“I couldn’t believe they’d actually found leotards that would fit. Professor Stewart, you have not witnessed true horror until you’ve seen those overgrown oafs on the hockey team attempting a figure skating routine in full costume.”
“You have to call me Gabriel,” I say, around a laugh as I step close to her to collect the vegetables she’s just finished chopping. “I’m not your teacher.”
What’s with all the smiling and laughter? I don’t hate it, but it’s certainly not what I’m used to. It has to be Lorelei.
Her mouth drops open, just an inch, and I want to swipe my tongue along the seam of her lips.
“Okay, Gabriel,” she says breathlessly, leaning close to me. I step back again. She may not be my student, but she’s still so young.
“How old are you?” I ask. I have to know. Maybe it will be enough to bring me back to my senses, which I’ve clearly lost.
She looks disappointed in the question. “Twenty-one,” she says, then looks at me questioningly. “It’s only fair that you tell me, too.”
“Thirty-six,” I say, waiting for her to grimace.
Instead, she smiles. “That’s why you’re so… never mind.”
“Stodgy? Boring? Don’t worry, I’ve heard it all.”
She shakes her head, trying to turn away, but I put my hand on her arm to stop her. She wrinkles her nose and huffs. “You’re not boring or stodgy. I was going to say manly.”
Her cheeks turn bright red, and I can’t help myself, pulling her in for a quick hug. “Oh my God, you made my day,” I tell her with another laugh.
She pulls away and pushes me toward the stove. “That chicken is going to be overcooked if you don’t hurry up.”
Chapter 7
Lorelei
Dinner with Professor Stewart—Gabriel—is not at all what I expected it would be. I had been prepared for him to lecture me about what Cara and I had done the entire time. Instead, he asked me questions about myself and figure skating. It’s obvious he knows a little bit about the sport since he was able to keep up with my explanation of various movements and competition elements.
I can’t help but notice that he’s said very little about himself though. I realize with a start that I know almost nothing about him aside from what Cara has told me and what I’ve read in the bio of his book.
After we clean up the kitchen, we move back to the living room. This time he sits next to me on the couch. I’m suddenly nervous at being so close to him, and my hands begin to sweat.
Desperate for something to say, I blurt, “I lovedThe Importance of Existence. I read it three times.”
He looks incredulous and laughs. “You did not.”
“I still have my copy at home. It’s full of highlights and notes.” I don’t mention the heart around his picture. “It really helped me understand the existence theorems. And I loved your philosophical asides.”
He’s gaping at me, his cheeks turning adorably pink. He moves his pinky against the couch cushion, and it brushes mine. I slide my hand so it’s almost under his, and the feel of his smooth palm against my fingers raises goosebumps along my arm. He notices and raises his dark gaze to meet mine.
“Are you cold?” he asks, not breaking eye contact.
“Not even a little bit,” I say, looking down at his hand still resting on mine.
Our eyes lock again, and I’m certain he’ll kiss me. Or maybe I’m just hopeful. Without thinking, I lick my dry lips, and he groans softly before looking away. I’m not imagining things. He feels this energy between us too.
He turns back to me suddenly, and before I can process what is happening, his mouth crashes against mine, and his hands grip my hips as he lifts me up to pull me close to his hard body. I straddle his lap, and every part of him is as hard as ice, but blazing hot.
I grapple at his shirt, pulling it out of his waistband, only wanting to feel his skin. My fingers sink into the crisp chest hair I’ve been thinking about since I saw a glimpse of it at his open collar. For a thirty-six-year-old professor, he’s rippling with muscle, and I glide my fingertips down his abs, not sure if I want to feel or see his body more. I want it all.
His lips are so soft and firm as they move against mine, and I welcome his tongue, the feel of it entering my mouth sending jolts of anticipation between my legs. I want him to touch me everywhere. I can feel that my panties are soaked.
He picks me up and lays me back down on the couch. I’m sprawled beneath him, and I wrap my legs around his waist as he presses against me. His hands roam my body from my waist, down the length of my thighs, and back up to cup my breasts, rolling his thumbs over my nipples. I moan and grind against the hard length that’s pressed tight to my aching, needy pussy. I want him so bad it hurts.
But it’s only fair that I tell him I’m a virgin so he’s not taken off guard. I don’t want to ruin the mood or slow him down. I love his savage grip and the way he’s nibbling on my lower lip. He trails his lips down my neck and nudges my tank top down, licking my exposed nipple. Wait, I was supposed to tell him something.
