by Kendall Ryan
He spoke the words with such conviction, like he knew them to be true. And for a second I wondered if he was right. My body grew warm under his appraisal and I shifted in my seat to alleviate the sudden ache between my legs. As I lifted my wineglass to my lips, our server appeared with our meals.
Grateful for the distraction of our food, I tasted a bite of pasta while Zach cut a piece of his chicken marsala and popped it into his mouth. Maybe if I could just pretend like that part of the conversation never happened, we could move on.
“This place is really good,” I said, forcing myself to hold back from saying all the things I couldn’t to Zach—like the fact that I was attracted to him too, unbelievably, and that I’d never had great sex in my entire life. Jason’s idea of foreplay was to remove his glasses. None of that would be productive to my education, to my writing, or to chasing my dreams and showing Connor that life was what you made it. I couldn’t trade it all for a few mind-blowing orgasms. I wouldn’t.
And most of all, I wanted to tell him about Connor—about becoming a mom before I graduated high school, that my responsibility toward my son colored every decision I made.
Plus, Zach was leaving. He had plans to move to New York next year. Even if anything could come of this, we were doomed before we could even begin.
He chewed his food slowly, still studying me. “Their whole family moved here from Italy. Everything is homemade daily. And I probably eat here way too often, but I love this place.”
While we ate, we kept to safe topics—which of Ariel’s poems were our favorites, places he’d traveled, places we wanted to travel, and the merits of traditional versus self-publishing.
After sharing a tiramisu, I thought the night couldn’t be any more perfect. Great poetry, great food, great conversation, and a man who was so nice to look at—even if I’d never let myself touch.
As we stepped into the night air, Zach gestured around the corner. “My place is actually right here, if you want another glass of wine.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, it just happens to be around the corner? I’m sure that’s entirely a coincidence.”
He put up his hands, but he was laughing. “Me? Plan something like that?”
I bit my lip. It had been a fun night, and the idea of going home alone wasn’t very appealing at that moment. I hated the nights Connor stayed with my parents. Plus, I was totally curious to see where Zach lived.
“Alright, I’ll come in. But just one drink.”
His house was a cute, old craftsman with wood floors and high ceilings.
“This is nice,” I said, impressed as he led me inside.
“You sound surprised,” he said, hanging up his coat in a hall closet.
“No offense, but I pictured you having a total bachelor pad.” I spun around, taking in the detailed molding. I followed him into the kitchen, which had brand new granite countertops. “This is amazing. I love the picture frame molding on the walls in the entryway.”
He nodded. “I just put that in, actually. I’m still working on some things, but it’s coming along.”
I watched Zach as he grabbed a bottle of wine and started twisting it open. He really was full of surprises. He knew my favorite writer, picked out amazing restaurants, and he knew how to fix up a house? I wonder what else he’s got in his toolbox, a screwdriver or hammer that I could use, I thought before mentally slapping myself. Alone with Zach at his house after a romantic evening wasn’t the right time to start getting horny. I needed to stay strong.
As we settled into the couch with our wine, I slipped my shoes off.
“This was really fun, seriously, thanks for inviting me.” I pulled my hair out from the tight bun I’d put it in earlier and shook it out. “I probably needed to let loose a little bit.”
Zach watched my hair fall from its updo, his breath hitching as he observed me. My brain not-so-helpfully supplied all the ways Zach could help me let loose—preferably with his hands on my skin.
I tried to be casual, but his nearness had made my body heat up a few degrees.
“I’m glad you said yes.” Zach took a sip of his own wine and set his glass down on the table. “Did you ever figure out who was writing you those poems?”
I shook my head. “You?”
Zach drew a shallow inhale, and met my gaze. “Whoever he is, he seems like he really wants a shot with you.”
It wasn’t exactly an answer, but I didn’t want to talk about that just now anyway. I was here alone with Zach and determined to enjoy my rare evening out.
"Listen, Poppy. I talk a big game. I know this about myself. But I need you to promise me one thing."
I rolled my eyes.
"This is serious, Poppy. Will you promise?"
"What am I promising?" This man had a way of getting me to say things, to feel things, to admit things that I might not have otherwise. I wasn't sure if it was because he was older and wiser and that much more cunning at these types of discussions, or if it was just because being near him seemed to physically lower my inhibitions. He was like a walking shot of tequila.
"I need you to promise me that if anything physical happens between us—that it will be very consensual, and very sex-positive. I need you to understand that I will worship you and make you come So. Many. Fucking Times."
He enunciated those words so clearly and slowly, I felt them with every beat of my heart, every pulse of heat between my legs.
Oblivious to my hammering heart, Zach continued. "But I also need you to know that if I do or say anything you don't like, all you have to do is say so and everything will stop. Just the word no, Poppy. Use it and I promise to leave you alone."
"Leave me alone as in stop mentoring me, stop helping me in the program?"
His face was serious and he shook his head without even considering it. "I will never stop mentoring you, as long as you want it. Giving in to our attraction—or not—will never be a condition for my help. I want you to succeed, and it has nothing to do with how much I want you in my bed. Do you understand that?"
I felt myself nodding my head.
I knew what he was saying. Despite how aggressively Zach put his feelings on the subject of us out there—I knew he'd never betray my wishes.
"Okay," I murmured.
He considered me for a long moment, neither of us blinking.
"Why did you approach me that night at the party, Poppy. Did you find me attractive?"
Was he fucking serious?
Of course I find him attractive. Actually, attractive was too weak a word. I found him mesmerizing. Addictive. Enchanting. Impossible.
"I'm not saying I do, but if I wanted something to happen ..." I swallowed a wave of nerves and took a shallow breath as Zach's mouth curved into a grin.
"Something as in finding out how many times in a row I can make you come using my mouth, my hands, and my ..."
I held up one hand. "Yes. That. How would it work, isn't it, like, forbidden?"
God, why did the word forbidden make me feel even hotter?
Zach's gaze wandered to the distance for a moment, like he was lost in thought. "The university's rules on this aren't written in the employee handbook."
Oh my God, had he actually checked? Why did that thought make my cheeks heat?
"Student / professor relationships are the only thing addressed," he added, his tone serious.
"And?"
"And if I was a professor who was pursing you this way—I'd lose my job."
"Oh."
"Yes."
"But you're not a professor."
"I'm not. But still ...The possibility is there, which makes this dangerous."
"Then why are we discussing this Zach? We both know nothing can happen between us." Except I felt more confused now than ever.
"Even if you wanted it to?"
God, what did I want? His dark emerald gaze returned to mine, burning so bright and hot that I felt it deep inside
me. "I rarely seem to get what I want these days."
"We could change that."
I took another sip of my wine and looked over at him. He was so damned attractive. So masculine and intense. What if we just stopped fighting this attraction? What if I just decided to loosen up a bit, push the boundaries, say fuck the rules … I wasn’t sure if it was the wine, or this man, but suddenly the idea of testing the waters appealed to me more and more.
I set my wine down and moved closer to Zach on the couch. I looked into his eyes, which had suddenly turned serious. God, how did he do that? This man had the power to turn my insides molten with just one sizzling look.
I’d cataloged repeatedly all the reasons why this couldn’t happen. But right now? None of them seemed to matter. I wanted his lips on mine.
Knowing I had to be the one to show him what I wanted, I summoned my courage, and leaned in closer. Heat spread down my body as Zach’s dark lust-filled eyes cataloged my movements.
Reaching toward him, I touched my fingertips to the stubble on his jaw. His eyes slid closed as my fingers explored. He didn’t move—didn’t speak—didn’t so much as breathe—as I got closer. It was almost like he wasn’t sure I was actually going to go through with this. Like if he moved, the spell would be broken.
As I scooted even closer to him on the couch, his eyes reopened.
“Zach,” I murmured.
His eyes surveyed mine like he was searching for the answer to a question, and once he was sure he could touch me, Zach reached out a hand and cupped my cheek, pulling me in closer until our lips were almost touching. I closed my eyes and let out a little moan as he gripped my hair into a fist.
His mouth closed over mine. It wasn’t the slow, cautious kiss of our first time. It was hungry and passionate, like he’d thought of nothing else every day since our first kiss. He sucked on my tongue, tangled my hair in his fist and made the most fantastic groaning sound.
Without breaking our kiss, I swung my leg over his so that I was straddling him. While his tongue slid sensually with mine, his hands slid down my back, leaving my skin tingling everywhere he’d touched.
Our new position made it impossible to ignore his denim-clad erection, which was now nudging restlessly between my legs. “Shit,” I moaned.
Cupping my ass in his palms, Zach let out a ragged groan. “You are so fucking perfect.” His mouth teased the side of my neck, my jaw, leaving sweet little sucking kisses.
“We shouldn’t,” I breathed.
“I know. But this feels too good, too right.” He tugged me closer to his erection—so it nudged at my center—and I made a helpless cry of pleasure. “You feel it too. I know you do,” he grunted. “Tell me, Poppy.”
He was right, so right. My heart pounded in my throat, and as his tongue slid into my mouth I instinctively put my hands on his chest and gripped his shirt, pulling myself closer against him so our bodies were pressed even tighter together. My mind was totally blank, everything was taken over by how much I craved his touch. He slipped a hand under my shirt, and I inhaled sharply as his hand touched my bare skin. My breasts ached as my nipples hardened, anticipating his touch. Zach’s hand slid up to cup my breast while his tongue continued moving expertly against mine.
I was so wet, so incredibly turned on, that I began rocking against him, imagining how good it would feel to repeat this entire scenario without clothes—to ride him, and feel him inside me. Because Zach might be my academic adviser and this scenario was definitely taboo, but holy hell, he had a huge cock. Unable to stop myself, I pushed my hips faster, rocking harder against him.
“So fucking sexy. Can you come like this?”
For a moment, I thought I might—come just from rubbing up against him, and his obscene erection pulsing beneath me.
I let out a low moan of pleasure, and shook my head. Zach shifted, lifting me in his arms, and placed me flat on my back on his couch.
I mourned the loss of him, but then smiled when I saw he had something much better in mind. Lowering himself on top of me, I let out a contented sigh as Zach’s body weight moved over mine. All that hard muscle hovering over me—I felt safe, cherished.
“You have no idea how badly I want you,” he said, shifting his hips forward experimentally so I could feel the hard ridge of him.
I bit back a giggle. “I have some idea.”
Parting my thighs, I invited him closer, and Zach lowered his mouth to mine once again, rocking in tiny thrusts into me as we continued kissing.
“I want to make you come, Poppy.”
The way his body moved, the powerful muscles in his back, the attention he paid to the smallest details—like tasting the spot where my pulse flickered in my neck—all of these things told me he’d be an amazing lover.
And dear God, how I longed to find out. To discover all the secret ways he could bring my body pleasure.
“Need to touch you,” he groaned a sound that sounded a lot like frustration. “Tell me it’s okay, tell me you want this too.”
I nodded, eyes on his, and watched as his large hands moved down to the button on my jeans. Watching in stunned fascination as he tugged my jeans down to my knees, pulling my panties down with them. Zach kneeled on the couch between my legs, his eyes caressing me everywhere.
“Fuck, you are so sexy.” He stroked me carefully with his thumb, pressing against my swollen clit.
I let out a shuddering moan.
“I need to make that sexy little pussy come.”
I’d barely let out a noise of approval when Zach lowered his lips to the warm, swollen flesh between my legs and gave me a slow kiss that stole all the oxygen from my lungs.
Soon, Zach was eating me like I was his last meal, his hot mouth all over me, licking and sucking like his life depended on it, while his stubble burned my thighs.
“Can I fuck you with my fingers, Poppy?” he asked, voice whisper-soft and rough.
“Y-yes,” I managed on a broken sob.
Two thick fingers speared into me and my mouth dropped open in a silent moan as I watched his muscled forearm with its sexy ink flex as he drove into me.
Dear God …
“So sweet and tempting.” He gave me another slow lick. “My flesh rises at your name.” Another wet kiss. “You drive me mad with want,” he whispered dirty words to me each time he came up for air.
While his fingers slid in and out, my body made wet, sucking sounds. The pleasure was nearly overwhelming, and as desperate as I was to have him inside me—it was the way the man quoted freaking Shakespeare while we were being intimate that was my undoing.
His mouth lowered to my clit once again while his fingers continued coaxing and soon, the orgasm that had been building came barreling down on me. I gripped his head, pushing my fingers into his hair, holding his mouth to my core.
Zach was fused tight, his tongue doing the most delicious dance over my swollen flesh until I cried out and jerked against him, grinding out every last ounce of pleasure. It had been so long, and I’d wanted him from the first moment I spotted him—I was powerless.
I came in a powerful rush—clenching down on his fingers—gasping out his name. Zach’s eyes opened and lifted to mine, while his tongue continued slowly coaxing each aftershock from my body.
He rose to his knees, still watching me. His tented jeans and flashing eyes, his beautifully powerful shoulders all bunched with tension… He was the sexiest, most masculine thing I’d ever seen. His hand remained on my naked hip, his thumb tracing small circles over my skin.
Dear God…
I wanted to pounce on him, wanted to ride him like a bull at the rodeo, wanted to feel those powerful muscles under my fingers, but then my brain snapped back on, plunging me into the unwelcome reality of our situation.
“Wait,” I breathed.
His hand slid from my skin, and he watched me, lips parted, both of us breathing hard. “Too fast?”
“Too … everything. I c
an’t.”
He rose from the couch and I didn’t miss the discreet way he adjusted the enormous erection in his pants. A pang of momentary regret pulsed through me again.
“Poppy.” His voice was ragged, and he was still breathing hard.
I forced myself to meet his eyes. He looked as taken aback as I was.
“I’m sorry, I’m just …” It’s not that I didn’t want to, but I knew I couldn’t get involved with him. It wouldn’t be smart. And I always played it safe, always did what was right.
“Poppy,” he said again, composing himself. “If you really don’t want this, I’ll stop. Everything will stop. But you have to honestly tell me you don’t want me.”
I was still catching my breath and I felt torn in two different directions. He was watching me intently, waiting for my decision. I stood up and grabbed my shoes. “I don’t want this.”
It was a bold-faced lie, and terrified that Zach would see straight through me, I left his house as quickly as I could, without looking back. I felt tears spring into my eyes and roughly wiped them away. What was wrong with me? Of course, I wanted him, but I was here to succeed in school, not to fuck my adviser. What would Connor think if I got kicked out of school for sleeping with a faculty member? What would my parents say? They’d say they’d been right all along, that being a writer wasn’t practical, that it was too difficult, and I didn’t want it bad enough. That I should just get an average job like them and accept a mediocre life. Well, I wanted something more. It was what I’d been trying to prove ever since I moved out of their house and decided to pursue my dream, even though it wasn’t easy and there were so many uncertainties. And what would Connor think if I didn’t finish this degree? Pursue your dreams until a cute guy comes along, then throw it all away? No. No way. No matter how much I wanted Zach, I’d worked too hard to be a good role model and prove I could achieve anything I set my mind to.
Chapter Thirteen
Zach
The fucking thermostat was broken again. After getting my laptop set up and connected to the projector at the front of the classroom, I pulled my sweater off and shoved it in my bag. Being dressed in just a t-shirt and jeans wasn’t the most professional, but the university didn’t have a strict dress code for the staff, and I really didn’t feel like leading this presentation while sweating my balls off.