ME: I have to go, Mom. Love you.
SISSY: Love you, baby girl. Take that cock for a walk one of these days, you hear me?
ME: Roger that.
I take a giant swig of frothy ale, and when I’m licking my upper lip, I look up to find Emmett Ford at a table near the door, clear across the room from me. He’s frowning. His piercing blue eyes are burning a hole through my blouse. His gaze slowly travels up to my face, and I can’t help but smile at him.
I’m so happy to see him.
I forget to unbutton my blouse and lean forward like a shameless hussy.
I forget to angle my legs to the side and pull up my skirt to expose my thighs and my sexy knee-high boots.
I forget to breathe.
Because I’m so happy to see him and I can’t stop smiling.
After about ten seconds, I witness a miracle on East Houston Street.
The corners of Emmett Ford’s lips slowly curve upward. His eyes light up. And it turns out he has teeth! Beautiful white ones.
I don’t get to see them for long though. He shakes his head, closes his mouth, and tries not to smile. Looking down at a menu, he rests his chin in one hand. Trying to cover his mouth so I can’t see it. I know that trick.
Nice try. I made you smile, Emmett Ford. I gotcha!
I take another big gulp of beer.
When he glances over at me, I’m grinning at him. Big time. His brows knit together. I might look insane. I might not care. I’m a tipsy, titsy, horny, almost drunk twenty-five-year-old woman who needs to get some. Like yesterday.
I unfasten the top buttons of my blouse, angle my legs to the side, and hike up my skirt to reveal my bare thighs and the over-the-knee socks and knee-high boots. And then I lean forward.
Take that, Professor.
He frowns at me, shakes his head again, and looks back down at the menu.
Fine, then. Be that way.
I hold my pose.
Look at me.
Look at me.
Look. At. Me.
Fine.
If he won’t look at me, I will send him a text instead.
ME: Hi there.
I continue grinning at him as he pulls his phone from the back pocket of his jeans. It must have vibrated. Against his butt. He knows I sent him a text, and he’s going to read it!
Shit. I should have written something sexier.
ME: Hi there, sexy.
EMMETT: Stop it.
ME: Why? It’s your personal phone. You can just delete my messages.
EMMETT: Stop texting me. Stop undressing in the middle of a diner. Just stop it.
ME: Come over here and make me stop it, Professor.
EMMETT: Seriously. Knock it off.
ME: Why so serious, Professor?
ME: OMG you look so mad! It’s hilarious. This is exactly what you look like right now.
ME: Nobody who can see us texting even knows we’re texting each other. CHILL.
EMMETT: This is what you look like right now.
ME: Yeah, but you still think I’m hot.
EMMETT: That is irrelevant. I’m deleting all of these texts as soon as I get them, FYI.
ME: Sex.
ME: Sexxx.
ME: Sexy sex sex.
ME: Hot sexy sex.
EMMETT: Stop it. This isn’t funny.
ME: Yes it is! I’m fucking adorable and you like me!!!
EMMETT: True. But stop it anyway.
ME: Take me to your place.
EMMETT: No.
ME: Come back to my place.
EMMETT: Fiona. We can’t do this. What has gotten into you all of a sudden?
ME: NOT your penis!!!!!
EMMETT: Jesus. Pull it together.
ME: Fine. I am pulling it together and I am leaving.
ME: Happy a woman nice.
ME: Shit. Ducking autocorrect.
ME: Have a wonderful night.
“Ellen! May I have the check, please, Ellen? Thanks ever so much.” Ellen is with another customer ten feet away, ignoring me. “You know what? Never mind.” I pull on my coat and leave forty dollars on the table. “Leaving forty dollars on the table for you, Ellen!” I call out in a totally appropriate inside voice. “Keep the change!”
Emmett is rubbing his forehead and shaking his head. Gosh, I must be embarrassing him or something—which is so funny because we aren’t even here together and he’s pretending not to know me, so why should he care how I behave?!
I walk past Professor McFrownyface, very gracefully, and say, “I’m here all week—thank you, you’ve been a great audience.”
28
EMMETT
Goddammit.
I should not have come to the diner.
I had just gotten myself into a good headspace. Well—a better headspace. After seeing my dad on Thanksgiving, I had my priorities straight, and Fiona seemed to be pulling away, and I thought—if she can wait until May, then great. If she moves on, so be it. That would suck, but so be it.
And then I got that fucking letter.
And now this.
I leave a ten-dollar bill on the table, even though I haven’t ordered anything yet, and walk out the door.
Fiona is already half a block away, struggling to zip up her coat. She isn’t walking in a straight line. I shouldn’t follow her. She isn’t checking to see if I’m behind her—I should go back to the diner. I need to stay away from her. Completely.
But if she gets hit by a car or something, I’ll never be able to forgive myself.
“Fiona,” I grumble, “I’m walking you home.”
“Why, Professor Ford! That is so kind of you but absolutely unnecessary.” She barely looks both ways before jaywalking across Houston.
“Hey!” I jog ahead to keep up with her. There’s no oncoming traffic for a few blocks, but still. “You need to cross at the crosswalks, especially at night, Fiona.”
“Oh, is that how it works? Will you help me figure out which train to take to Rockefeller Center?”
“Why?”
“I’m going to pick up Goliath and take him there.”
“Now?”
“To see the Christmas tree.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Absolutely not!” she mimics me.
“It’s not even lit up at this hour. They only light the tree until ten, unless it’s Christmas Day.”
“Oh. Well, that is very inconvenient. We can go to Times Square, then.”
“No, we can’t.”
“I meant me and the cock, not you. You don’t have to come with me. I’ll be fine. I can take care of myself. I’ve been taking care of myself a lot. Ever since I met you.”
“Same here. A lot.”
“It’s very frustrating.”
“I agree.”
“You aren’t taking care of things with anyone else?”
“No. Are you?”
“No. I told you in the letter.”
“Good.”
“Hah! Who is it good for?! Not me! Not the many, many guys who would be happy to take care of me if I’d only let them!”
I don’t respond to that. What else can I say? She huffs. The heels of her boots are loud on the sidewalk, and I want them digging into the backs of my thighs while I fuck her, but that’s not going to happen. It’s not.
I can’t do it. I’m already the least distinguished visiting professor on the faculty. All the others have won awards and grants. I could pay the rent for every single one of them, but nobody cares about that in the Creative Writing Department. Everyone already sees me as the guy who got the job because of his dad—I can’t be the guy who fucked a student too.
I can’t.
I realize Fiona is laughing at me. Her laugh is girlish and musical, but nothing is funny about anything right now. “You should see yourself! You look so mad!”
“I don’t need to see myself. I know how I feel.”
“If you don’t want to feel that way anymore,
I could help you with that, Professor…”
“Don’t call me that.”
“I can help you feel good, Emmett.”
Jesus.
“Tonight.”
“Fiona.”
“I love hearing you say my name. Say it again. Just like that.”
I don’t. I can’t. Not tonight.
She sighs dramatically. I would love to make her sigh all kinds of ways, for all kinds of reasons. Grab her arm and kiss her and take her breath away. I would fucking love to.
But I won’t. I can’t. Not tonight.
When we reach the side street that her apartment’s on, instead of turning onto it, she starts skipping ahead, continuing up Houston.
“Where are you going?”
“Your place!”
“Get back here right now, young lady.”
She spins around, wide-eyed and grinning, like a naughty little girl who wants to get in trouble. “I want to see it.”
“Fiona. I’m not letting you into my place.” I stop walking and stand my ground. “Fiona. I will walk you back to your place, and that’s it. We’re going home. Separately.”
She stomps her feet and pouts, like I knew she would. I don’t even know why I’m turned on right now. She’s being a brat. “This is very frustrating and disappointing!”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to start behaving out of character now, would I? Keep your voice down, and get back here.” I start walking down her side street. I don’t look back.
I can hear her boots on the pavement. She’s following me. Begrudgingly.
Those boots are fucking hot and those socks are fucking hot and her thighs are really fucking hot. And those tits. I can’t believe she flashed her cleavage at me. That was fucking hot.
But I can’t touch them. I can’t touch her. Not yet.
“Why did you even bother coming to see me tonight?” She’s about five feet behind me, and she’s keeping her voice down now.
“I wanted to see you.”
“You wanted to, or you needed to? Because I needed to see you.”
“Both.”
“Is it really that easy for you to see me and not want to do more with me? Because I don’t think I can do this much longer.”
“Like I said in one of the letters, I can’t make you wait for me.”
“But you want me to? You want me to wait for you?”
“I have no right to ask you to.”
“If you asked me to, I would. If you told me that you wanted me…” Her voice is trembling, and it’s killing me. “If you want me to be yours, I will wait for you. But you have to say the words.”
I say nothing. I can’t make any promises. I want her and I’d wait for her, but if I ask her to wait, then we’d be in some kind of relationship, and we can’t be.
She’s quiet until we get to her building. She pauses in front of the path up to the stoop. Without looking at me, she says, “I know I’m ten years younger than you, but I can handle more than you’d think. I can tell you what I want, and I can ask you for what I want. I can compartmentalize, and I can keep a secret. I’ve never liked any man as much as I like you, so I guess I can’t say how I’d feel if we slept together just once. Tonight. But I want to. I wish you did too.”
She walks up to the front door and unlocks it while I stand here processing what she just said to me. How the fuck does a twenty-five-year-old just say that to someone they aren’t even in a relationship with? She knows I want her. I’m not going to say it again. Not now. Not tonight.
“But I can’t keep waiting for you to ask me for what you want, Emmett.” She opens the door to her apartment building and then turns to face me. “Good night. See you in class.”
Oh hell no.
I jog up the steps and catch the front door before it closes. I follow her up the stairs. She doesn’t acknowledge that I’m following her, and I don’t say anything. It’s just footsteps and breaths that keep getting heavier and heavier.
She’s in apartment 208. I know that because of all the letters I’ve addressed to her. When we get to the door to her apartment, while she’s unlocking it, she states, “My roommates aren’t home.”
I follow her inside. This apartment is a two bedroom. Not big, not too small. Not a lot of furniture. Not shitty. It smells like her. It smells really fucking good. “I’m not staying.”
“Okay. Want a drink?” She lets her coat slide off her, to the floor.
“No.” I pick up her coat and fold it over the back of a chair.
“Okay. I’m going to my room.”
I follow her into her room and then shut the door. The lights are off. She’s headed for her bed, but I grab her arm and pull her to me, push her up against the back of the door. She gasps, and I keep hold of that arm, grasping her face with my other hand. “Goddammit, Fiona, what are you doing to me?”
“Whatever you want.” She pulls my coat off and tosses it somewhere.
“I want you to leave me alone.”
“No, you don’t. That’s not what I want either.”
I kiss her. She’s right, but I kiss her mouth to shut her up. Her lips are so fucking soft, and her tongue tastes like beer and youth and a future that I want. Everything about her is welcoming me inside, even though I’m being a total dick to her.
I tear my mouth away from hers and grip her hips with both hands, the way I know she likes it. “You need to get off? Is that what you want—more than anything?”
“Yes.” She’s hiking up her skirt again. Little minx.
“You want me to get you off?”
“Yes.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I need you to get me off, Emmett.”
“If I do that, one time, will you start behaving yourself again?”
She doesn’t answer.
“Huh?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“I want to get you off too.”
Fucking hell.
I grab her ass with one hand and reach down between her legs with the other. Her panties are so wet. There is so much heat radiating off her, and I want to feel her bare skin all over mine. “You’re making my life a living hell.”
“It was already a living hell.” She places her hand on mine and slowly guides it inside her panties. “Let me show you heaven,” she whispers in my ear.
She gets a C for cliché dialogue, an A for delivery, and an F for fucking with the teacher.
But fuck she feels good. Everything is warm and wet and swollen and responding to my every movement. I’m pressing and circling my fingers flat against her clit as she tilts her pelvis toward me.
“Emmett…”
She clings to my shoulders. We can’t even kiss because the intensity of this moment—this need to get her off with my fingers—is all either of us can handle. She needs this, and I need her to need it, and I want her to get off, and I want to be the one who does this for her.
She’s already shuddering and squeezing her thighs together and bucking up against my hand. She’s been on the brink for months, just like I have, and it feels good. This beautiful woman needs me and wants me, and it feels so fucking good to be with her like this.
I slide two fingers along both sides of her clit, up and down, up and down. She tenses up and cries out and holds her breath, wrapping her arms around my neck, pressing her tits against my chest. Her head drops back, and she is all breaths and sighs and agony and ecstasy. Wetter and wetter. I don’t know how she can be this wet for me, but I love it.
“Goddammit, Fiona, you are the hottest woman I’ve ever known.” It’s true, and I don’t even feel guilty saying it out loud.
She whimpers, and I slip two fingers inside her and fuck her with them. Hard and fast because that’s how it has to be.
“Oh my God. Emmett.” She clenches around me, moaning. Clenches and releases, clenches and releases.
And then I curl my fingers toward myself, find that G-spot, and she rises up, sucking in her breat
h, and then goes still for one shocking, perfect moment. I’ve been living in this moment ever since we met. The moment before the sweet release. She makes the most beautiful, pained, and satisfied sound before relaxing and convulsing.
I wish I could see her face.
I always wish I could see her face.
I keep my fingers exactly where they are until she finally stops whimpering and twitching and saying “Oh my God, oh my God. Emmett.”
She goes limp. I touch her cheek and kiss her on the lips, just once. There is so much more I want to do for her, but I have to stop now or I never will. I pull my hand out slow, still pressing against her. She clenches her thighs together and grabs my face, drags the tip of her tongue up my chin and my lower lip, and then kisses me with all of the urgency of a woman who didn’t come all over my hand just now.
Fucking twenty-five-year-olds.
She pulls her mouth away—which is unfortunate because I really like kissing her—pushes me backward until the backs of my legs touch the end of a bed. She gives my chest a shove, encouraging me to sit down. I really shouldn’t, but I also really want to because I have a feeling something awesome is about to happen.
She reaches behind herself. I hear the unzipping of a zipper. She pushes the waistband of her skirt down over her hips until the skirt falls to the floor. The room is only lit by moonlight and a streetlamp, but I see her standing there before me in black bikini underwear, boots, and socks that go up over her knees. I can’t even stop my hands from reaching for those thighs. That ass. She unbuttons her blouse, all the way down. She’s wearing a thin bra of sorts, but even in this dim light I can see those nipples, and—fuck it.
I pull her onto my lap, feel her legs wrap around my waist, yank that triangle of fabric down, and lick that nipple because I have to. She arches back, offering herself to me, and I take her, with my mouth and my hands. She bears down on my crotch, and I’m so hard, it’s painful, but this is the best thing that’s happened to me in over a decade, so I can handle it.
She is smooth and sweet and so alive.
I would ruin my life and everyone else’s for this woman right now.
The Love Interest Page 14