Private Lessons

by Donna Hill

  “Sounds good. I’ll meet you in the teachers’ lounge.”

  “Perfect. And Nay…don’t worry, it’s going to be fine.”

  Naomi pressed her lips together into a tight line and walked off toward her class.

  Brice stood in the corridor after his class was dismissed, and perused the long list of professors and the classes that they taught. According to what was posted, Naomi only taught on Monday and Wednesday. Monday was her masters classes and Wednesday was her freshman session. She had office hours on Tuesday and Thursday. Friday must be the day she planned on how to mess with men’s heads, he thought, feeling himself begin to fume again.

  How could she? What kind of woman did that make her? Did she live some sordid double life? And to think he’d been making himself crazy for the past few weeks since they last saw each other. He’d lost his phone in Cancún, along with her number and hundreds of others. But Naomi’s was the only one he was concerned with. But he knew she would call him. She’d want to find out if he arrived safely, if he missed her as much as she missed him.

  But he never heard from her. She never called. And when he returned to New York he scoured the Internet and 411 to find the Greenlight Bookstore in Florida. There wasn’t one.

  He figured that maybe he’d been mistaken in what he thought he heard her say. But he had nothing else to go on, and as the days turned to weeks and summer ended, and not a word from her, he’d made up his mind that it was no more than a vacation fling. The last place he expected to find Naomi was standing in front of him, teaching.

  He wouldn’t see her again for at least another week, unless they ran into each other in the hallway. And then what?

  Chapter 10

  Naomi somehow managed to get through the rest of the afternoon without running into Brice again, which made the whole incident seem like a figment of her imagination. But she knew better. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d read and reread his name on her student roster and visualized his face when he’d spotted her at the head of the class.

  “It was surreal,” she was saying to Alexis over a glass of beer and nachos, their favorite after-work snack. She dipped her nacho into the bowl of salsa, brought it to her mouth and crunched. She shook her head slowly.

  “I’m the last person you should be taking advice from at this point, but I think you should just leave it alone.”

  “But what if he says something to someone?”

  “It’s his word against a respected, tenured professor. Look at you. You certainly don’t look the type to have some fling with a strange man on a Caribbean island.”

  “You don’t have to make it sound so awful.”

  “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intent. I’m just saying no one would believe it.”

  “Thanks,” she said drolly.

  Alexis shrugged. “So, other than that drama, how was the first day?”

  They discussed their classes and their students, who they thought would make it until the end of the semester and which teachers they were surprised had returned for another year.

  “I heard the trustees will be reviewing the list for the dean’s seat,” Alexis said.

  Naomi nodded vigorously. “Yes, and I’ve put my name back in the hat.” The coveted seat had opened two years earlier and Naomi was sure she would get it. It would have been the salve to heal her wounds after her breakup with Trevor. The demands would have dulled the ache. Instead they went with an outsider. That lasted up until the end of the Spring semester. He’d gone on to greener pastures. Naomi poured herself into her work and waited.

  She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Which is all the more reason why I can’t risk some craziness from—” she looked around “—him. I want that position. I’ve waited, I’ve worked and I’ve put in my time,” she said, punctuating each word with a stab of her finger on the table.

  “Honey, if it were up to me, you’d be a shoo-in. From what I understand, your only major contender is Frank.”

  “Hmm. I can handle Frank. I just remain polite and stay out of his way.” She reached for another nacho.

  “And I would suggest that’s the best way to handle your Caribbean tryst, too.”

  Every time Naomi set foot on the campus, her senses were on high alert. By some miracle or divine intervention, she didn’t see Brice for the rest of the week. Maybe he’d dropped out. Maybe it was some weird Twilight Zone thing and nothing the previous week had ever really happened.

  She tossed around a dozen scenarios throughout the rest of the week, the weekend and right up until she set foot back in her classroom on Monday morning—and looked up and saw him coming down those steps, chatting and smiling with that girl…woman. A burn settled in the center of her stomach and crawled up her throat. “If some people would stop socializing and take their seats, we could get started.” She slammed her notebook down on the desk, surprising everyone.

  There were a few murmurs and many curious looks that passed between the students before every one was settled in their seats.

  She folded her arms tightly in front of her and surveyed the class. She snatched up her roster from her desk.

  “I may not always remember a name, but I don’t forget faces.” She zeroed in on Brice, then turned quickly away. “When I call your name, please raise your hand. And please be forewarned that wherever you are sitting now will be your seat for the duration of the semester. So if you have any plans of changing, now is the time.” She looked around, waited a moment, and no one moved. “Good.” She rattled the paper in front of her. “Allen, Nicole. Arthur, Timothy…”

  She continued down the list, wondering which one was the pretty lady with the dreadlocks sitting next to Brice. His name was next. Her heart pounded. She could barely get the words out of her mouth. When she thought Brice she remembered calling out his name, screaming it in pleasure while he’d licked between her legs, whipping her into near hysteria, or dipping in and out of her with such slow, deliberate precision that she saw heaven.

  The sound of shuffling papers and throat clearing snapped her out of her daydream. She blinked. Her face was on fire. She felt as if everyone could read her salacious thoughts. How long had she been back in Antigua with her legs wrapped around Brice’s waist, she worried.

  She drew in a breath. “Brice Lawrence.” She pretended that she didn’t know where to look until he raised his hand. She checked him off on the list and continued, eager to discover the name of his companion. “Pamela Phillips.” She smiled brightly when her name was called, as if somehow they could be friends.

  Naomi finished calling off the names and then began with the lesson and reading for the session. Her animated and very engaged students made the time go by far too quickly. Before she knew it they were walking out the door, and she knew she may not see Brice again for another week—and he didn’t seem to give a damn.

  Naomi sat down behind the desk and gathered her notes, placing them one by one in her briefcase. The lecture hall echoed the emptiness of the space and the center of her soul. She’d never been so confused or so miserable.

  For the next three weeks, Naomi decided to play Brice’s game. If he didn’t know her, she didn’t know him either, which was fine with her. But unfortunately for him, she had the upper hand. She knew she shouldn’t care one way or the other who he talked to or socialized with. If he was otherwise occupied, then all the better for her. But just seeing him with Pamela unnerved her, threw her totally out of character. And she took it out on him.

  “Mr. Lawrence, please read to the class the first paragraph of your annotation for Philadelphia Fire.”

  The instant he began she cut him off, telling him to speak up, interrupting with questions. She thrilled at seeing that dark look flare up in his eyes—and then she relented. Other times, she would ignore him completely. He would raise his hand to answer a question and she would act as if she didn’t see it; or, when he seemed unprepared she would call on him.

  The cat and mouse game that they played
was a tango, the dance of seduction. And each meeting, each coming together, each challenge that appear in their eyes, only inflamed their need and made them that much more desperate to have the fire extinguished. It was bound to combust.

  About a month into the first semester, Naomi had all but fled from her class. Every time she’d looked across the room he was staring at her, almost daring her to look away. Every move he made she read as sexual, from picking up his pen and twirling it between his fingers to running his tongue across his lips, or smiling at a remark made by one of his classmates, or the way he sat in his seat with his legs wide, reminding her of what she once had.

  She hurried down the hallway to her office. She needed to be alone, to have a moment to think. One thing was for certain—this game that they were playing couldn’t continue. She could barely sleep at night. In the classroom, she had to force her mind to concentrate on the lesson and not on how hard her nipples were growing when their gazes connected, or how wet her panties got when he lifted his leg and draped his ankle across his thigh.

  But what choice did she have? She had a class to teach, and the only one who seemed bothered by this entire rabbit hole that she’d fallen into was her. Brice seemed to care less.

  The sharp knock on her door startled her, making her hit her knee on her desk when she jumped. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment and let the pain wash through her.

  “Yes,” she snapped. “Come in.” She turned sideways in her chair to rub her knee.

  While the door was opening she was already giving her spiel. “My office hours are clearly marked. So this better be impor—”

  Brice stepped in and closed the door behind him. Naomi gulped.

  “Mr. Lawrence, my office hours are—”

  “Save it, Naomi. I can read.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You know perfectly well what I want.” He turned the lock on the door and crossed the room, walked right around her desk and pulled her up from her seat. “I want the same thing you do,” he rasped, his voice as hot as she felt.

  She made a feeble attempt to pull away. He held her tighter. Pulled her closer.

  “Tell me you don’t want me to ride you the way you’ve been riding me for the past few weeks, and I’ll walk out that door and never say another word.”

  She opened her mouth to speak, but it was only a sigh of desire that escaped and beckoned him to her mouth. He pulled her hard up against him, groaning at the feel of her again. His mouth captured hers and she was even sweeter than he remembered, sweeter than in his dreams. Their kiss was deep and so intense that it left them both weak with longing for each other.

  There wasn’t time to think, because if they did, Brice would have never pushed her skirt high above her hips; she would have never unzipped his jeans and cupped his bulging sex in her hands; he would have never unbuttoned her blouse, pushed her bra aside and feasted on her breasts; she wouldn’t have stepped out of her panties, when he begged her to let him in, or wrapped her legs around him and let him push up in her against the wall, where her degrees hung.

  No, none of that raw, hot, ravishing sex would have happened had they been thinking. But they weren’t thinking, they were only wanting—each other.

  And, lawd! It was so good that Naomi had to bite into Brice’s shoulder to keep from screaming, and he had to bury his face against the wall and in the tumble of her hair that had come loose from its clip to keep from hollering.

  So good that they forgot all about the weeks of tension; so good that they forgot they weren’t on a Caribbean island; so good that she forgot she was a professor and he was a student; so good that he didn’t care why she’d lied to him; so good that the only thing that mattered was that they’d found each other again.

  And that’s what they thought, as Brice gripped her hips tight enough to leave the imprint of his fingertips, and pushed up so hard inside her that she came with such force that her limbs stiffened, her throat clenched and it took all of Brice’s strength to hold on, with her bucking so wildly against his thrusts that it set off his own climax, that burst in a stream of long-overdue release.

  They held on to each other in the suddenly awkward position, trying to breathe, to clear their heads and make sense of what they had just done.

  Slowly, Brice pulled out and lowered Naomi’s legs until her feet touched the floor. They both slid down until they were cuddled in a heap beside her desk.

  He looked at her, her eyes brilliant, her lips thoroughly kissed, her exposed breasts rising and falling, and the words tumbled out of his mouth. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

  “Brice…”

  “We’ll make time to talk. We have to.” He helped her to her feet. He fastened his pants and fixed his clothes while Naomi retrieved her panties and got herself together.

  She suddenly felt like one of those teachers that she’d read about, who have sex with their students. But this was different. Or was it? Oh, she couldn’t think about it now! Not with the way she was still sizzling inside.

  He lifted her chin. “You okay?”

  She nodded. “You?”

  “Now I am.” He leaned down and kissed her. He grabbed a notepad from her desk and jotted down his number and the address where he was staying. He handed the paper to her. “When you’re ready.” He walked toward the door and unlocked it. He turned back to look at her. “I hope it’s soon.” He opened the door and walked out.

  When the door closed, she realized she was shaking all over. She needed to get out of that room, distance herself from what just happened, so that she could think.

  She smoothed her hair and checked her clothing. Confident that she didn’t look as if she’d just had the greatest sex in her life up against her office wall, she collected her things and stepped out into the hallway.

  The traffic in the hallway was thin, since most of the students were in class. She checked her watch. She had a few minutes. She darted off toward the ladies’ room to freshen up, and came up short when she saw Brice at the end of the hallway with Pamela smiling into his face. He slightly angled his head in Naomi’s direction, then turned back to his conversation with Pamela before they walked off together and disappeared around the next corner.

  Tears of humiliation were hotter than fire and they burned Naomi's eyes, her cheeks and her heart.

  Chapter 11

  “You did what!” Alexis screeched, as Naomi paced in front of her across the wooden living room floor.

  Naomi hadn’t stopped crying since she’d shown up at Alexis’s door. It took Alexis nearly a half hour to make out what Naomi was saying over her broken sobs, punctuated with curses and threats and out-and-out wailing. Now the unreal scenario had finally come together, and Alexis, never one for a loss of words, couldn’t put a sentence together. Her friend, her dear, straitlaced, conservative, often nerdy brilliant friend had certifiably lost her mind.

  Alexis pressed her face in her hands, then looked up at Naomi, who continued to pace and wail. Any second now, she expected Naomi to start gnashing her teeth and tearing out her hair.

  “Nay!” She held up her hand. “Stop the damned pacing and sit down. We need to talk about this. If it ever gets out, you could lose your tenure, your job…grrr. What were you thinking?”

  Naomi plopped down on the couch, snatched a tissue from the box on the table and blew her nose. Her eyes were swollen and red-rimmed, her face flushed as if she had a fever, her always-perfect bun hanging in a loose knot at the back of her neck.

  Alexis filled Naomi’s glass with wine. “Take some.”

  Naomi reached for the glass and gulped it down all at once. She leaned forward and took the bottle and refilled her glass, not offering any to Alexis. She flopped back against the couch, sniffed loudly and started in on her glass.

  “Naomi, sweetie, why?” Alexis’s gaze implored her friend to tell her where she had lost her mind so that they could go and get it.

  Naomi slowly shook her head. “I…I don’t know.
It had been brewing like a…stew in a Crock-Pot. Every time he was in class, the tension, the heat, just kept popping back and forth between us. I’d ignore him, then I’d single him out. And that woman, Pamela—she was always next to him, touching his arm, smiling at him. It was making me nuts. I kept wondering if he was doing with her what he’d done with me. And as much as I didn’t want him to acknowledge what went on between us, the jealous, jilted woman in me wanted him to. I wanted him to let me know that those two weeks in Antigua meant something to him, too. That it wasn’t just me, and that I hadn’t given myself to…” She covered her face and her strangled cry slipped between her fingers.

  Alexis reached across the space and patted Naomi’s knee. As much as she wanted to hug Naomi and tell her that everything was going to be all right, what her friend really needed was some straight talk—and as her friend, it was up to her to give it to her.

  “Naomi, listen to me.”

  Reluctantly, Naomi lifted her head and looked through tear-filled eyes at her friend. “You don’t have to say it. It was stupid and reckless.” She sniffed. “Every time I think about it, I still can’t believe I could have done something so incredibly dumb.” She sniffed, reached for a tissue and dabbed at her swollen eyes. She balled the tissue up in her palm.

  “Naomi, let’s just forget that it was plain silly for a minute. What really has you upset is not so much what happened in your office, but the fact that you saw him right afterward with Pamela.”

  She looked at Alexis with an awakening in her eyes. “Yes. Exactly. And he looked at me as if he didn’t see me.”

  Alexis pursed her lips and looked at her friend. “Nay, what did you expect him to do?”

  Naomi frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”