6. Avery
6
AVERY
T eachers should not be allowed to look that good—ever.
When I saw the name Dr. Phillip Travis on my list of mentors, I had pictured a squat, balding man with glasses and a belly to rival mine—well, when I was pregnant with Leo, that is.
I figured it would be a long session of him looking down his nose at me because of my lack of education, my social status, my single parenthood, or some horrible combination of all three.
Instead, he’d been…
“My story,” Leo says, tugging on my sleeve.
“Peas.” He adds a moment later with a satisfied smile.
“I’m sorry, Bug, Ma was a little distracted.” I drop a kiss on the top of his head. “I’m ready now.”
I pick the top book in the tiny pile on his nightstand and smile. Dump Truck’s Day Out —I should have known this one would make an appearance again.
That’s what happens when Opa takes you to visit his worksite, I suppose.
When I was his age, my dad would always take me along to see the big trucks. He’d even driven me around the worksite in some of them once work had stopped for the day. The only difference is that he’s the foreman now instead of just being one of the guys on the crew.
Seeing Leo get to have those moments with my father too fills my heart to the brim.
I read the story just the way he likes—I handle the words and he gets to make all the noises.
“And after a long day on the job, Douggie the dump truck rumbles back to his garage.”
“RRRRRRR,” Leo roars.
“Then once he’s nice and cozy, he turns off his lights.” I pause and glance over at him.
“Click,” he whispers.
“Goodnight, Douggie. Sweet dreams.”
“Night, night, Douggie.”
I close the book and set it to the side.
Leo is curled in a ball with his bear firmly tucked against his chest. His eyes are heavy but still half open.
“One more book, peas.”
He asks so sweetly, I can’t possibly refuse.
“I think we can manage that, Little Bug,” I say, gently stroking his blonde curls.
The next book from his pile is a newer one, Mr. Worm and the Apple Farm.
I hate worms.
I sigh and flip to the first page.
At least it’s a cartoon worm. If I had to read the science book with all the photos and diagrams one more time, I think I would have lost my mind.
Thank goodness library books have a due date.
By the time Mr. Worm has taken a bite out of all the apples at the farm, Leo is fast asleep.
The ghost of a smile lingers at the corners of his mouth. His breaths are slow and even.
That is the sleep of someone who knows they’re safe.
Sometimes, I worry he’s missing out on not having his dad around, but quiet moments like these always reaffirm my decision to leave.
If I had kept my mouth shut, if I hadn’t started documenting everything, or if I had let him intimidate me out of pressing charges, Leo would never have known what peace was.
I’ve made so many mistakes in my life, but keeping him safe would never be one of them.
I pause at the door of his room for one last look at him, and my heart melts. He looks like a little cherub when he’s sleeping. If I didn’t have a hot bath waiting for me, I might have stayed there watching him all night.
“I love you, Little Bug. Sweet dreams,” I whisper before gently closing the door.
I hate to admit it, but there’s a bounce to my step as I head down the hall to my bedroom.
I love my son like a fish loves the ocean, but I also revel in the moments when no one needs a damn thing from me and I can just be Avery.
A quiet house with no one grabbing at my leg or sneaking off to use a houseplant instead of the kiddie potty I bought is pure bliss.
The only hands on me this evening are going to be mine. I'm long overdue for some me time, especially after the week I've had.
The scent of vanilla surrounds me as soon as I step into the master bathroom, and I feel some of the tension melting out of my shoulders.
My tub tray is set up with everything I could possibly want—wine, water, headphones, and the guest of honor, my vibrator.
I sink into the steaming water with a grateful smile.
Pre-bedtime story Avery is a genius.
The knots in my back start to loosen as the hot water and bath salts start to do their thing.
I love the chaos of working as a pastry chef. It’s fun to be somewhere where every day brings something new to work on. I even enjoy talking to the clients and helping them create their visions—when Henri lets me, that is.
What an asshole. I know he only lets me meet with the more complicated clients because he wants me to fail.
I feel my face twist into a scowl as his face pops into my brain.
All the knots that had left my back come rushing right back in.
He never says anything even vaguely complimentary to me unless he’s putting on a show for Mr. Macklin.
If I wanted to spend a full day having a man tell me I’m worthless, I never would have left my husband.
I growl in frustration and sink lower into the tub. I’m supposed to be relaxing, and yet here I am, obsessing about Henri.
You know, if you had a humiliation kink, Henri would be the perfect guy to picture right now.
My job really would be an ideal setup if I were into that. I’d be able to save plenty of material for later. That man has no idea how to talk to women.
I can’t help but laugh at the thought.
Then a wicked little voice pops into my head.
There is someone you’ve met recently who knows exactly how to talk to women.
Against my better judgment, my thoughts drift to a tall man with glasses and a lean runner’s body. I think of long pianist’s fingers wrapped delicately around a chess piece, intelligent eyes, and thick, dark hair with just a touch of gray at the temples.
I shake my head trying to clear those thoughts from my head and pull up the audio book I’d borrowed instead. Unlike my teacher, those men aren’t real, so fantasizing about them isn’t in any way unethical.
Unfortunately, when the romantic scenes come up, I keep picturing Phillip instead.
After several attempts to redirect my thoughts, I give up and chuck the headphones across the bathroom with a frustrated cry.
It’s no use. No amount of steamy scenes—no matter how well-written they are—are going to be able to push him out of my thoughts.
Phillip is my teacher and he’s going to be for the next sixteen weeks. There really isn’t anything more off limits than that, but my brain refuses to see sense.
“I’ll teach you far more than that, Avery. You have my word.”
His words echo through my head, but in my sex-deprived brain, they take on an entirely different tone.
This time when he says it, his hands are gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him. His lips crash into mine with an urgency that speaks of passion and a clear awareness that we could be caught at any moment. The door is unlocked and the blinds aren’t drawn, but we’re too far gone to care. His lips find my neck at the same time his fingers start undoing the buttons of my blouse.
Phillip growls when he sees my barely there bra and caresses me over the lace.
The feel of my own hands on my breasts jerks me back to reality.
Am I really going to get off to my teacher?
I really shouldn’t be, but maybe if I just scratch that itch, so to speak, I can get over it and be normal.
Just this once and then never again , I tell myself sternly.
I settle back against the tub wall and let my mind drift wherever it wants to take me.
“Guests always play white. They usually need the extra advantage.”
“That confident in your skills, are you?” I taunt.
“You have no idea,” he says huskily.
“So show me.”
He freezes in place—a chess piece still in his hand.
“I don’t think you know what you’re asking for, Miss Ross.”
Without breaking eye contact, I slowly and deliberately undo three buttons on my blouse. Phillip swallows hard.
I can see in his eyes how hard he’s fighting not to look.
“I know exactly what I’m asking for.”
His eyes flick to my exposed breasts then back up to my face, but instead of coming to me, he goes to the door.
“I’m so sorry, I’ll ? —”
The click of the lock puts a swift end to any apology I have.
“I don’t want anything to interrupt us. Do you?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Good girl.”
He walks back to me with the air of someone who has all the time in the world. Just the way he’s looking at me makes my core ache for release. I press my thighs tightly together to avoid squirming in my chair.
I’m expecting him to undo his belt and take what he wants, but Phillip drops to his knees in front of me.
Evidently, the surprise shows on my face because he reaches up and cups my cheek in his hand.
“Only impatient boys demand to be pleased right away. Real men know that women come first every time—ideally, multiple times.” He drops his hand to my knee. “Now are you going to spread your legs for me or are you going to be a brat and make me do it for you?”
He hasn’t even touched me and I’m already close.
With a shaky breath, I slide to the edge of the chair and open my legs.
“Good girl,” he says, rewarding me with a kiss on my inner thigh.
His fingertips glide up the insides of my thighs, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake as he pushes up my skirt.
When his fingers brush against the lace of my panties, he moans.
“You’re so wet for me already, Love.”
My legs tremble as he slides the lace to one side and traces the tip of his tongue from my entrance up to my clit.
I let out a whimper when he pulls away.
“Don’t pout. I have a job for you.”
“Anything,” I promise.
He takes my hand off the arm of the chair and places it on his hair.
“Pull when I do something you like.”
“I might hurt you.”
“Good. I want you to,” he says, grinning like the devil. “A little pain can be a very good thing, Love.”
He drops his mouth to my thighs, kissing his way up to my clit. My breath gets faster the closer he gets.
Instead of giving me what I desperately want, he kisses the area just above it then moves to my other thigh. I feel him smile against my thigh when I huff in frustration.
“So impatient,” he murmurs.
“I swear I’m going to scream if you don’t ? —”
My threat turns into a moan as he sucks my clit into his mouth. I feel like I might combust from the sensation.
Each stroke of his tongue brings me closer and closer to orgasm, and when he slides a finger in my core, I come completely undone.
He claps his other hand over my mouth, muffling my screams.
Then we hear something that makes us both freeze—high heels on tile.
The door was locked. I saw him do it, but there was no way to cover the little window embedded about a foot above the knob.
If whoever’s coming glances in, we’re going to be in deep shit.
Phillip grabs my hand, drags me to the wall, and presses his body tightly against mine.
The footsteps keep getting louder.
His hand snaps out and flicks off the lights.
The weight of his body against mine is pleasantly distracting.
He bends his head down to my ear and whispers, “They won’t be able to see us here. Just stay quiet, and they’ll think we’ve left and moved on.”
A tingle runs down my spine at the feel of his lips brushing against my ear, and my heart starts to race.
“Are you enjoying this?”
He pulls back just enough to meet my eyes.
A flush creeps up my cheeks.
“You are, aren’t you?”
I shake my head.
“So you’re telling me if I touched you right now, you wouldn’t be ready for me again?”
I nod.
He slides his hand up my skirt, ghosting his fingers over my center.
“Liar.” He smirks. “I bet if I fucked you up against this wall with the sound of those heels echoing down the hall, you'd come harder than you ever have in your life.
“Would you like to test that theory, Love?”
It's reckless and stupid and we shouldn't, but my hands drop to his belt anyway.
His more practiced hands quickly replace my trembling ones.
I automatically wrap my legs around him when he lifts me off the floor and positions himself at my entrance.
“Last chance to change your mind,” he whispers.
I reach between us and tug my panties to the side.
“Fuck me?”
I dig my nails into his shoulders to keep from crying out as he buries himself to the hilt inside me.
We fuck, hard, fast and completely silently against the wall.
The footsteps slow to a stop in front of his door, and she knocks.
Pressure starts to build in my center, and it's more of a fight for me to stay quiet.
“I'm so close,” I whisper.
“Come for me then, Love. I want you to come around my cock knowing full well that someone is on the other side of this door.”
The orgasm rips through me with an intensity that I’ve never experienced before.
After I come down from the high of it, my breath is still coming in ragged gasps. Rationally, I know I’m at home in my bathtub, but half of my brain is still in that imaginary office.
I drop my vibrator on the bath tray with a clatter and grab the glass of water with both hands.
The coolness of the water on my tongue helps drag me fully back to reality.
This can never happen again, I instruct myself firmly. You’re going to be a model student from here on out. No more fantasies.
I’m beyond grateful that our first official class isn’t until next week. Hopefully, that will be enough time to compose myself.
At least there’s no danger that tomorrow’s meeting with Mr. Brooks will have the same effect on me. I didn’t look him up or anything, but I’m sure he’s going to be a lot more like how I pictured Phillip before we met.
From my (albeit limited) experience, chefs are either dorky-looking and nice or hot and assholes.
There’s no way he’s going to be attractive. The email he sent me to schedule our meeting reeked of dorky chef, so I should be safe… right?