He was tormenting himself, and he knew he wouldn’t stop—he couldn’t stop. Not until he’d had her again. Not until she saw him again.
His next opportunity to see her was at class, and when he entered, she was again sitting in the front row. Her hair was in a loose braid down the side of her chest. She wore a long, fitted, gray cotton jersey-knit skirt that fell all the way to her feet. Her shoes were a simple white deck shoe, and her shirt was a navy V-neck fitted T-shirt with a white cotton zip-up hoodie. She made cotton look so fucking sexy, and a subtle throb set into his teeth that he knew wouldn’t release until she was away from him.
As Truman reviewed the project he was assigning, he listened as her heartbeat accelerated and the scent of her adrenaline soared. She was terrified, and it saddened him, but as much leeway as he may have on many things, the course required a research project and presentation in order to uphold the curriculum already in place. She was nibbling her lip, and her eyes were open wide in worry. The assignment was simple enough: pick a topic relevant to U.S. history, research it, and present it. He wasn’t trying to make it difficult, and when he gave them the rest of the class period to develop their topics and meet with him to get approval and recommendations, all the laptops came out, and the students busily started Googling every last search term they could come up with.
As student after student came up, he struggled to focus on anything but her. She was busily working on her laptop, clacking away at the keys. Occasionally, her brow would flinch, and sometimes her lips would purse. Her eyes would bulge and then she’d shake her head in annoyance. After watching her for nearly a half hour, he’d decided she had more facial expressions than any one person he’d ever met, and he loved every last one.
“So, do you have plans this Friday night? I’ve been thinking we should go out and catch a movie sometime. Might be fun.” It was a freshman named Josh who was speaking to her, and as she looked up from her computer, she smiled nervously.
Having to listen to the kid ask Ember out in front of him was painful and left Truman imagining what it would be like to tear his throat out. Instead, he sat quietly by, listening and sensing the kid’s nervousness. He should be pitied really, but Truman felt no compassion at all.
When Ember responded, his jaw relaxed, and his teeth that had painfully protracted at Josh’s words instantly released their pressure and receded. “Oh, um … I’m sorry. I think you’re a bit too young for me.” Truman chuckled quietly at the irony of her words—how many times had he felt the same way about her? It didn’t stop him from wanting her, or having her for that matter. When she looked up and caught him studying her, it was Truman whose gaze flitted away. Usually, Ember’s nervousness around him scared her gaze from his own, but not on this day. He’d been caught once again watching her. She couldn’t possibly have missed the heat of his gaze or the longing that emanated from his whole being.
The moment Josh moved away, she stood and approached Truman with her laptop in hand. His groin was tight and hard after watching her for the past half hour and witnessing Josh’s rejection, and as she sat at the chair beside his desk, his usually well-controlled demeanor faltered and left him feeling vulnerable. She bit her lip in her own nervousness, and he watched as her white teeth clamped lightly down on the side of her lower lip. His memory was long, and he could still remember clearly the feel of that lip between his own, the taste of her tongue as it explored his mouth, and the incredible sensation of her mouth pulling his cock within her to taste him. His memories did nothing to release the tension in his groin or the ache in his teeth, and as she scrolled through a site she’d found on local eastern seaboard artisans of the past couple hundred years, he saw another opening.
“I own a couple pieces of Samuel McIntire’s furniture in my personal collection. One of them is here where I live. You’re welcome to stop by and see it sometime. Take some pictures if you’d like. I have some of the original documentation that came with it as well. It might help if you narrowed your focus to one particular artisan … but that’s up to you.” His words sounded casual, but his intent was desperate. He had no intention of doing anything to her if he managed to get her in his home, but it was another excuse to keep her near.
“Sure. That would be nice … uhh … fun … err … I mean fine … helpful. Thank you.”
“I’ll be around Friday evening if you’re available.” He knew she wasn’t going out with Josh, and she knew he’d witnessed that little exchange. It was no mere coincidence he asked for that night, and as he looked to her eyes, his brows shot up as he waited for her response, and she smiled shyly, nodding.
“We can drive from here. I’ll meet you in the parking lot at eight thirty then.” She nodded again as she stood, and with one final small smile, she moved away from him and left his senses devoid of her scent and presence once more.
She was horrified at the prospect of spending time alone with this man and at the same time, more excited than she’d been in a long time. It wasn’t a date of course, but no one would know by looking at the care and detail she put into dressing and getting ready for the evening.
She didn’t want to overdo it, but she also wanted to look nice. She settled on a long, sleeveless, fitted cotton sundress that hugged her skin. It fell to her ankles and was black. She paired it with her white deck shoes and grabbed a gray cardigan on the way out the door. She was certain she paled in comparison to what any other woman would wear in such a situation, but it was the most she could manage on her limited budget.
When she arrived at the parking lot of the school, he was waiting by his SUV. Fuck, he looked good. He was wearing perfectly worn and mildly faded out jeans and a perfectly fitted white linen button-up shirt with the top two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. His shoes were a warm oxblood leather slip on shoe with a squared-off toe that looked expensive, and as she stepped from her car right into a mud puddle that destroyed her own white deck shoes, she shook her head in exasperation, and he chuckled in amusement. Awesome.
The ride to his home was quiet, and she watched his hands on the steering wheel to pass the time. He had long, masculine fingers. They were clean, and he wore no rings but a rather expensive-looking watch. She was suddenly again plagued with images of his hands on her skin, massaging and gripping her, and as her body flushed with sudden intense desire and wetness spread between her legs, his hands suddenly tightened their clutch on the steering wheel. She looked to him, and his eyes were on her, his jaw was tight, and his nostrils flared as he breathed. Looking quickly from her eyes, he returned his gaze to the road.
His home was in the West End, a swanky, eclectic neighborhood. It was a renovated carriage house, and as he unlocked the door and held it open, she could smell the scent of his home. vzyl It smelled clean and inviting; she entered and looked around. It was immaculate, and it was the perfect blend of historical design and contemporary style. She spotted the small desk almost immediately. She’d been looking at images of McIntire’s designs as she studied and researched her project, and as she approached, he followed.
It sat against a wall in the living room, and it was beautiful. As the handsome professor spoke, her body warmed. “As you can see, it has the bow front drawers that McIntire is known for and the cockbeading along the fronts as well.”