by S. E. Law
“Anything you liked about it in particular?” Professor Moore growls again, his blue eyes so dark that they’re almost navy.
I swallow hard.
“Um, I liked that she was on her hands and knees a lot,” I say before I hear my own words. “It seems like she liked it when she got it.”
The classroom is completely silent, and I shrink into the hard wooden chair, wishing that I could melt into the floor. Why the hell did I just say that? My sentiment is real – the woman in the story is promiscuous and constantly lets the male protagonist take her this way and that. The book is called Her Body for that reason, among others. Yet it feels so taboo to talk about this in the light of day, and in a dry classroom setting no less. Everyone must think I’m some kind of horny nitwit, blabbering about sexual subjects without any kind of introductory disclaimer.
But then, Professor Moore’s deep voice interrupts my thoughts.
“That’s a great point, and I’d love to discuss it more. Ms. Nelson, please see me during office hours,” he rumbles, his expression neutral. “Thursdays at 2 p.m. in my office. Now, did anyone get a different reading from the story? There are many dimensions to Machado’s work, and we’re here to discuss which points the author wanted to highlight, as well as any she wanted to bury.”
I sink even deeper in my chair as my cheeks flame. Oh god, I’ve been dismissed. Even worse, I’ve been summoned to office hours, probably to explain my extraordinary comments in person to this handsome man. What will I say? What will I do?
Heart thumping, I try to remain totally still for the rest of the class session, breathing shallowly through my nose. Because what will happen come Thursday? Will Professor Moore have a surprise for me? Will the handsome man ask me to discuss our coursework in detail, or does he have something else in mind? Now, there’s only one way to find out.
48
Roland
I sit in my office, getting a few last things done. My office is a homey little nook. After all, I’m an assistant professor at the University of Rhode Island, and while the English building is a marvel of gothic architecture, the space inside hasn’t been remodeled for decades. As a result, my office is a tiny cranny with a sixties-era metal desk, a rolling chair that is most-definitely not ergonomic, and a dark red wool rug on the floor leftover from my graduate student years of eating ramen by candlelight.
Not that I hated being a graduate student. If anything, I loved those years because they provided total freedom of the mind. I was given room to explore novels and literary fiction to my heart’s content, and I went crazy. Most Ph.D. students complete only one dissertation, but I actually finished two. Insane, right? There was so much material and academic freedom that I was able to publish like an animal. It served me well because I landed an academic job after graduating, which was no easy feat in this job market.
After all, getting a professorship is like winning the lottery. There may be many English departments in the country, but a slot generally only opens after an existing professor dies. It’s morbid, but the truth. Teaching positions are difficult to come by, and I’m lucky to have landed in Rhode Island among the leafy forests and breathtaking scenery of New England.
But the problem with this beautiful college campus is its lack of dateable women. I admit, I’ve never been a monk of any sort. My good looks make it easy to attract the ladies, and if anything, they throw themselves at me. I’ve never had to put myself out there, nor have I ever had to market myself the way a lot of guys do.
But here, in this tiny college town, the situation is different. For one, I’m forbidden from dating a large proportion of the graduate student population because they’re students, and not faculty. Okay, maybe not forbidden altogether, but it would certainly not reflect well on me if I took up with someone enrolled in a degree program. You don’t want to shit where you eat, after all.
But if I don’t date graduate students, then there are only the other professors, most of whom appear to be sixty plus. Like I said, vacancies only come up after someone passes on, and as a result, most of my colleagues are senior citizens already.
Of course, there’s also the forbidden fruit: undergraduate girls. But it’s fucking terrifying because these girls are young and so innocent, with nary a care in the world. I see them prancing around campus with their clear skin, long hair, and lush bodies, and I know I shouldn’t touch. Yet, in this college town, who am I supposed to date then? My choices are restricted, and I don’t want to die celibate.
I let out a gust of air and force myself to try and concentrate. My eyes blur as I stare at the papers in front of me, but I’m getting desperate here. I’ve been at the University of Rhode Island for a while now, and haven’t been with a woman in ages. I haven’t touched a lush female form in what feels like eons, nor heard the sweet moans of a female in heat. How is a man supposed to live like this? I’m almost considering paying a professional, considering the desperate state of things.
Suddenly, a knock sounds on my door, and I jolt upright. It’s Aria Nelson, the beautiful blonde from my class. If ever there was tantalizing fruit, it’s Aria. I saw her the first day when she walked in, and my pants went stiff immediately. She’s golden, curvy, and so sweet with an innocent smile and hips that sway. She wears the bulkiest sweatshirts and pulls her hair in a ponytail most days, but it can’t hide the fact that she’s lush and ready for a man.
The problem is: am I that man? Am I willing to go beyond the bounds of a student/professor relationship? When I asked Aria to come to office hours, it was with every intention of discussing our latest course materials. I want to hear her thoughts and opinions, as well as her keen analysis and insightful commentary. And the truth is that I do want these things. Aria is smart, sharp and intelligent. For example, she’s the only one who mentioned the sexual nuances of the female character in our latest reading.
Yet, I want more from Aria than nuances. I want the real thing. I want to see Aria, lush and nude on the carpet of my office. I want her hair spread out in a golden halo as she cries out my name, as she twists and turns with wet pleasure.
But can I do it? Am I that kind of man? The kind who’s ready to take, without a thought as to my career, much less her innocence? Suddenly, a sweet voice interrupts my tortured line of thought.
“Professor Moore?” Aria calls out hesitantly while rapping again. “It’s me, Aria Nelson. I’m here for office hours.”
With the sound of her melodic voice, suddenly I know it’s true. I want Aria, and I’ll do anything to make it happen.
49
Aria
I knock hesitantly on the wooden door again. There’s a frosted pane of glass in the middle of the door, but the shade on the other side is drawn, rendering it dark.
“Professor Moore?” I call again. “It’s office hours, isn’t it? It’s Aria Nelson.”
Suddenly, the door opens so quickly that I step back with surprise. Or maybe it’s the fact that Professor Moore is absolutely huge, close-up and in person. After all, I’ve always watched him from a distance as a figure at the front of the classroom. But now that the man is before me, a mere three feet away, the air zooms from my lungs as I tilt my head up to gaze into those navy blue eyes.
Because Roland must be six three at least. He towers over me, his large bulk looming over my small one. He seems to blot out the light within, and his shoulders are so wide that they appear to reach from one side of the doorframe to the other. But then he steps aside to let me in, and grins, flashing bright white teeth.
“Hi Aria,” he says mildly. “Just in time. It’s two on the dot, and I was just about to open my door.”
I step in hesitantly and look around. His office is tiny, but it’s to be expected. This building hasn’t been upgraded in years, and the dilapidation shows. There’s one tiny window up high behind his desk, but all it reveals are the green leaves of a massive bush. A metal desk is positioned in front of the window, and there’s a chair in front of the desk for visitors as well as
a cheery red rug on the floor. But what takes my breath away are the shelves and shelves of books lining the walls because Roland Moore obviously reads a lot. Even though this is a small space, he’s outfitted his office such that all four walls have floor to ceiling shelving crammed full of all sorts of novels.
“Wow,” I breathe, stepping inside. “Are these all yours?”
He chuckles while shutting the door behind me.
“Most,” he acknowledges. “Fiction and non-fiction both. Sometimes I read some non-fiction, but it’s strictly for pleasure. For work, it’s all fiction.”
I laugh, seating myself in the chair before his desk.
“That’s funny because for most people it’s the opposite. Professional reading is usually boring non-fiction, while people read novels for fun in their spare time.”
Roland quirks a grin at me and takes a seat behind his desk. The light in the office is bright, but it’s warm at the same time and casts his skin in shades of bronze. My mouth goes dry when I see the slight vee of chest revealed at the collar of his shirt, and the strong neck rising up above it. Oh my gosh, am I actually going daffy at the sight of a man’s neck? Am I that desperate?
The truth is, yes. Because while Elisa drags me to a lot of parties, I don’t exactly date. Sure, there are boys hovering around at the edges of my life, and I even went with George Littles to that fraternity dance last year. But nothing happened because George was too awkward. He kept trying to carry a conversation, but puberty came late for him and his voice would crack embarrassingly in the middle of every other sentence. By the end of the night, I think he was happy to see me go, if only so that he could go back to his room and let his vocal cords relax.
So the truth is that I don’t really date here at the University of Rhode Island. Not that I want to. The boys that Elisa brings home when she thinks I’m sleeping are gross. They moan and bump around in her tiny twin bed across the room, and most times, I pretend I’m asleep. There’s nothing sexy about teenage boys amped up high on testosterone, I tell you. The longest they can last is about three minutes, and that’s being generous.
But Professor Moore is the real thing. This is no adolescent boy who’s growing into his features. This is a true alpha male, with a piercing blue gaze, and a sense of knowingness about him. I can already tell that Roland knows his way around women from the commanding yet relaxed way he sits in his chair. Even the idle thrum of his fingertips on the metal desktop reminds me that I’m here to see him, and that he’s the one in charge.
But Roland cracks another grin, even as the blue of his eyes turns a deep navy.
“So Aria,” he begins casually. “What can I help you with?”
I stammer a bit, flushing.
“Um, I thought you wanted to talk about The Green Ribbon?” I ask hesitantly. “You know, the first short story in Her Body.”
Nodding, Roland gazes away for a moment while steepling his fingers.
“Yes, that’s right,” he says, nodding thoughtfully. “I liked your comment in class, and wanted to probe further. Why did you say that the author portrays the female protagonist as a wanton woman? What made you think that?”
I gasp.
“I didn’t say she was wanton,” is my quick reply. “In fact, I don’t think she’s a slut at all. She was married to the man who pulled the green ribbon.”
Roland quirks an eyebrow at me.
“You don’t think a married woman can be a slut? Does a wedding certificate mean that a woman can no longer be loose, so to say?”
I flush again, stammering a bit.
“Well, I’m not sure,” are my slow words. “I suppose so. No, that doesn’t sound right. All I’m saying is that the female character seems to be very familiar with her own body, and makes it available for her husband’s pleasure to do whatever he likes. Is that going too far?”
Roland’s eyes gleam, and he leans forward a bit, adjusting his weight.
“I don’t know. Is letting a man do what he wants with your body going too far? I’m not sure either.”
I nod, my heart racing at this titillating conversation.
“I mean, on the one hand, the main character maintains total control over her actions. She chooses what to give to her husband, and shares herself with him unstintingly. But there was just something so … slutty about what she did, don’t you think? Do normal women do that?”
Roland leans forward again, a gleam in the depths of his blue eyes. His shoulders look slightly tense and very broad as his eyes scan my features.
“I’m not sure,” he says slowly. “Do you consider yourself to be a normal woman?”
My cheeks color.
“Yes, of course,” I say in a rush. “I mean, everyone is abnormal in some way. Take my hair, for example. Most babies are born with blonde hair and then it darkens as they age, but mine didn’t,” I say, blabbering at about a thousand miles an hour. “I’m still as fair as the day I was born, and in fact, I think my hair’s gotten even more blonde with time.”
Roland’s eyes gleam again, but his expression remains placid and neutral.
“Is that right, Aria? Could you take your hair down to show me? I’m afraid I can’t tell very well since it’s all twisted up right now.”
I flush. Somehow, this feels very intimate, although I’m hardly Rapunzel letting down her hair for a suitor.
“Oh sure,” I say while biting my lip. My heart’s going a million miles an hour, and somehow, I’m aroused and hot even though I’m not doing anything but dismantling my bun. “No problem, Professor.”
With trembling fingers, I reach up and fumble a bit before sinking my fingers into the elastic and pulling it from my tresses. Immediately, a long fall of gold streams from my crown before lying in a river against my back. It shimmers and waves beneath the light, as if it has a life of its own.
“There it is,” I say with a small smile. “See? I even have streaks of white, almost like an albino,” I manage as a joke.
But Professor Moore is silent, and for a moment, I think I’ve screwed up. Holy shit, I probably just crossed some kind of unspoken boundary, and he’s going to report me to the authorities now. At the very least, things are going to be extremely awkward from here on out.
But then, he gets up from his chair and circles around until he’s standing behind me, his big bulk large and imposing. Then he gets down on his knees as I remain as still as a doe, and lightly trails a big hand over my tresses.
“So beautiful,” he whispers. “You’re absolutely gorgeous.”
My insides go hot and soft, and I inhale sharply. Oh my gosh, Professor Roland is stroking my hair gently now while running his fingers through the golden locks, and I’ve never been so aroused in my life. He hasn’t even really touched me yet, and suddenly, I know that I want to give my innocence to him. I want him to take me right here, in his office, and with a mewl, I turn slowly to face him.
“I’m yours, Professor,” I say softly. And then echoing the character in the book, I add, “Use my body as you see fit.”
The handsome instructor doesn’t hesitate. In one fell swoop, his mouth claims mine, his lips hard and demanding as my soft ones part beneath his insistence. The air departs from my lungs even as he pulls me against the massive wall of his chest.
“Are you sure, Aria?” he growls deep in his throat before pulling away to stare in my eyes. “Because once we go there, we’re not going back.”
I look into those navy depths for a moment, my heart pounding. But I already know with a womanly instinct that this is right. This man has claimed me, and I am his woman.
“Yes, Professor Moore, I’m sure,” I murmur. “Take me, because I’m yours.”
With that, the gorgeous man lowers me to the rug in his office, and the claiming begins.
50
Roland
I wish I had a better place to make love to Aria. The truth is that I do, but I’m so needy at this moment that I’m reduced to owning this gorgeous curvy body right here, o
n the floor of my office. At least the red rug is clean, seeing that it was recently steam-vacuumed by the dry-cleaning shop.
“Relax,” I murmur against her lips. “Everything’s going to be fine. You were made to be claimed by a man.”
The innocent blonde inhales and then mewls sweetly against my mouth.
“But Roland,” she pants slightly. “We shouldn’t be doing this. You’re my professor and I’m your student.”
“I know,” I growl, grinding my hips against her. “But I need you so badly, Aria. Can’t you tell? Feel how big I am for you, baby.”
Her eyes fly open and her mouth opens in a beautiful round “O.”
“You are big,” she says in a low, trembling voice. “Oh my gosh, this has never happened to me before.”
I kiss her long and deep again, angling my huge form over her small, soft one.
“I know I’m enormous,” is my soothing growl. “But you’re going to be fine. Don’t worry a thing about it.”
She kisses me back but then shakes her head a bit.
“No Professor Moore, you don’t understand,” she breathes in a hesitant voice. “I’ve never been with any man before. This is my first time.”
I stare at her with shock.
“But you’re so gorgeous, sweetheart. I can’t believe that men haven’t been lining up at your doorstep since you were fifteen.”
She giggles a bit, those lush breasts rising to press against the hard wall of my chest. Shit, it’s so arousing and it makes me stiffen even more as I gyrate slightly against her.
“Well, if they lined up, which they didn’t,” she says in a playful voice, “my daddy would have chased them off with a shotgun. My dad is like that, you know,” she says. “Very protective of me.”