for authority has already shattered. I would abuse my authority to have Emmaline. I know about the artifice of academia, and if I did leave this world because I wanted to be with Emmaline, well, that’s my business.
Such grandiose ideas for a man who has never even kissed the woman he wants to sign his life away for.
I flip through the reader, enjoying Mary’s letter to Byron. She looked up at the Italian sky and saw only change.
Yes, that’s the way it works sometimes.
I punched out some shitty kids and I jerked off thinking about the girl they wanted to attack. I drank her weight in whiskey and wine, and ate a steak that cost more than her whole meal allowance for the month at the campus dining hall…but I know that the winds of change are all there is to see now.
I’m losing my shit. Even if I wait to see her until our next class, I’m going to lose my mind.
Spearing another green bean on my fork, I know something. It comes across my thoughts swiftly, but I know it sure as I know my own name.
I could leave her alone. I likely should leave Emmaline alone. I'm more willing to leave her alone than I am to go after her the way that I want to. I can shove down all these feelings, and jerk my cock off until I rip it off, but I’m not going to be the one that pursues her.
I don’t know that I’m strong enough to resist Emmaline should she put a move on me, but that’s another problem for another moment.
I wash my dishes, clean up the kitchen, and head off to bed with The Mary Shelley Reader. She’s the only lady I take to bed in my home…and no matter how much I want to change that, I’m going to be good.
Well, as good as I’ve ever been.
I know she’s not mine, but I’d rather be without Emmaline than hurt her.
Emmaline
I’m holding my paper for Ethan’s class in my hand like I’m holding a gift or something. I realize how fervently I’m clutching and smooth it out, loosen my grip, and walk into the classroom. I’m early — but so are a gaggle of leggy girls wearing the shortest things that can still be called shorts.
When I realize they are talking about Ethan, even though I want to hide in their presence, I listen in to hear what they're going to say about him.
I don’t catch much, something rumor-iffic was underway but oh well.
Everyone else starts shuffling into class and I realize that I’m not going to catch up with Ethan before class. Everyone is afraid to be late to his class.
“Hand in your assignments, and today’s lecture on voice in academic writing, and other writing, and we'll begin,” Ethan says.
I want to hide behind someone today like I did last class, but I can’t help peaking out from behind them to look at Ethan during the lecture. His sensual voice makes my nipples so hard they are practically blasting through my shirt and the hoodie I’m wearing. I wore something because I like to be able to shove a pen in the hoodie pocket for when the pen I’m using just up and dies during a lecture. I’m furiously taking notes, trying extra hard to pay attention.
“When you’re in that position,” Ethan says and clears his throat. I look up at him for that pause and catch him looking at me. I wait several seconds before slinking back, and I don’t hear a word he says!
I'm instead thinking about the positions I’d like to be in with him. Fuck, why is Ethan so sexy? I feel like my heart is going to stop beating. I missed the last sentence of what he said, and while I don’t want to take too detailed of notes and go into total overkill mode, I would like to maintain the context of the lecture.
Looking around, people are looking terrified or aroused. I must be silly and imagining that Ethan has ever showed any attraction to me. Not when so many people fawn over him. Is it my imagination that thinks he also enjoys the fear? The control?
Why does that turn me on so much?
My pen is in my mouth and I’m imagining Ethan telling me to take off my thong. I’m sitting here in a hoodie and I almost suck on the tip of my pen, imagining one of Ethan’s fingers in my mouth.
God, I have never been so attracted to someone. When Ethan starts listing off readings, I create little checkboxes for each and list them in my notes.
I’ve considered backing up my note taking with an audio recorder before, and I might need one for this class.
I can listen to the tape and make my notes more accurate. And then I can listen to them again and shove my hand down my pants like I wish I could now. I swear my clit is telling me to rub it. I generally don’t get much pleasure out of masturbating without my vibrator. Things feel good, when I touch myself, but I can’t make myself cum without the vibrator. I bite my lip now and listen to Ethan’s voice and I’m squirming in my seat. He gives so much homework, and even that turns me on! He appeals to my nerd side in a way that I didn’t know was possible. I think I might faint.
I look around again. No way anyone can actually smell how aroused I am? I think I can and I’m embarrassed. I feel like my pussy is wet enough to make my light pink sweatpants damp, and that’s just too embarrassing. I may die on the spot. I have to talk to Ethan after class, and not about my soaking wet pussy. I don’t see Aiden in the classroom today. Campus police hasn’t contacted me.
A line forms and plenty of people seem to want to ask Ethan questions. I wait, seeing how they fawn over him. He brushes them off, but Ethan keeps looking at me.
I think this is exactly what Delia would call eye-fucking. The intense look Ethan gives me, the air around us seems to literally heat up. His breath is caught in his chest, Ethan’s face goes still, his eyes narrow slightly, his head cocked a little to the side. How can so much intensity meet me, and then dissipate while he answers inane questions?
I keep waiting, wondering how the hell I’m going to make it out of here with the way he’s looking at me. My nipples are showing through a bra, a shirt, and a hoodie, for fuck’s sake. I had covered them up with my notebook, but when he looked at me the first time, I slid the notebook down. I wanted him to see my nipples and I'm betting that even at this distance he can. The line gets shorter and his looks get longer.
Maybe he really can’t wait to talk to me, as much as I want to talk to him? The thought is fi
re to my body, sin against my skin.
When it's finally just the two of us in the room, I take a second to try and breathe. The space between us closes to just within arm’s reach, and that realization almost makes me forget what I was coming to talk to him about.
“Thank you so much, Professor Wesley—”
“Ethan,” he corrects me.
“Ethan,” I say, savoring the taste of his name on my lips. I think of him as Ethan already, but I think I actually wanted him to correct me, and I don't know why.
Oh, God.
Because I know that what might be happening between us is wrong. I want to hear him press for it. And even though he told everyone to call him Ethan, or Dr. Ethan, we both know this is different.
“Ethan,” I repeat, knitting my eyebrows. Pursing my lips for a second. “I appreciate you saving me. I haven’t heard from campus police yet about…”
I don’t want to say it.
I don’t even want to talk about this.
Ethan puts his hand on my shoulder, letting it grip around the curve of my upper arm.
I inhale sharply at his touch, licking my lips instantly at just the contact of his hand on my skin.
“They’re gone,” Ethan says.
That’s all he says!
“How can that be possible with no one getting my side of the story? I’m sure that they didn’t confess…”
That’s supposed to be Ethan’s opening to respond. Instead, he’s gathering his bag to leave. “I handled it,” he says with a calm finality.
But I won’t be so easily dismissed. I don’t doubt that he’s taken care of the situation, but I feel like I need to know how. I follow him out of the building.
“Be more observant,” Ethan instructs.
What? I don’t know what that's supposed to mean, but I follow him out the steps of the building, listening to his words in my mind. They’re echoing off the inner chambers of my thoughts.
Ethan starts to walk off and I don’t understand what he means until I see him look back at the building.
Then I look up and see ‘WESLEY’ written on the building.
There’s prestige, and there’s name-written-on-the-building prestige.
“Wow,” I say before I stop myself from sounding like a stupid little girl.
I see a faint grin forming on his lips from the profile view that I have of Ethan, and I don’t know if it's because he’s amused by me or not. Does he think I’m some twit?
I hurry to catch up with him. “Did you get him kicked out?” I ask in a quiet voice, like we’re in some clandestine meeting and not walking through a relatively empty area of campus.
“I have a meeting now, but after your next class you can come to my office if you’d like to discuss it,” Ethan says. I watch his lips as he talks, then follow up his face to the way his eyes are looking at me with that same intense heat.
“Your office,” I say. “Yes.” I pause, then reach out and touch his arm. “I’ll see you there,” I say, and turn because my class is in the opposite direction.
What am I doing? I so need to talk to Delia about this … but I don’t know if there’s really any ‘this’ to discuss. I don’t know if I even should.
Right now, I need to focus on my chemistry class. Later…well, these are matters to discuss with Ethan.
Alone.
In his office.
Emmaline
I’m waiting outside of Ethan’s office, fidgeting my fingers together in front of me. I can’t stop thinking about what I overheard. One of the gossip girls in my last class was in my chemistry class, and she was telling someone else that Aiden was leaving school because he's in the hospital. They were saying that he’d been in some accident, but Aiden’s only accident I knew of was fucking with me when Ethan was there to save the day. I’m worried about the whole affair — and I know maybe it's wrong but I’m actually worried for Ethan. I remember his knuckles and think that I should maybe feel bad for Aiden. But fuck that. He maybe got more of the shit beat out of him more than he deserved, if he’s in the hospital, but I just don’t want Ethan to get in trouble. Perhaps I should be frightened by him. But I want Ethan now, then, more than ever.
When I hear the clicks of his shoes heading toward his office, the dizzy sensation that sweeps over me almost knocks me over. The low heat burning in my stomach makes my cheeks heat. I look into his eyes, seeing the green glint along with the deep, rich brown of his eyes. The slight graying in his dark hair only makes Ethan look every bit as dignified as he is. The strength of his jawline makes me want to reach out and touch his face.
His is the first hands to extend, touching my hand softly. Not for any real reason, I suppose, other than to feel what he must be feeling too. The electric current between us.
“Hope you haven’t been waiting long,” Ethan says with a mischievous grin. I don’t know what to read into that, but I enjoy it all the same.
“Not much,” I say, suddenly out of breath. “Did you really get Aiden expelled?” I have to ask. I feel like if I don’t say something now then I’ll forget everything and just press my hands against his chest to feel him again. The idea of Ethan’s warmth beneath his shirt, making contact with my palm, well, I think that would just about knock me out. The idea makes my pussy ache with need.
“Please, step inside,” Ethan says. Despite the words, his tone is commanding. Ethan never asks a question without the answer being only part of the inquiry. Right now, there’s no question at all, but an order.
And like every order he offers me, I’m desperate to obey. Ethan gives me feelings I don’t understand and I can’t begin to ignore.
I step into his office and I realize this is the first time we’ve ever been truly alone. I close the door behind us.
Ethan is standing just inside the doorway, close enough for my shoulder to brush his when I turn around. Shivers run up my spine at the close contact.
“Did you know Aiden’s in the hospital?” I repeat the gossip, but state it as fact. I can interrogate relatively well, even if I’m not a pro like Ethan at getting the truth.
“He deserved worse for touching you,” Ethan says under his breath, almost like he didn’t mean to say the words. I could've missed them because he said them so lightly. “Yes,” Ethan says, pressing his lips together. He exhales. “Does that frighten you?”
Another question, fully loaded.
The double shot of question he offers up goes right to my belly. “Yes,” I say, my eyes on his shoes, in front of me but between my own legs, the way we’re standing. My heart, my skin is all fluttering. A nervous, anxious tide runs through me. “No,” I say now. I look up at him. “Why would you do so much for me?” I ask, and my question is at once purely what I need to know, coming from my mouth before I knew my voice was acting again, and has its own rider — I want to know where he is concerning me, period.
“The past repeats, and I seek to be a better man…but that’s not really all that’s changed,” Ethan says.
His cryptic remarks twist my stomach up more, make my breathing shallow, and then he fingers a tendril of my loose waves next to my face.
“My mother mentioned you were friends…are friends?” I say. I don’t even wish I hadn’t brought up my mother, even though the only real thing on my mind is Ethan. I crave him more than oxygen, and I feel so deprived, like I’ve never seen the sun. I want to burn with him.
Ethan laughs, a sound without a smile. The laugh doesn’t meet his eyes, there’s no joy in that laugh. Pain. More cryptic memories dredged up from the past. He steps closer to me, dropping the lock of hair and brushing his fingers against my jawline. “Perhaps we can be friends,” he says in a low, sensual voice.
My pussy is on fire right now. The ache of my nipples is vicious, harsh against the fabric. If I stepped just a breath closer, I’d be brushing them against him. The idea is so tantalizing that I hope that large breath I suck in will do the dirty work for me. “I know what you really mean. I like your games…but
that’s not what I want to play right now,” I say, surprising myself.
Then again, I may be a virgin and I may not be a social butterfly, but I'm damned ambitious. I go after what I want, and I go after it hard.
I step closer to him, deleting the space between us to feel his hardness press against me, for my nipples to brush against the firm wall of his chest. I gasp, my heart plummeting to my stomach at the sensation of further contact. “I want you,” I say. It's somehow the filthiest, best sentence I've ever uttered. I hear wings and velvet behind my mind, the sound of clothes dropping and lips making contact. If Ethan doesn’t kiss me, I will kiss him.
The idea of kissing Ethan, pouring all this need bubbling and boiling inside me into him, makes me ache. I stand on my tiptoes, my hand touching his where it lingers on my face. I pull his fingers to my lips, kissing the fingertips, and then I press my lips to his bottom lip. Then I sweep my lips over Ethan’s upper lip, and I finally close my lips over his, taking his mouth as mine.
But whatever passion I have is exponentially multiplied in his movements. First Ethan traps my head in his hands and kisses me so fervently that my feet drop to the ground. I’m pressed helplessly against him. I can’t breathe, and I inhale him, our lips dancing together, tongues against tongues. His claiming kiss, his possessive hold, makes my brain melt in the fire erupting over my skin.
Never did I think a kiss could so utterly capture me and draw out every ounce of pleasure in my body like this one has. My pulse is fast, the needle of the pace ready to crack glass inside me. Because I’m shattered at Ethan’s kiss. One of his hands drops down to dip under my shirt. His fingers against the small of my back make me shiver with need.