“I know,” he said with a short, clipped nod. “And I know it’s pointless to blame myself, but sometimes - like tonight - I can’t help but think Derek might still be here if I hadn’t left him.”
After disappointing my mother, I thought I knew what guilt felt like. But it was nothing compared to the guilt I saw in Daniel’s eyes. So I didn’t think. I didn’t plan. I didn’t weigh the pros and the cons. I just acted.
I saw a flash of surprise pass over Daniel’s face as I grabbed his neck and pressed my mouth to his before I closed my eyes. For an instant he remained frozen, his body completely stiff, before he sank his hands into my coiffure and kissed me back with a hungry passion that quite literally took my breath away.
Hairpins flew as we rolled across the couch. For a second I was on top, my thighs straddling his waist, before he flipped me beneath him and settled the long, hard length of his body against mine. Lust shot through me like a tidal wave, beginning in my loins and sweeping up over my navel and breasts, leaving my nipples hard and aching for Daniel’s touch.
Our kisses before had always been slow, silky, and smooth. We’d taken our time, enjoying each other with careful little sips instead of great thirsty gulps.
This was the opposite of that.
Daniel’s tongue skimmed my mouth before it plunged between my teeth. With a tiny whimper I met him thrust for thrust, writhing beneath him as I began to burn hotter and hotter, already half drunk from the taste of him on my lips and the feel of him beneath my hands. My nails sank into his back, anchoring myself to muscle and sinew as he tore himself away from my mouth and began to press tiny, suckling kisses across my jaw, down my neck, and along the delicate ridge of my exposed collarbone, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.
Yes, I thought as my head thrashed mindlessly from side to side. This is what I’ve wanted. This is what I’ve needed.
Why had I denied myself this mindless pleasure? Why had I been holding myself back? I couldn’t remember, and in the heat of the moment it didn’t matter. Nothing did. Nothing except for Daniel. And even before he lifted his head to ask my permission to go further, to go faster, I knew what my answer would be.
When I’d had sex with Justin, I had always felt stiff. My movements clumsy and ponderous. At times there had been brief spurts of flame, but they’d always been quickly extinguished by my own self-consciousness. I hadn’t hated sex, but I hadn’t particularly liked it very much. Now, however…now I couldn’t get enough. I couldn’t feel enough. I couldn’t want enough.
Daniel scooped me effortlessly into his arms and carried me over to his bed. He dropped me on the mattress and I giggled as I bounced before he claimed my mouth with his own. Hands braced on either side of my shoulders, he slowly eased me back onto one of the pillows. Pulled completely free of its coiffure, my hair fanned out around me in a dark, tangled cloud. Lifting a long tendril, he let it coil around his finger.
“Are you sure?” he asked, his eyes hot and hungry on mine. “Because we don’t have to.”
“I know.” The huskiness in my voice took me by surprise. I cleared my throat. “I…I want to.”
Leaning away from me, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it off before he turned his attentions to my corset. “Your turn, little fox.” After a few minutes of pulling, however, he sat back on his heels with a perplexed shake of his head. “I don’t understand. Are you superglued into this thing?”
I laughed again before I rolled onto my stomach. “You have to untie the back,” I instructed, a smile toying with the corners of my mouth as I crossed my arms under my chin and patiently waited while he unraveled Whitney’s knots.
I always imagined if Daniel and I ever took the next step and became intimate I would be nervous and tense, but instead I felt completely relaxed and light as a feather. I suspected the wine I’d drank at the Halloween party had a little bit to do with it, but not everything. The truth was the decision to make love with Daniel had been more nerve wracking than anything else. Now that I’d let go of my inhibitions and given into my feelings instead of my fears, the act of making love was nothing short of extraordinary.
Following the grooves of my shoulderblades, Daniel’s hands glided down my back as he finished untying the final knot. When he kissed my spine I shivered and rolled over, arms automatically crossing over my naked breasts. His expression solemn, Daniel rose up off the bed to take off his jeans. While I watched, utterly captivated by the flawless lines of his body, he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his black boxer briefs and slowly peeled them down his strong, muscular thighs.
There were too many shadows for me to see everything Daniel had to offer, but what I could make out in the dim glow of the recessed lighting was enough to cause my eyes to widen and my breath to catch in the back of my throat.
Given the feverish way he’d kissed me on the couch I expected him to immediately unbuckle my skirt. Instead he stretched out beside me, his hips pressing intimately against mine as he gently pulled me towards him, positioning himself until he had one arm underneath my head and the other on the curve of my bottom.
“I don’t want to rush this,” he said quietly, his gaze so intent on mine I wondered if he wasn’t simply plucking my thoughts right out of my head. “I want to enjoy you, Imogen. Every.” He kissed my lips. “Delectable.” He kissed my neck. “Inch.” When his mouth settled on my breast and his tongue swirled around my nipple I gasped out loud and arched my back, fingers burrowing in his hair. I tugged hard, gasped an apology, then tugged again as he nudged me onto my back and began to lick a path straight towards the hottest part of my body.
“Daniel, I don’t know-”
“Every inch,” he murmured against my burning flesh. “I want to taste every inch.”
I’d never been kissed down there before and I couldn’t help but squirm as Daniel took off my buckle and slid my skirt down my legs, leaving me in nothing but a scrap of lacy red panties I was thanking God I’d had the foresight to put on.
With a low growl, Daniel grabbed the edge of the lace and pulled my panties off with his teeth.
Then he lowered his mouth…and I lost all sense of time and reason.
By the time Daniel finished, I could barely lift my head off the pillow. My arms and legs felt heavy. My vision felt blurred. With a low, husky laugh he worked his way back up my body. I watched, eyelids half closed, as he opened the top drawer on his nightstand and took out a condom. For a moment there was only the sound of our harsh, heavy breaths and the crinkling of plastic as he tore the wrapper open and expertly fitted the condom over the long, hard length of his cock.
Already slick with need, I braced my hands on his shoulders as he slid steadily inside of me.
With a groan, he threw his head back, muscles rippling and clenching beneath my fingertips as he moaned, “Holy fuck.”
Usually I wasn’t a proponent of cursing, but in this case I supported it wholeheartedly.
Holy fuck was right.
He began to glide in and out. As we adjusted to each other’s rhythms there were a few seconds of fumbling, but by the fourth smooth pump of his hips we’d established a steady ebb and flow that began to quicken as our heartbeats accelerated and our pulses began to race. He slipped his hand between us, and with half a dozen expert strokes of his finger had me pinching my eyes shut and gasping his name as I came with him buried deep inside of me. He followed almost immediately after, his entire body trembling as his back bowed and he spilled his seed.
In the aftermath we both laid flat on our backs, staring dazedly up at the ceiling as we waited for our vital signs to return to normal. Daniel was the first to speak. Entwining his fingers with mine, he lifted my hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
“That…that was incredible.”
I smiled dreamily. “I know.”
Turning his head to the side, he grinned at me. “You sound impressed with myself.”
I was impressed with myself. “I meant I agree with you.”
&n
bsp; “I know.” He nuzzled my neck. “Stay the night? I’ll drive you home in the morning.”
I tensed. I couldn’t help myself. Feeling the sudden tightness in my body, Daniel pressed his mouth against my shoulder and lifted his gaze to mine.
“It’s late, Imogen.”
“But Whitney-”
“She’ll be fine. She can always call if she needs you.”
I bit the inside of my cheek. I didn’t know why, but suddenly spending the night curled up next to Daniel with his arm around me seemed far more intimate than making love. Still, he had valid points. It was late and I had a feeling Whitney hadn’t been expecting me back until tomorrow anyways. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’ll stay.”
And I did.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
January
With midterms rapidly approaching and the holidays right around the corner, I didn’t get to see Daniel as much as I would have liked. Still, we talked on the phone nearly every night and at least once a week I stayed over at his apartment.
The sex was still amazing. Better than I could have ever dreamed. And every day that passed we became closer. But neither one of us had yet to make any sort of verbal commitment, and after the night we first slept together when Daniel had told me about his mother, we reverted back to sharing information about ourselves that was far less personal. It was a barrier, I think. One final wall to be breached. The last thing standing between being lovers…and being in love.
When Thanksgiving came, Whitney and I stayed in Camden. With college only on break for four days and indoor soccer practice starting up on the twenty-seventh, it didn’t make sense to go anywhere. So we remained at home, attempted to cook a turkey, ordered pizza instead, and watched every single Harry Potter movie in order from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone to Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (part two).
The few short weeks between Thanksgiving and Christmas flew by. When midterms were finished, I felt enormously relieved. Relieved enough that I allowed myself to spend my very first snow day with Daniel. We went sledding down an enormous hill called ‘Mt Tom’ and drank hot chocolate at Poppy’s before returning to his apartment and warming ourselves up in an entirely different (but equally delicious) way.
I still felt the familiar licks of anxiety from time to time, but I was getting better. Daniel was helping me get better. When I was with him, I didn’t worry about having to be perfect. He accepted me as I was, eccentricities and all. If I occasionally froze up or became too consumed with work or began an impromptu lecture on the history of figs in Portugal, he was there to gently steer me back in the right direction.
As my old habits slowly slipped away and I was finally able to start letting go of the old Imogen and embracing the new, only one shadow remained unchanged.
My mother.
She still wasn’t returning my phone calls or letters and I had a sinking feeling she never would. At least not anytime in the near future, which meant I wouldn’t be welcomed home for Christmas. Thankfully I had Whitney and Whitney’s family, who, while certainly not perfect, were loud and crass and exactly what I needed.
We flew down to Florida and spent nearly two weeks basking in the sun, eating ice cream until our stomachs hurt, and playing in the ocean like children. I hardly did any work at all (mostly because every time Whitney saw me with my laptop open she grabbed it and ran away) and by the time we returned I felt more refreshed and relaxed than I had in years.
The second semester at Stonewall began with more of a whimper than a bang (I suspected mostly because the undergraduates and the faculty were still in a bit of a post-winter break haze) and for the first week I devoted all of my time to catching up on all of the work I had missed while I’d been enjoying myself in sunny Florida and trying not to miss Daniel too badly. Over the twenty-one day break we’d talked and texted, but had yet to see each other in person, something which we planned on rectifying over the weekend. For now, I had other things to concentrate on…first and foremost being my very first night class.
All night classes were held in Harbinger Hall, a tall, narrow brick building framed by towering pine trees on the far end of campus by the soccer fields. It had been converted into small classrooms sometime during the eighties and was undergoing yet another renovation next summer. A renovation that should have taken place two years ago, but had been delayed due to budget cuts.
Cutting across the back parking lot, I was forced to grab onto my hat as a strong, blustery wind threatened to carry it away. Winter, in all its bitterly cold glory, had officially arrived. Five inches of snow (or, as Mainers called it, ‘a dusting’) already covered the ground in a blanket of white with more due to arrive at the beginning of next week. Ducking my head against the wind, I stayed on the shoveled path leading to the front of Harbinger Hall. Tall black lamp posts lit the way, reflecting eerily off the snow and nearby pines. Reaching the front door, I used both hands to shove it open (I’d already been warned by John that it had a tendency to stick) and stumbled inside, carrying a gust of cold air and a sprinkling of snowflakes along with me.
The very first thing I noticed about Harbinger Hall - once my eyes had adjusted to the fluorescent lights glaring down from sagging ceiling tiles - was the smell. It reminded me of my grandparent’s house. A house with moth balls in every closet and lace curtains on every window. Nose wrinkling, I went through the lobby and turned left, the heels of my calf-high leather boots echoing on the linoleum as I walked briskly down the hall. Courtesy of John’s instructions (given with a smirk and a nudge that I now understood), I knew my class was being held in the fifth room down on the right. The door was marked with the letter ‘G’ which didn’t make sense, but then neither did having night classes in the oldest, furthest, most decrepit building on campus. Unlocking the door with the tiny brass key I’d been given, I stepped inside and turned on the lights.
“Seriously?” I muttered under my breath, repeating one of Whitney’s favorite sayings as I surveyed my new classroom. Although how it qualified as a classroom was an absolute mystery. A broom closet would be a better description, I thought with a surge of annoyance. How on earth was I supposed to squeeze twenty-two students in here? There weren’t even any windows, although there was a green chalkboard at the front of the room and a row of ancient looking filing cabinets at the back. Wooden desks and ugly orange chairs filled what minimal space there was in between. When was the last time I had used a chalkboard? I couldn’t remember. Everything was digital now. Everything, it seemed, except for Harbinger Hall.
Setting my computer bag down, I started to rearrange the desks and chairs into neat tidy rows, counting them off as I went. After fifteen minutes or so (as was my habit, I’d arrived significantly early) I heard students making their way down the hall, their voices amplified by the high ceilings that most likely contained asbestos.
“You can sit anywhere you like,” I said, still working on arranging the desks to my satisfaction as they began to trickle in one after the other.
A heavy-set brunette with bright orange hoop earrings and a vaguely familiar face stopped short on her way to a seat in the back of the room. “I know you!” She grinned at me, then tugged on the arm of the girl beside her. “Lacy, this is Professor Finley. I have her for-”
“English Literature, Tuesdays and Thursdays.” I may not have immediately recognized the girl’s face, but her voice - high pitched and always filled with energy - was unforgettable. Britney Watson. A sophomore with a strong writing voice and poor attention to detail.
“Yep. I didn’t know you were teaching this class.” Reaching inside a thick red notebook she had tucked under her arm, Britney pulled out a single sheet of paper and quickly scanned it. “On here it says Professor Greer.”
“Professor Greer had a scheduling conflict. I’ll be teaching this class for the rest of the semester. If you’d rather take Creative Writing with him, I believe he’s offering a course next semester.”
“No way. Professor Greer is so
boring. I would totally fall asleep.” Britney’s eyes widened. “Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that.”
“Probably not,” I agreed, although it was true. At sixty-three Professor Greer was on the brink of retirement. He hadn’t made an official announcement yet, but according to John everyone knew it was happening soon. In addition to a Thursday night class, he only had three other courses. His leaving was one of the reasons I’d been hired. “Why don’t you take a seat? We’ll begin momentarily.”
“You’re going to love Professor Finely,” I heard Britney say as she pulled her friend towards the back of the classroom. “She’s so cool. In my English Lit class we’re going to study Harry Potter…”
Biting back a smile, I checked my watch and moved to the last row of desks. Five minutes to six. The room was more than halfway filled now, with more voices echoing out in the hall, no doubt waiting until the last possible second to come in and sit down. Thankfully - as long as my count was correct - there would be exactly enough chairs for them to sit in.
“You never mentioned you were taking a night class.”
A patient smile already in place - this wouldn’t be the first time I’d been confused for a student, and I was sure it wouldn’t be the last - I finished pushing in the last orange chair and turned around. “Oh, I’m actually the…Daniel?”
No.
No. No. No.
This could not be happening. Daniel was not in my classroom.
Except he was. He was right there, standing two feet away from me, looking slightly puzzled. He wore a blue button down shirt underneath his heavy green ski jacket and a pair of khakis. His hair was a little longer than the last time I’d seen him, but otherwise he looked exactly the same. Tall, handsome…and a student. My student.
Oh my God.
“Can I…” I couldn’t speak, my throat was too tight. My tongue felt dry and swollen. I swallowed, licked my lips, and tried again. “Can I speak to you out in the hallway?”
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