She had no idea what cockbeading was, but she certainly liked the sound of it rolling off his purring tongue, and as her eyes met his with a flush of her skin, he smirked. It was subtle but left her certain he knew his speech had affected her. She ran her fingers across the beading—no, she couldn’t even bring herself to call it cockbeading in her mind without flushing—and as she trailed her fingers over the raised wood, he watched her. She wanted to open the drawers and delve into his personal space, but she didn’t have to be so bold and nosy.
He pulled the top drawer open, and she found it was filled with old books, antique by the look. He pointed out the dovetailing on the drawers, and after closing the drawer, he crouched to point out the detail on the carved legs, and she crouched beside him, watching his hand move along the smooth finish of the wood. When she made to stand, she inadvertently stepped over the hem of her long skirt and toppled forward into him as he stood. He caught her with two swift hands that clutched the sides of her waist, and as his hands remained and her body flushed with want, her lips fell apart and a gasp escaped her.
“Would you like a glass of wine?” He continued to touch her body as he spoke, and she continued to allow his touch with no hesitation. She nodded without speaking, and as his hands finally left her, she took a deep and steadying breath. Following him to the kitchen, she admired his body. His ass looked amazing in jeans, and while they weren’t tight jeans, they did fit, and she could see just how perfectly shaped his bottom was underneath the worn and faded boot-cut style he wore. His shoulders had a strong width, and the skin on the back of his neck was smooth and hairless.
He pulled a corkscrew from a drawer, a wineglass from a cupboard, and set about opening the only bottle of wine on the counter—the only bottle of anything on his counters for that matter. It was a Chianti, her favorite varietal, and as she looked around the kitchen at the empty granite counters, she noted it barely looked lived in. He poured her a glass but did not pour one for himself, and as her brow wrinkled at the prospect of drinking alone, he reassured her. “I’m not thirsty at the moment. Please, go ahead.”
She lifted the glass to her lips as the soothing rich flavor hit her tongue, and moments later, the warmth flooded her stomach before tingling its way out to her body. Thank God for a good glass of wine. Perhaps it would keep her from any more idiotic behavior.
Unfortunately, Ember found out soon enough it would not keep her from accidentally knocking the glass over, spilling the contents, and shattering it to pieces. It also did not keep her from cutting her palm on the shattered pieces as she hastily grabbed for the mess she’d just made. In a flash, he was by her side, pulling her to the sink as she apologized. He ignored her apologies and held her hand under a cool stream of water as the blood washed away from her skin. She was mortified, but looking to his eyes, she saw he was smiling down at her.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“It’s okay. Perhaps if you could relax around me, you wouldn’t be so inclined to trip over your skirt, or break wineglasses, or even … crack your skull open…” His words were provocative. He knew full well her bumbling idiocy around him, even on the first night of class when she saw him, was owed entirely to her response to him. And he was doing a damn fine job of reminding her of that. He was still holding her hand under the water, and his body was close to hers. He seemed not to care about her personal space any more than his own, and at the moment she didn’t either. His fingers moved to the scar that ran around her wrist, and as she held her breath, he touched and caressed the knotted scar tissue left over from the rope restraints of so many years ago. But he didn’t ask any of the prying and inappropriate questions that so many had in her life. Instead, he just touched and stroked his cool fingers along her skin as the water cascaded over their hands.
Her body craved his touch, and his hand on hers was hardly enough. As he turned the water off and grabbed a paper towel to dry her hand, her body continued to trill with need. He held the paper towel tight to her skin, applying pressure to the small cut, and as he continued to share her space, his gaze held hers. He looked as though he wanted to kiss her. She could tell by the look in his eyes and the tongue that passed subtly over his lower lip, and while she couldn’t conceive why, she welcomed his desire. But he didn’t kiss her. He just watched, studying her expression.
He moved from her to find a bandage, and when he left the room, she snooped. She opened a cupboard and found a set of dishes and plates. Another held a shelf full of glasses, but as she looked further, she found little else. There was no food in the cupboards, and as she pulled open the refrigerator door, she found it cold but empty—completely empty. As he returned to the room and caught her nosiness, she closed the refrigerator door and stepped back to the sink, her gaze shifting away from him in embarrassment.
“I don’t use the kitchen much.” He offered no other explanation for the odd empty kitchen, and as the bandage was put in place, he commented further, “Would you like to break anything else? Or perhaps you’d like to take a fall down my stairs?” He was mocking her with a mischievous grin on his beautiful mouth, and as she laughed quietly in response, she shook her head.
“I should probably get going.” It was the last thing she actually wanted to do, but he nodded his head and led her back to the front door and out into the night.
Chapter 7
The next week in class, he was ready to see her again. On the contrary, she looked nervous. As she looked up when he entered, he smiled gently at her, and her cheeks flushed. He lectured, and he met her eyes on occasion. When he finally sat and gave the students time to work on their presentations, he settled in to study her.
She wanted him without knowing who he was to her just as much as she wanted him when she did understand his place in her life, and it was a heady experience realizing her need existed without regard for their long history together. She simply craved him, and he understood that desire very well.
When he dismissed the class and she stood to leave, he remarked as she walked by his desk, “How’s the hand?”
“It’s fine. Thank you.” He knew it was fine by the simple fact he couldn’t smell her blood on her skin, but he wanted to talk to her. When she brushed past him with a shy glance to his eyes, he smirked and then enjoyed her arousal as her body responded. And when he finally got back to his home, he laid on his bed, stroking the hard length of his erection, which was so ready for her it was almost unbearable. He stroked and remembered the night he’d made love to her. He remembered her nakedness; he remembered the feel of her skin, the taste of her wetness, the sensation of her lips pulling his cock within her mouth, and the absolute thrill of pushing his rigid length into her warm sex as her body clenched around his erection.
The next few weeks passed, and he continued to see her only during class. He didn’t want his stalking to become too evident, but he continued to toy with her every week during their time together—watching her and letting her catch him with his eyes trained on hers, speaking in the voice he knew tended to spark arousal in most women and very especially his woman. He continued to invade her personal space, and she continued to allow it, and when they met every week during the time he’d set aside to keep tabs on the students’ projects, his fingers often met hers on the mouse pad of her laptop, and he never pulled back. She didn’t pull back from him either, and as he would listen to her heart pound in her chest, his cock would stiffen and his teeth would ache. He was in heaven.