by Teagan Kade
I watch from the steps of the restaurant as she gets out, bare legs showing under her quilted coat, her hair washing around her shoulders… and heels—black, strappy, no doubt turning her already perky ass tight as a Californian plum.
She stands before me looking sheepish, far removed from the teacher I know in class.
“You came,” I state.
“Twice, if I recall,” she smiles, a hint of cheekiness showing.
I offer her my hand. “Let’s make it three, shall we?”
We’re greeted at the entrance, one of the staff materializing to help us out of our coats. I expected Harper to look amazing regardless, but the silky strapless she’s wearing blows my fucking mind. If I keep staring at it, I’m likely to blow something else.
The close-fitting top falls into cascading frills cut high to show off her legs. It’s lipstick red, the brightest thing I’ve seen since I arrived in Branton. I know fashion. I know women. There’s no way she isn’t wet simply slipping that thing on.
Harper’s looking at me with concern. “Everything okay?”
Fuck me. I can’t stop staring at her, at this grand slam of a dress so hot it’d make Jessica Rabbit blush. “You could say that. You look…”
“Silly?”
“No, you look amazing.”
She blushes. “Thank you. It’s Mindy’s, actually. I told her I needed something sexy and she said my wardrobe was a ‘Mary Poppins-inspired clusterfuck of fashion faux pas,’ thus…” She smooths the dress down, still looking unsure. “And you… You’re wearing a sports blazer.”
I’m still salivating at the way she said ‘fuck.’
I take hold of the navy lapel of my blazer. “Dunhill, perfected over a century.”
She’s shaking her head in astonishment. “I mean, how? How does a guy your age even get away with wearing that and not looking like…?”
“Archaic?” I fill. “You can get away with a lot when you’re a Beckett.”
“So I imagine.” She looks up at the cedar wood ceiling, the contemporary way it’s been crafted to look like an overturned boat. “What even is this place?”
“Canaque, I believe. It’s only been open a week, what I’m assured is the coming culinary jewel of the region.”
“You read that in the local paper?”
“My Insta feed, actually.”
“Let me guess, full of your former conquests, duck-face beauty queens, and bro bible quotes?”
I stand beside her, run my hand down the bare shallow of her back until my hand rests an inch above the crack of her ass. “Nothing, no one compares to this,” I tell her, letting my fingers dance over the silky globes of her buttocks. My hand stops, a knowing smile telling me she knows exactly what I’ve discovered. “You’re not wearing any…”
She puts a finger to her lips. “It is a little breezy outside.”
If my dick was hard before she arrived, I could hammer nails with it now.
“This way, please,” a cheerful staff member beams, directing us to a table next to floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a lake at the back of the property. This is my kind of place. Even LA never drummed up this kind of class.
I order wine, conversation flowing just as easily between us. Hand-shelled mud crab, smoked Blackmore wagu… The food’s fucking good, even by my lofty standards.
“You know,” says Harper, her eyes sparkling with the same highlights as her wine glass, “James used to take me to this place, this crappy Italian restaurant called Pepe’s in town. He thought I loved it, but the food was terrible—reheated slop he thought was as authentic as the Leaning Tower of Pisa.”
I raise my wine glass. “I hope I’m doing better.”
“You are.” She smiles. “And there’s still dessert to come.” The way she trills the last word tells me I’m in for something far better than crème brûlée.
But I know precisely what kind of dessert I want—another taste of the sweet delights between her thighs, my tongue darting in and out of her heat. I keep my composure, surveying the menu. “There’s ten-textured chocolate cake, if you’re keen.”
She cups her ear. “Did someone say chocolate? Consider my chastity belt unlocked, O sugary one.”
“You really like chocolate, huh?”
She looks into her glass. “My father was a chocolatier and his father, Swiss, before him.”
“So you’re part-Swiss?”
“Part-French, too, which I suppose is how I ended up in Montreal. Mom was a professor at McGill, basically as close to Ivy as you’re going to get up here.”
“Cultural studies too?”
“Philosophy, which is probably worse given the navel-gazing she used to get up to.”
“Where are they now, your parents?”
I see her swallow before she meets my eyes. “Dad passed a couple of years ago, cancer, Mom early last year in a car crash. Drunk driver.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. They led full lives. They were respected in their fields.”
“Is that what you want?” I ask, careful to moderate my tone. “To be respected?”
Harper places her wine glass down and presses her hands together on the table before looking back up to me, her eyes wet. “I was.”
“You’re worried about us, here? We’re thirty miles out of Branton. No one from that backwoods college is going to show up here.”
“No, you don’t get it. Us meeting like this?” she points between us. “Yes, it’s a bad idea, but as for respect? I can’t imagine I’m ever going to get it at Branton.”
I’m confused. “So… why are you here, considering you hate it so much?”
Her composure starts to crack. There’s something she’s not telling me. I want to know what it is, what makes her tick and work and go about her day. More than ever, I want to know this woman beyond what’s between her legs or what happens between the sheets. It’s not a feeling I’m familiar with, but I’m as desperate to know her mind as much as what turns her on. I need to know. “Tell me, Harper. What are you trying to hide? A kid? A giant debt? A third nipple, because I’d totally be into that…”
“No. I don’t have any secrets per se. I just… wanted more for myself. That’s all.”
“But you’ve got the smarts, the passion. I see it every day when I come to class. You make even the most mundane subjects interesting,” I tell her. “So, why don’t you go out and get it, the ‘more’?” I don’t want to sound patronizing, but I’m genuinely curious.
She looks at me directly. “I did—once. I attended McGill myself, you know, a PhD student to a professor there, but he… he wanted me to be more to him. I turned him down and he threatened to ruin me. And then he did, just like that,” she clicks her fingers, “no ‘innocent until proven guilty’ or inquisition, just a quiet kick in the ass out of there, my dignity and reputation in tatters.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“You’re right, and the craziest part? I never said anything to defend myself. I kept thinking it would make things worse.”
I reach across the table and take her hands in mine. “Harper, you can stand up for yourself. You should.”
She starts to cry, wiping away a tear with the back of her hand.
“Oh, hell. I didn’t mean to—” I start.
“No, no,” she says, smiling again, “it’s just that no one’s ever really said that to me, or… you know, given me a…”
“Orgasm?” I whisper, throwing her off.
“That too.”
“And that is a damn fucking shame.”
She straightens up, sniffing. “But enough of the doom and gloom, did someone say chocolate cake?”
*
The conversation inevitably moves to my own situation. I detail the first time I came to Canada, right after I was booted from Abbotsleigh. I lasted all of a week back then being jetting down to LA for my brother Hunter’s treatment, sunshine and sand.
“But why were you expelled from Abbotsleigh in the fi
rst place?” she asks. “It must have been pretty serious given your father’s influence.”
The less said about Dad, the better, but I answer her question all the same. “There was this prick, Dwayne, giving my older brother Cayden shit, trying to force himself on Cay’s girl at the time, now wife. We were at a bar and he tried to have a go at her, called her a slut, and that was enough. I snapped.”
“You were in a barfight?”
That I have to laugh at. “A couple, you could say, but that particular one was what got me my marching orders.”
“Isn’t the older brother supposed to stick up for the younger brother?”
“And he has, on many occasions. We have each other’s back, you know.”
“But they just let you get expelled?”
“It’s wasn’t that clear cut. Cay and Hunter were tied up in the football team, all big money and sponsorship. I was a freshman playing lacrosse. I was expendable so the college could keep its shiny rep and Dwayne’s daddy could be sated justice was served.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shrug, and honestly it doesn’t bother me much anymore. I’ve matured… a bit. “I was impulsive back then. I should have known better.”
“You still seem rather impulsive if recent events are anything to go by.”
“I see what I want and I go after it. We all do.”
“Your brothers?”
“That’s right.” The wine has loosened my tongue. “But I can’t see them coming up here to this icy hell hole.”
“To borrow your line, you really hate Branton that much?”
I press my knee between her legs. “Well, it’s not all bad.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
HARPER
Colton pays and I find myself sad the meal is over, that this perfect night has come to an end.
As if reading my mind, Colton holds up what looks like a credit card. “We’re not done yet.”
“We’re not?”
He flicks the card over in his fingers. “This isn’t just a restaurant. It’s part of a hotel.”
“…And you booked a room,” I finish. “That was very presumptive of you.” I smile, growing wetter by the second at the thought of an entire night spent with Colton away from campus and its watching eyes.
He takes my hand. “Well, it’s either that or a really long walk home, so if I was you, I’d take out my cell and text my friend I won’t be home tonight.”
“Where am I going to tell her I am?”
The smile that comes to his face is pure sin. “Heaven.”
*
‘Heaven’ is a pretty good description of the hotel room. It’s above the restaurant looking out over the lake and the forest beyond turned turpentine in the moonlight.
I stand at the full-length windows looking out, goosebumps on my arms even though it’s a perfect eighty degrees in here.
“What do you think?” asks Colton, stepping up beside me and popping the top button on his shirt. He smells musky and soapy. He smells like the kind of man James couldn’t begin to be.
I spin and pace across the expansive room, looking up at the exposed beams and faux fur rugs, the Swedish furniture. “I think this place has more style than I’ll see in a lifetime.”
Colton paces behind me. “You give yourself no credit. I promise if you walked into Branton wearing that dress half the faculty would be walking around with a third leg.”
“Or dying of laughter.”
He presses up behind me, his thick length between my buttocks. “Does it seem like I’m dying of laughter here?”
I keep walking towards the bed, teasing him. “Blood loss, maybe. I don’t know how your brain functions given your constant state of, ahem, excitement.”
He follows me with his hands in his pockets. “You never told me what else you like, besides chocolate, that is.”
The ten-texture chocolate cake we had downstairs was up there, I’ll admit. My mouth has rarely been so satisfied. “Chocolate is all I need.” I sit on the edge of the bed with my hands in my lap, my legs pressed together.
Colton stands before me with a pyramid in his pants, not that he seems to care. “How’s that? Don’t tell me you’re one of those ‘chocolate is better than sex’ types, are you?”
“I am.”
“Alright. Give me five reasons why. Give me that and I’ll do whatever you want.”
I bite my lower lip, quite amazed at the sex kitten I’m becoming here so far removed from the lecture hall. “Whatever I want?”
“Anything,” he smirks.
I raise my hand, counting them off. “One, chocolate satisfies even when it’s soft.”
Colton looks down to his pants. “No problem there.”
“Two,” I continue, “you can have chocolate in front of your mother.”
“Kinky.”
“Three, you don’t get hairs in your mouth when you have chocolate.”
Again, Colton glances down. “Good thing I keep myself well-groomed.”
“Four,” I slur, drawing it out, “chocolate lasts as long as you want it to.”
“Like I said, you’ll find no problems from me on that front.”
“And five,” I pull over the last finger, “chocolate isn’t scared off by words like ‘commitment’.”
That shuts him up, even if he continues to nod. “You got me. I’m all yours.”
I spread my legs, my dress riding up and the slippery seam of my pussy on display.
Damn, girl. You are sex.
Well, that or I had way too much wine.
“You know what to do,” I tell him, my confidence high. Maybe it’s the dress, maybe it’s the surroundings, but whatever’s doing it I’ve never felt so in command and control of my own sexuality.
Colton wastes no time, taking me under the thighs and tipping me over onto my back, my heels clattering to the floor.
Legs folded, caught in his grip, he licks my pussy from top to bottom, his tongue pressing against the tight pebble of my clit, flicking at it until I release a throaty moan.
Yep. Definitely better than chocolate.
I reach forward and hold his head, taking in the way his blue-black hair brushes against the side of my thighs, the stubble on his chin feathering across my skin. If he was hungry before, he’s damn near staving now, burying himself between my legs, lapping and licking, pulling and sucking until I’m near madness.
But it’s when he folds my legs over further, pushing them to my chest, I stop. His mouth leaves me, temporarily lost until the tip of his tongue presses against my other hole.
I stiffen, slowly relaxing into the strange and delicate sensations it provides. It’s dirty, yes, probably fifty kinds of unclean, but I don’t give a damn.
You wanted a bad boy. You got one.
He pulls away humming with satisfaction, unbuttoning his shirt and pants, easing them over his hips.
I rock forward off the bed onto my knees and take the length of his cock in my hand. “Look at me,” I command, taking him into my mouth.
He sighs, looking down and finding my eyes open, locked on his.
I want this, crave this control that’s so lacking in my day-to-day life.
I moan, the vibration of it running up his shaft, from base to tip. I hollow my cheeks and slide all the way down, cradling his balls in my fingers.
He licks his lips, hands on his hips as he starts to thrust forward, slowly driving deeper and deeper.
I can’t believe I’m doing this, that I’m taking so much of him, but my enjoyment is short-lived.
Suddenly, he pulls me up and turns me around, drawing the zipper of my dress down and letting it puddle around my ankles. He helps me step out of it, all the while detailing in the dirtiest of terms what he’s going to do to me. ‘Fuck’ and ‘pussy’ and ‘cock’ feature prominently, far from any textbook or syllables I know, Cosmo inclusive.
The sheer pleasure of it all, these surroundings, is bringing on a heat and lightheadedness I’m unaccustomed
to. I revel in the new, in this foreign landscape before me.
Before I know it, his mouth is on mine. He slides his fingers into my hair and lets his tongue press between my lips, seeking out my own.
There’s a rush of endorphins down my spine as he grabs my ass with his free hand, squeezing hard.
His lips move to the soft cornucopia of my ear. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Are you even real?”
“I’m real,” I pant. “Are you?”
He guides my hand down to the bulge between his legs. “What do you think?”
I gasp again when his hands trail over my bare torso, moving up to explore my breasts. His touch triggers fresh pleasure, sends it pulsing and surging through my body. I’m helpless, eyes closed tight to stave off the idea that by looking into his eyes I’ll come on the spot.
His hands take the pale globes in full, my swollen nipples pressing into his palms.
I open my eyes and see him smiling at this revelation, of how aroused I really am. I’m aching for his touch, cooing and mewing for it in heat. I arch forward, desperate.
He doesn’t provide it, instead using both hands to run down my sides until his hot breath beats against my crotch.
He lays me down on the bed, eyes skimming over my prone form as he undresses, his glorious cock bobbing free of his underwear hard and awe-inspiring as always.
I tense at the sight of his manhood, my body reacting at the thought of it inside me, but the moment Colton climbs over me, his lips on mine, I melt once more into the mattress below.
I mewl into his mouth, unable to get enough of this kiss. The kiss becomes harder, his teeth lightly biting down on my lower lip, his hand snaking up from below to cup a breast. His fingers strum at the nipple, hard and tender.
He shifts his lips to the creamy column of my throat, never stopping, never giving me time to breathe. Finally, when his mouth meets my nipple, I cry out.
The world is drifting away. All those papers to be graded, all those lectures to be organized, the rent and nightmare with James… All of it evaporates when he moves over me.
Colton takes his time, circling the dusky peak of my nipple into his mouth, pressing it back and forth with the tip of his tongue until I’m pleading, calling out his name. He does the same with the other side of my chest, sharing the pleasure.