Chapter 29 John
JOHN
“Professor Ali, can you come over here and help us settle a debate?” Mackenzie asks. I set down the paintbrush and walk out of the scene shop toward the stage.
“You have a little paint on your face.” She gestures to my left cheek.
I lift the bottom of my already ruined shirt and use it to wipe where she’s pointing. There’s a whistle from somewhere onstage, and I look down realizing I’ve grabbed the hem of my undershirt and not my top shirt, exposing my entire stomach and my very unique tattoos.
My eyes search the group for Emma as I lower my shirt. Did she see my tattoos? Would she recognize them at this point if she did? Do I want her to?
I’d be lying if I said that I had the strength to keep pushing her away. Maybe I want her to see them. To finally see me, right in front of her.
When I see the back of her dirty blonde head, my chest deflates a little when I realize she wasn’t looking.
“Well?” Mackenzie asks. Fuck, I totally wasn’t listening to a word she was saying.
“Sorry, you’re going to have to repeat that.”
“We’re trying to decide the order for the curtain call, and Dominic and Monty think they shouldn’t have to go first, since—”
“I’m going to stop you right there. You’re in charge here.
As director, it’s your vision and what you say goes.
I’m just the faculty advisor, and apparently the scenic painter since the student who signed up to do this never showed.
So if you want scenery for this show in a couple weeks, I need to get back to painting. ”
I’m being a moody bastard, and I know it. Part of me feels bad for snapping. Mackenzie is not responsible for my frustration. Nope, that responsibility is all me, and the intoxicating woman who lives rent-free in my head and in my spank bank.
“Sorry, you’re right,” Mackenzie stammers. “It’s just hard dealing with all these big personalities sometimes. Actors can be… a lot.”
“You’ve got this. Now unless anyone wants to help me, I’m headed back in there.” I crook a thumb over my shoulder at the scene shop behind me.
My eyes scan the crowd looking for volunteers before connecting with Emma’s. She arches an eyebrow and makes her way toward me.
“I don’t have any lines for a bit. I’d be happy to help, Professor.”
Nodding my head for her to follow, I stalk back to the flat I was painting. “Clean brushes are in the green cabinet, and there should be coveralls in there too if you need them.” I don’t look at her, I can’t. Instead, I concentrate on the set piece in front of me.
“I see we’re back to being Professor A-hole,” she mutters quietly as she slips on a pair of coveralls.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” I turn my head to her, a smile creeping onto my face.
“Great Caesar’s ghost. Did I say that out loud?”
I chuckle at her discomfiture. “Haven’t heard that one before.”
“Really?” she says, surprise evident in her voice. “I’m sorry, now I’m being an A-hole.”
“You’re right, though.” I focus my attention back on my task and dip my brush into the paint.
“About what?” I can feel her warmth as she approaches, her soft floral scent tickling my nostrils.
I inhale deeply. “About me being an A-hole.”
“Yeah?” There’s a sense of pride in her voice, probably at getting me to admit she’s right. When I don’t respond, she continues meekly. “Why are you such a jerk?”
“Because you scare me.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them. I keep my eyes trained on the flat in front of me, concentrating on the way I’m swirling the colors. Why the fuck am I admitting this?
“I… scare you?”
I make the mistake of looking at her, and holy fuck.
She is inches from me, pulling her bottom lip into her mouth, tugging on it slowly with her teeth.
I can’t look away as I continue fixating on her perfect fucking mouth.
The lips I worshipped not too long ago. I stifle a groan and will my cock to deflate as I take a step back, breaking the spell as I gesture for her to get some paint so I can show her how to stroke it.
Jesus Christ. How to apply brush strokes to the flat.
Her shoulders sag, and I can read the disappointment in her body. I’ve watched this woman for almost two years, from close up and afar, memorizing all of her movements and expressions. I can read her like a well-loved book.
Clearing my throat I point to the spot on the flat, and she raises her brush to it. “You’re going to apply a highlight right there. You want to think about the direction of the light source, and keep your highlight close to it. Got it?”
She nods.
“Some of the magic will be added in the lighting design, but adding shadow and highlights will make it pop even more, bringing it depth.” Fuck me now, why can’t I shut up?
“So I should do one here?” She peers up at me over her shoulder, fluttering her lashes. “I just want to make sure I’m doing it right. I don’t want to disappoint you.”
My cock swells at her words, and I swallow thickly, trying to tamp down the lust. I watch her track the movement of my throat and catch her rubbing her thighs together out of my periphery. “I don’t think I could find you disappointing if I tried.”
“That’s funny, I distinctly remember you calling me disappointing at auditions.”
“You never were one to let a man pick on you or push you down, if I recall.” I search her eyes, willing her to remember the first rule I gave her in the club. She blinks several times, her brow furrowing slightly.
That’s it, pet. It’s me. Look under the mask and see me for who I really am.
She doesn’t say anything, just continues to stare at me.
“I thought you came in here to help.” I nod to the painting, and she gets to work moving her brush on the flat surface.
We work in silence for a while, side by side. Every inhale of her scent makes my slacks tighten. Every minute that passes makes me curse myself for all of my choices when it comes to her.
For pushing her away as Daddy Dom.
For pulling her back in as Professor Ali.
For being the biggest fucking coward as John.
Has she figured it out? If she has, would she say anything? Fuck it. I want her to piece it together. I want her to know it’s me.
I clear my throat, getting her attention, and lift the hem of my shirt, pretending to swipe at sweat on my face as I watch her eyes rake up my torso, a look of lust clouding her beautiful features.
When she notices the tattoos a little further up, I see her eyes widen slightly in shock as she takes in my ink, the wheels turning in her brain as she makes the connection.
Do not show weakness, instead show your abs. Jesus Christ. What am I doing right now? I’ve lost my mind.
“Get your fill?” I tease, dropping my voice into a low gravel.
“Yes, sir… I mean, what? No. I wasn’t looking at anything. You look…”
“I look what?”
“Pretty.” She shakes her head like she’s trying to clear the fog of lust. “What? Who said that? Not me. Sorry.”
Did I read her reaction wrong? I know it’s been a while since she’s seen me shirtless at the club, but I could have sworn she recognized my ink.
She turns back to paint, and I pull my cell out of my pocket and fake a call. When she looks at me, I motion that I’m leaving and walk away like the fucking coward I am.