“I can’t right now. I have to go out to meet a client. But I’ll catch you up on Monday, I promise.”
She smiles at me. “Please tell whoever that was he is one lucky guy, because I’ve never seen a look like that in your eyes before.”
I shake my head and grab the topper before heading out the door.
• • •
After lunch with Tate, we arrive at the hotel to supervise the vendors setting up, answer questions, and discuss the couple’s grand entrance, first dance, cake cutting, garter toss, and other details. As the time for the ceremony approaches, we head to the church to distribute the flowers and organize the wedding party. Tate cues the music to begin the ceremony while I keep the processional flowing.
From the ceremony we move quickly to the reception venue to ensure that the wedding party is in their appropriate places for photos to begin. I have to admit that when Tate is in the right frame of mind, we work well together. There’s dinner, dancing, cake cutting, and finally the night comes to a close without any complications. One good thing about all the work has been that it’s kept me from daydreaming about Ben. The way one hand expertly pinned me to the wall and the other roamed my body. The way he filled me, stretched me, and covered my mouth when I screamed out in ecstasy.
“Want to grab a drink?” Tate asks, tearing me away from my erotic memories.
“Not tonight. I’m really tired. It’s been a long day.”
“Are you seeing someone else?” he asks.
Exasperation overtakes me, but exhaustion overrules it. “No, Tate, I’m not. My feet hurt. My calves ache. And I just want to go home. I’ll see you Monday.” I don’t bother to explain that it wouldn’t be someone else anyway since he isn’t someone I’m seeing. But that would just trigger his temper. I don’t need that.
He nods affably, although his eyes pry into mine, looking for a lie. But there isn’t one. I’m not seeing anyone, by definition anyway, and I really am wiped out.
The funny thing about exhaustion is that it plays with your mind. I fall asleep easily but wake up constantly, each time after another dream about Ben. I’m a damsel in distress and he saves me. I’m a patient and he’s my doctor. I’m a naughty girl and he’s my master.
The next day I decide to sleep in and spend the day lying around trying to keep my mind from wandering—trying not to dwell on the incredible sex Ben and I shared the other night. How he took control, how he set the pace, how much I enjoyed that. How different he is from anyone I’ve been with and how much I want him. I’m obviously failing at erasing him from my mind and decide to get out for spin class to help chase away some of the pent-up energy I’m feeling.
I come home and make my typical round of calls—Mom, River, Xander—and then I decide it’s time for the not so typical call. With a shaky finger I find his number and tap it. Not even one full ring and Ben’s voice, smooth and velvety, seduces me through the line. “Hi there.”
“Hi,” I say, losing my ability to think coherently once again.
“We’re on for tonight, right?”
“Yes.”
“What time do you want me to pick you up?”
“Oh no, you can’t pick me up.”
He chuckles. “Okay, then, what is your plan?”
My voice is shakier than my legs at this point. I know I don’t have the courage to tell him my idea. “I’ll text you the details.”
“Sounds mysterious.”
“I have to go, but I’ll be in touch soon.”
“Okay,” he says, and it almost sounds as if he’s laughing.
I hit END and cradle the phone in my hands. I have to shed the sixteen-year-old smitten girl and be the woman I know he wants. I can do that. I know I can. So with renewed determination I type out what I was unable to say on the phone.
Since you seemed to enjoy saving the damsel in distress so much the other night, maybe you wouldn’t mind helping a student out with a failing grade.
His response is immediate.
Are you asking for a favor? A grade reversal perhaps?
Good, he’s going to play along.
I am and I’m willing to meet you in the USC Library, fifteenth floor, third room on the right, to discuss my grade at nine tonight.
Just so you know, I don’t change grades for just anyone or anything.
I didn’t think he’d have a problem with my little game. Ben has always been about sex, and since I can’t seem to shake him, or get him out of my system, I’ll give him what he wants one more time and then I’m sure he’ll never call me again. And even if he does I’ll be able to say no— I have to.
I hop in the shower, scrub, shampoo, condition, shave, and moisturize. Once my body is smooth and silky, I pull my long locks into two low pigtails, find a white button blouse, a plaid skirt, a pair of low flats, and I’m ready. I skip the underwear—top and bottom.
I arrive on campus a little early and make my way to the study units. The first thing I notice when I enter the room is the glow of the moon and how it lights up the sky. My eyes adjust quickly to the darkness while I cross the small space to the window overlooking the city, leaning my head against the glass, trying to find the stars. But there are none to be seen tonight. I close my eyes and conjure up my own—they look a lot like the ones in the sky the first night I spent with Ben so long ago. It was a night that changed everything but also a time when things felt much simpler to me.
“Beautiful view,” he whispers from behind me.
I jump at his voice, surprised he’s already arrived.
“Turn on the lights,” he demands in a raspy, husky tone that makes my body clench with need.
I pause for a moment, drawing in a deep breath before moving back toward the door and flicking on the light. I also quickly lock the door. In the bright room my eyes dart to him hungrily. How could I think this time would be the last time? Whenever I see him I only want him more. He gives me that grin that makes my heart stop and I know immediately I won’t be saying good-bye at the end of the night.
I take him in a little at a time—he’s perched with his broad shoulders leaning against the wall, hair rumpled but looking perfect nonetheless. His arms are crossed over his already unbuttoned shirt, displaying his lean, chiseled abdominal muscles. His jeans hang low, undone but not unzipped. Scrumptious, delicious, and mouthwatering. The tingling between my thighs signifies how ready I am for him.
“Did you not like receiving a failing grade on your paper?” he asks, keeping his voice low and steady.
My eyes lift back to his blue ones—as calm and tranquil as the Pacific Ocean on a clear day. I swallow hard a few times before shaking my head no. Where are my damn words? Oh yeah—stuck in my throat along with the lump from his imposing presence.
His mouth lifts up in a sexy grin and my toes curl from the look alone. This is dangerous territory. The more time I spend with him, the more time I want to spend with him. I can’t seem to stop myself, but I know that soon enough I’ll have to say good-bye.
He scans my body and his tongue flicks out in a way that not only sends a shiver down my spine but causes an almost unbearable ache between my legs. “I can’t seem to get enough of you.”
I want to tell him he’s out of character, but I can’t. I want to say something back, but there are no words. Instead I just stare at him, already knowing I’ll mourn his absence once we’ve parted again. But I want him to remember me—that’s what this meeting is about.
He saunters over toward me. My ni**les peak into tight, hard buds and I’m sure he can see them through the fabric of my blouse.
“What grade do you want your paper changed to?” he demands, standing right in front of me but not touching me.
I squirm at his tone, unable to believe how much it turns me on. “An . . . an . . . A.”
He fondles the collar of my shirt. “An A? You’re willing to work for this A?”
I nod and stare into his eyes, already wild with desire.
He grins and unbuttons my shirt. “I’m going to kiss you slowly . . . starting with your neck . . . moving down your chest, then your tits . . . where I’ll lick your ni**les. Do you think you can handle that?”
“Yes, sir. I can handle that,” I answer in a mousy schoolgirl tone I’m surprised I found.
“Good, that should raise your F to a D.” His mouth twists into a smile that I can’t resist returning. He brushes my lips with his but quickly buries his head in my neck. I breathe in his clean soapy scent again and I feel his smile grow wider. His tongue drags across my skin, torturously slow, until he flicks his tongue around my nipple and finally laves it into his mouth. The fabric of my blouse hangs to the side and bares both br**sts.
I can’t help moaning as he hungrily takes possession of my lips. Wet, hot, scorching, his mouth plunders mine and his tongue strikes against mine greedily. He’s aggressive. Taking everything I have to give.
I kiss along his neck and drag my teeth across his shoulder. His fingertips trail up my leg and under my skirt. “Fuck,” he mutters. “You’re not wearing any panties again.”
He’s out of character again, but that’s okay. I kind of like that he can’t keep his mind focused on the role. I’ve never done anything like this and although it’s hot as hell, concentrating on being his student is getting lost in the passion. It’s being sucked up by the throbbing between my legs that I want satisfied by him.
When his fingers dip inside me, my moan is drowned out by his louder groan. “You’re a good student. Are you only doing this for a better grade or because you’re really bad underneath it all?”
“No, I’m a good student who hates a bad grade,” I say softly. I’m finding it easier to talk seductively in role-playing mode than as Bell Wilde.
He moves closer to the table and kicks the rolling chair out of the way. He tugs his jeans off and then his boxers. “Come here,” he demands.
I stare at him, in all of his glory. He’s big, as I remember. I felt it the other night but didn’t see it. Thoughts of taking him in my mouth empower me and I walk toward him, etching his n*ked body into my mind to keep it harbored in my thoughts forever. When I’m close enough he takes my hand, but I reach for him instead. I want to feel the length of him, his girth as it grows larger. I want to taste him. I drop to my knees, but he immediately pulls me back up.
“No, I don’t want to do that like this,” he whispers in my ear. His voice is soft and normal. He’s out of role again and it puts a more serious note in the encounter that I’m not ready for. I have to get us back to playing.
“Okay, but I really want that A.”
He grins. “I think you’re well on your way to earning it. Sit on the table. Spread your legs,” he says, his voice deep again. As soon as I’m in position he pulls me to the edge. The length of him rubs against my belly, stirring the resting butterflies that always seem to be there ready to take flight. He takes his time—milking the moment, drawing out the anticipation of what’s to come.
When he pulls away I reach for him and he gives me a single moment of contact where I’m in control. “Wrap your arms around my neck,” he demands.
I do as he instructs, but in that second I felt his body tremble—I saw the excitement clear in his eyes.
“A nice girl like you shouldn’t be taking my hard c**k inside yourself for a better grade.”
“I told you I want an A. I’m determined.”
“Are you sure?” he asks, and I know he’s out of role again, but I pretend he’s not.
“Oh, professor, I’m very sure.”
In the next moment he reaches for his jeans and pulls out a condom. Once he rolls it on he plunges inside me and positions my hands in his on either side of us, flat to the table. Something about being restrained makes every thrust feel deeper, more intimate. Maybe it’s because I’m vulnerable, both physically and emotionally. Again he’s in control, setting the pace, but I don’t care. I just want to feel him.