I’ve never wanted more than just a fun few hours with a guy, but lately the thought of having more has been circling in my mind more and more.
“I’ll grab us some more drinks and see if I can get a couple of them to follow me back.” She winks as she gets out of the booth, and I laugh at her implication.
It’s not long before there’s a crowd of drunken guys at our booth. Kendall managed to hustle at least four of them, as well as buy our next round of drinks and shots.
Trevor, or maybe it’s Trent, has squeezed my knee at least a half a dozen times. Every few minutes, he grips my leg and slides it upward, and every time, I grab it and slide it back down. Kendall shoots me a look that tells me she’s wondering what the hell is wrong with me, but even I don’t know, so I just shrug and make an annoyed face.
My phone lights up with a text from her. He’s cute! Why are you acting like he’s covered in mold?
I sigh in frustration. I really don’t know. Considering I’ve never thought twice about bringing a good-looking guy back to my place, tonight just feels different.
I think I’m going to head home. Just not feeling it, I text back.
She cocks her head in disapproval. You’re staying! Come on. Just give him a chance.
Since when do you encourage one-night stands? I text back, suspicious that she’s up to something.
Since I haven’t seen you bring a guy home in weeks, which means you’re sex-deprived! And you’re like an angry octopus when you don’t get laid.
I roll my eyes and put my phone down.
Fine, I mouth to her and glare. She has a point, but that doesn’t mean I’m taking Mr. Grabby-Hands home.
“So, Trevor, what do you do for a living?” I ask, trying to make actual conversation.
“I’m a club promoter,” he slurs proudly.
“Oh? What does that consist of?” I ask, pretending to be interested.
“I find little honeys like yourself and encourage you to visit one of the clubs I represent.” He eyes me seductively and licks his lips.
I cringe at his suggestive tone. “And what does that entail? How do you encourage people?”
“I promise them a real good time.” He winks, and I shudder—and not in a good way.
“So what happens when you neglect your promise and they leave unsatisfied?” I ask directly with mock amusement.
Kendall’s eyes widen as she tries to conceal her laughter, but he hears her anyway and shifts uncomfortably in his seat.
“Oh, sweetheart.” He shifts closer. “You’d never leave unsatisfied.” His thumb plucks my lower lip, his eyes on it like lasers.
“On that note, I’m going to go before I catch a disease.” I grab my purse and push my way out of the booth. “Good luck with your promoting or whatever it is you do and with actually getting laid in real life.”
I walk back to the bar and say bye to Zoe before heading outside. I hear Kendall trying to catch up with me as I dig around for my keys. “Aspen, wait!” I can feel the adrenaline pumping through me, my heart beating rapidly as I speed walk to my car. “Aspen, hang on!”
She’s out of breath by the time she reaches me. I spin around and lean against the driver’s side door as she stands in front of me. “What?” I ask harshly.
“What’s wrong? What the hell was that?”
I shrug, my jaw tense. “I’m sick of guys like that.”
“Okay, sorry. I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t either.”
“Talk to me. What are you thinking?”
My throat begins to burn as tears threaten to pour out. “I have no idea, Kendall. I-I just don’t want to be that girl anymore. The one who lets strange men into her bed, the one who can’t form or hold an emotional relationship, the one who pushes people away. I hate that girl.”
She reaches for my hand and grips it in hers. “Aspen…I don’t know what to say.”
A tear slides down my cheek as I close my eyes. “I have feelings for someone and it scares me half to death.”
“Who?”
“It’s not important. There’s no scenario in this world that allows us to be together.”
“What do you mean? Why not?”
“He’s almost ten years older than me.” Eight to be exact.
“So? Age is just a number.”
I snort at her cliché response.
“He’s also a professor at the University.”
“Okay?”
“He’s my professor,” I clarify.
“By professor, do you mean Ms. Jones’ smoking hot nephew?” Her brows tilt upward.
I groan. “Am I that predictable?”
She snorts. “No. I just saw the way you acted around him.”
I sigh. “I can’t stop thinking about him. And I know nothing can ever happen, but the way I feel when he’s around is something I’ve never felt before and it’s terrifying. I have anxiety attacks over it.”
“It’s completely normal to be scared and nervous around a guy you like, but I suspect even more so when it’s someone you can’t openly express your feelings to.”
“On top of it, I don’t even know if I could let someone like him in. Not all the way at least.”
“Why not?”
I shoot her a look. “You know why. I feel guilty even being alive, Kendall. How am I going to date and have a stable relationship?”
She gives me a sympathetic look and small smile. “You evolve.”
I exhale. “I don’t know. I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing anymore. Weeks ago, sure, I’d gladly take Trent home and fuck him six ways to Sunday, but now I don’t even have the desire to.”
“His name is Tony.” She deadpans.
“Whatever.” I laugh. “I just feel so lost.”
“I know how that feels.”
“What do you mean?”
She shrugs and lowers her eyes. “Kellan broke up with me tonight.”
“What?” I gasp. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I was embarrassed and trying to not think about it. I wasn’t going to let him have the satisfaction of ruining my night.”
“What happened?”
“He said I was pressuring him when he wasn’t ready.”
“Seriously?” I almost laugh. “You get turned down for sex, and I can’t turn it away fast enough. We have some messed up lives.”
“Yup,” she agrees. “So let’s go wallow in a bottle of wine and a fifty-percent off box chocolates.”
I open the car door and hop in. “Deal.”
I’m not sure how late Kendall and I stay up drinking and wallowing with heart-shaped chocolate, but when I wake up the next morning, my body is covered in sweat. My breaths are coming in harsh pants while my heart pounds in my chest. Normally, waking up like this would be from a nightmare, but this time it’s from dreaming about Professor Hampton—and not just any dream. My body is still humming from the way he had me moaning and crying out his name.
The feel of him between my legs was so real that I could feel the exquisite fullness of him moving deeply inside me. He completely overwhelmed my senses as he worked my body as if that was what he was born to do. His mouth devoured my pussy, his tongue teasing my slick folds before wrapping his lips around my clit and sucking it between his teeth. The roughness of his stubble rubbing against my thighs—the perfect counterpoint to the pleasure he was wringing from my body.
My pussy clenches at the memory of how he sucked my nipple into his mouth, rolling the tender flesh between his teeth as if he knew just how I liked it. Then he thrust hard and deep, moaning my name into my mouth before he took my lips in a scorching hot kiss.
I squeeze my thighs together, feeling how swollen and wet I am just at the memory of it all. His lips were full and eager, kissing and sucking down my neck, chest, and torso until he landed right where I begged him to be. I haven’t even felt his mouth on mine yet, but I can feel my lips still tingling.
After spending week after week with Profess
or Hampton in class, it’s not getting any easier to be around him, especially since the dreams have started. He continues watching me work in the classroom, and I continue to let him in. It’s a slow process, but I take it one day at a time. The tension between us has apparently been more obvious than I thought because Ellie is starting to get suspicious—either that or she’s just giving me shit, it’s hard to know for sure, but enough to make me concerned.
Today during class, Ellie flat out asks me if I’m getting ‘special treatment’ from Professor Hampton outside of the classroom. My paintbrush nearly drops from my fingers as I choke on her words. I quickly recover with a nervous laugh. Although I know it’s not funny, considering what special treatment I’d like to be getting, but I managed to play it off. I mean, what else could I do? Say, ‘not yet Ellie, but I’ve ridden his tongue repeatedly in my dreams. And that man can sure lick a pussy.’ I’m honestly just proud I didn’t choke on my tongue or die on the spot when she asked me. Thank God Morgan was on the other side of the room when she asked because that would have been more than awkward.
After class, I stay behind as usual to finish up a piece and as usual, Professor Hampton finds a reason to stay behind and watch me.
He walks out with me and to fill in the silence, I talk about the gala at the gallery that’s approaching. “So I hear you’ve been roped into helping your aunt at the gallery this week,” I say to Professor Hampton as we walk out of the classroom
I’ve known about the Spring Gala since the first year I started. It’s a huge charity event that the gallery hosts to raise money for school art programs all over the city. Art is usually one of the first courses to get dropped when a school has budget cuts, so to avoid the financial stress, the gallery hosts an event to help ease the burden as much as possible.
The gallery curator, Mr. Cross, had been in charge of these events for years, but for the past five years, Ms. Jones has taken over the majority of the planning as he gets closer to retirement. She always gets super stressed and overwhelmed with it, but ever since she’s taken over, each year has been more successful than the previous year.
The gala allows buyers to purchase and bid in the silent auction. There’s an extravagant display of food and alcohol. Everyone dresses in fancy dresses and tuxedos, making the whole thing a very big deal.
“Yup. She’s been calling my mom every day in a panic, so I was volunteered by default.” I smile at his honest words.
As soon as we turn the corner, I practically run over Professor Van Bergen. She gasps acting as if she didn’t know we were coming. We weren’t exactly quiet, so I don’t believe she’s really the aggrieved party here.
“Oh, Morgan!” She squeezes his shoulder. “I didn’t realize you were still here.” She flashes a flirty smile at him, but her tone is so sickeningly sweet, I’m tempted to puke on her knockoff shoes.
“Yeah, I’m heading out now. Aspen was just finishing up a piece and needed some help.” His reply is polite, but I can see the annoyance on his face, which makes me selfishly happy.
At least this time, it’s not a lie, he really was helping me—I couldn’t quite get the texture I was trying for on my project and he was showing me a few unconventional techniques to get what I wanted. We won’t mention the flirting and accidental touches that we both know weren’t accidental at all.
Professor Van Bergen perks up and looks at me in one of those forced smiles. “That’s Aspen for you. So driven and talented.” It’s so evident in her sickly sweet tone that Morgan spending extra time with me after class irritates her to the extreme. Her eyes shoot daggers at me as she continues. “She’s a shoe in for any graduate program she chooses. If she stays on track, of course.”
And with that, she has not only made herself look good in front of Morgan but also warned me off yet again. I’m distracted and when I finally tune back into their conversation Professor Van Bergen is asking Morgan out for drinks. Instead of waiting around to see what he says, thinking my heart can’t stand if he accepts, I quickly toss a goodbye over my shoulder and get out of there like the hounds of hell are chasing after me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
MORGAN
I clear my entire Wednesday afternoon when Aunt Mel asks for my help at the gallery. I know Aspen will be working, and I know she’s off-limits, but that doesn’t stop me from thinking about her and wondering what her lips would taste like pressed against mine. I seem to think about this often.
Her bright smile, the way she tries to act unaffected around me, and the way her eyes burn into mine tell me she’s thinking about it, too.
Christine is at the front desk and greets me as soon as I walk in. “Hey!” She suddenly sits up. “Ms. Jones just had to take a quick phone call. She said to tell you to wait down here.”
“Thanks.”
I try to avoid looking around for her, but I catch myself listening for the clicking of her shoes as I walk to my favorite part of the gallery.
The student section is the most diverse. It’s filled with paintings, drawings, abstracts, watercolor pieces, black and white photographs, and even a couple of sculptures. It’s a blend of everything you’d think of when you think of the word art.
I walk from painting to painting, checking out the different techniques each artist uses. I stop in front of the three Ariel Rose paintings that I first saw when Aspen gave me the tour. They’re pieces I haven’t seen on her site before, so I use the opportunity to really look at them and slightly brush my thumb over the texture of the strokes.
The three canvases are made to look like one large painting if merged together. They each capture a part of the larger picture, but with the way she separated it tells a lot about the story itself—she wanted it presented that way for a reason.
“Haven’t you ever heard of the phrase, ‘If you have time to lean, you have time to clean’?”
Her taunting voice takes me by surprise. I hadn’t even heard her walk in, but when I turn around, she’s not there.
“Up here, Romeo.” I tilt my head and see her standing on a ladder in the next section. She’s adjusting some of the lighting that spotlights on the pieces below. The portable walls in between blocked my view of her when I first walked in, which means she’s been able to watch me the whole time, and I hadn’t even realized it.
“Ah…she speaks.” I grin and walk closer to her as she stares down at me with a smirk. “Oh, speak again, bright angel! For thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven.”
She sucks in her lower lip and keeps her eyes fixated on mine. “Ah…Shakespeare fan.”
“Maybe.” I shrug unapologetically.
“What a cliché.” She laughs, stepping down. Her golden blonde hair is pulled up into a high ponytail, making it sway effortlessly in loose waves from side to side, as she climbs down. She looks flawless as usual in tight jeans and a curve-hugging shirt, but I notice her infamous heels are missing that I’m used to seeing her wear in class.
“What is?” I inquire as she walks toward me barefoot.
She takes the final step, closing the gap between us. She’s much shorter without the heels, making the top of her head just barely reach my shoulders. “Talented artist, not-bad-to-look-at professor, and Shakespeare know-it-all. It’s quite the impressive resume.”
“I never claimed to be a know-it-all, but I’ll accept the rest.” My lips spread into a wicked grin, the scent of her perfume overpowering me and making me forget I shouldn’t, in fact, be this close to a student. But at this moment, I don’t care what rules I’m breaking. I’m not backing away from her again.
“However, you’ve never even seen any of my paintings. So that’s just based on assumption.”
“Perhaps, but I always go with my intuition.”
“And what’s your intuition telling you?” I lower my face to hers, focusing on the warmth of her lips.
A sly smirk spreads over her face, feeding the anticipation I’ve been feeling at wanting to
kiss her.
“That you are way over-dressed for this.” She slaps a clipboard against my gray dress shirt, and when I look down, I see it’s Aunt Mel’s to-do list before the gala this weekend. “I’m putting you to work, Professor.” She winks and takes a step back, making me groan in response.
I follow her to the front section of the gallery. The walls are bare, waiting for pieces to be displayed. The gallery and the college work closely together, so this event is important for both. The gala helps raise money for the program and provide funding for students to come to the school.
“Since the focus is to get people to buy the pieces and to bid in the silent auction, Aunt Mel wants the student pieces in the front to represent the school they’d be donating to. Normally, they’re in the back…well, you’ve gotten the tour, so you know,” she rambles. “Anyway, she wants them displayed by assignment.”
“All right…” I glance around the tables where the pieces are laying. “Do you—”
“The list is on your clipboard.”
As I flip through a couple of sheets, I begin wondering how the hell I got myself into this situation in the first place. Aunt Mel and my mom were close growing up, so I spent a lot of summer’s with Aunt Mel and her then-husband, Henry. I have another aunt and uncle, but they both live in Tennessee, so they usually flew in once a year for the holidays. So when Aunt Mel asked me to come help in between and after classes, I couldn’t say no.
“All right, Boss,” I mock. She spins around and glares. “So, what’s first?”
“You tell me.” She nods her head toward the clipboard I’m still holding.
“Landscapes.”
“Okay, so that’d be from first and second-year students. They should be on that table over there.” She points behind me. “Those can go over here.” She walks in between the portable walls.
“Sounds good, Boss.”
“Would you stop?” she snips. “We’re out of the classroom, remember?”
“Which means what?” I challenge, begging her with my eyes to say it—say we’re more than just a professor and student.
Pushing the Limits: A Student/Teacher Romance Page 13