8. Ivy
Chapter 8
Ivy
H arrison is waiting for me, probably thinking I’m not coming, but I needed to come home and change first. I also packed a small overnight bag—just in case. I don’t want to be presumptuous, so I’ve tucked everything into my book bag to be less conspicuous. I also need time and space to prepare. This is all so new to me. I don’t want to embarrass myself or let Harrison down. I’m sure he’s been with many women before me, experienced women, and I don’t want to be a disappointment.
I typed his address into my phone and then shredded the note and tossed it into a trash can before I got on the train. I’m a little worried this might cause trouble for Harrison, so I don’t want to leave any breadcrumbs. But we’re consenting adults, right? And I’m the one making the decision.
When he handed me his address and asked me over, I lost all ability to speak as giddiness bubbled up inside. Over the last couple of weeks I wondered if he regretted the kiss. If he considered me a young, naive little girl, somebody not worth his time.Or did he not want to get tangled up in another scandal?
Since the day classes started the gossip mill has run amuck with rumors and speculation. I’m not immune to them, especially when they’re whispering about it right behind me, so decided to search out the blog article I heard mentioned. The girl who had sex with him boasted about their night together, going into more than required detail, probably embellishing the whole affair. Many in the comment section questioned if it even happened. Others congratulated her and hoped they’d be his next conquest. She certainly painted him in a favorable light, but it was obvious to me, she planned it, right down to writing the article itself.
What surprised me is that I found no response or any hint of recourse from Harrison or the school. If it did happen, were there repercussions for him or her? Is that why he’s been avoiding me, he doesn’t want a repeat? And if it didn’t, why wouldn’t he defend himself?
These are all questions I need to ask Harrison before anything more happens between us.
“Okay,”I mutter, reaching for my laptop with trembling hands. It’s time to do some quick homework of a different kind.
My parents never openly discussed sex around me and I never had the birds and the bees conversation when I hit puberty. They clearly discouraged sex before marriage, but Mom did try to make up for it before I left home. I’m not sure who was more uncomfortable with that conversation. But I walked away with more questions than answers.
My fingers fly over the keyboard, clicking through websites and pages that would surely shock my conservative parents. As I watch the scenes play out, my heart hammers in my chest, and I realize that no amount of preparation can equip me for what will happen with Harrison. The images on the screen flicker in my darkened apartment as the couples move together, and their moans of pleasure and orgasmic cries send shivers down my spine, igniting a flame that sparks arousal to burn almost out of control.
After thirty minutes of research, I snap the laptop shut, every erogenous zone I have on high alert.
Now that I have an inkling of what to expect, it’s time to get ready. I put my hair up and then jump into the shower, meticulously taking care of my body using my favorite body scrub, followed by my lavender body wash. With one leg on the tub’s edge, the razor glides over my skin, leaving nothing but smoothness. I want to be perfect for him.
Dried off and make-up completed—going with a natural look—I choose a simple dress to match—a soft sweater dress in light pink. I like the way it hugs my curves. And beneath? Nothing. It’s risqué, but I want to be very clear in my intentions in case he has any doubt.
Standing before my full-length mirror, nerves dancing under my skin, my reflection stares back, equal parts innocent girl and emergent woman. Tonight, I’ll step across the invisible line that separates the two. “Harrison will take care of me,”I whisper with confidence to the girl in the glass, trying to steady my heartbeat.
I take a deep breath and grab my bag, keys, and courage. I leave my apartment, the threshold feeling like a starting line. As the Uber driver takes me back downtown, the city’s pulse syncs with my own—a symphony of possibility, of new beginnings. Tonight, I’m not Ivy Kendrick, the student. I’m a woman on the cusp of something beautiful, even forbidden. Excitement and nerves cause my skin to tingle.
The driver pulls away, leaving me on the curb with a view that snatches my breath. Before me soars a sleek tower of glass and steel, lights twinkling like stars plucked from the night sky to nestle in Manhattan’s concrete jungle. “ This is where Harrison lives?”The words fall lightly from my lips, laced with awe.
I smooth down my coat over my dress and inch toward the entrance, a bout of anxiety suddenly accosting me. Before I get the chance to open the door, it’s done for me, and a doorman in a long grey coat tips his hat. His gaze sweeps over me with curiosity as I give him Harrison’s name, but he simply nods and ushers me through the lobby to an elevator that whisks me skyward with a whoosh that echoes the rapid beat of my pulse.
“Deep breaths,”I coach myself as the doors silently slide open when I reach the top floor.
I step out and into a plush and eerily silent hallway. In my building, the walls are so thin I can hear what my neighbors are planning for dinner. Nothing is sacred. There, the walls are so stained the original color is no longer distinguishable. Here, there is expensive looking artwork on the dove grey walls and beautiful vibrant planters that look real.
According to the gold-plated signage, there are only four apartments on this floor. I follow the directions to Harrison’s. How does a professor live like this? My mind races with questions about him I’ve never considered until now. He said his father was a senator, but I don’t know more than that.
When I’m standing in front of his door, I pause, swallowing hard. This is it. If everything goes how I hope, I’ll leave a full-fledged woman.
I’m about to push the bell when the door suddenly swings open, startling me, and I jump, putting my hand to my chest.
Harrison is standing in front of me in nothing but navy lounge pants with a tie at the waist, a white cotton shirt and bare feet. How can this man look sexy in such casual clothing?
His eyes widen a fraction, surprise flickering across his features. Did he think I wouldn’t come?Maybe he didn’t really want me to.
Doubt seeps in. “Hi,”my voice is loaded with trepidation, but I try to fake bravado. “I hope I’m not too late.”
He shakes his head and takes a step back, allowing me to enter, as a slow, warm and welcoming smile spreads across his face. “Of course not, Ivy.”
The apartment isn’t what I pictured—it’s refined but lived in, with art that’s probably worth more than my tuition dotting the walls. I know I don’t know him that well yet, but it feels like Harrison, through and through—sophisticated but nowhere near ostentatious.
“Nice place.”I wander to the window, peering down at the city streets far below. “This view is incredible.” The city is lit up with an almost dizzying array of lights from various skyscrapers, streetlights, and billboards, creating a vibrant, almost magical image. I can even see the Chrysler Building.
“Thanks.”He joins me, close enough for me to catch his scent—something woodsy and intellectual if scents can be smart.
“Harrison,”I start, turning to face him, “how do you afford a place like this on a professor’s salary? Especially when you haven’t been workingthatlong?”I slap my hand over my mouth. “I’m sorry. That’s none of my business.”I can feel the redness creeping up my neck to my face.
His chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. “Let’s just say, teaching isn’t my only asset.”
“What?”
I’m not sure what he sees on my face, but he laughs harder. “My family has money, Ivy. It’s nothing nefarious.”
“Oh.” It must be a lot of money if he can live like this.
“Come, sit,”he motions to the couch, and I’m thankful for the invitation to break the awkwardness between us as my tongue darts out to wet my lips.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
I shake my head, then change my mind. “Water would be fine. Thank you.” I don’t want anything to hinder my memory of tonight or increase the risk of me saying or doing anything else embarrassing.
While he walks over to the kitchen area, I take the opportunity to look around as I settle into the cushy chocolate brown leather couch. He’s got the largest television I’ve ever seen mounted over a gas fireplace on the opposite wall. The furniture is modern but very comfortable, with a few pops of color in the frames he used for the artwork on the off-white walls and the fabric on the two armchairs.
“I like your apartment. It’s comfortable, not at all stuffy.”
“Stuffy? I’m starting to think you have a few preconceived notions about professors.”
“Can you blame me? They’re usually much older than you, dress like my parents and don’t insist students call them by their first names.”
He joins me on the couch, handing me a glass filled with ice and water.“To be honest, you’re the first one I’ve asked to do that.”
Oh.
I tip it to my mouth and drain half, the cold liquid cooling the fire inside me only slightly.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Did you think I’d stand you up?”I tease, my voice threaded with a hint of nerves I can’t suppress.
Harrison’s gaze holds mine. “Honestly?”He ruffles the back of his hair, a casual gesture that makes my heart skip. “I wasn’t sure. I’m not sure what’s happening here, but how I feel—it’s intense. Scary, even.”
Hearing that emboldens me. “Harrison...”My fingertips trace down the side of the glass through the condensation that’s gathered. “No one has ever... You make me feel things I didn’t know I could feel. I know it’s fast, but…”
It’s all the confession he apparently needs. He takes the glass from me and sets it on the beautiful slate-topped coffee table. Then he cups my cheeks and kisses me.
He sweeps his tongue over my lips and then gently encourages me to open for him. The soft pressure sends tingles down my spine. His hands slip into my hair, pulling me closer, and I melt into him. His touch is thrilling, his warmth enveloping me like a security blanket. I feel it in my bones, my heart racing against my chest as he leans into me, his body pinning me against the couch cushions.
And he smells so good, clean and fresh. He tastes like mint with a beer chaser. My mind races with the sensations coursing through my body, cataloging everything, and I gasp when he pulls back slightly. My hands reach for him, and my fingers curl into his shirt to keep him close.
“Tell me to stop, Ivy. Before this goes too far.”
His threat is a promise that sends shivers racing down my arms and legs.
“But I don’t want you to stop.”
He makes a sound that something like a growl and then lowers his head to trail soft kisses along my jawline and down my neck, sucking lightly at the pulse point there. It makes me gasp again, and his responding moan is low in his throat, which creates a corresponding prickle between my legs.
“You taste so sweet,”he mumbles against my skin, making me blush. His hands roam over my back, moving up and down in a rhythm that fans the flames inside of me. One of his hands finds the hem of my dress and slowly slides it up my thigh, revealing more of my skin to his touch. His fingertips graze along the inside of my leg when I spread them, and I capture his shock in my mouth when he doesn’t encounter any underwear. His fingers trace the lips of my vagina, and I quiver, inhaling harshly when he slips the tip of one inside.
“You’re so wet.”
My breath catches and I widen my legs further and lean into him, begging for more with each touch.
He breaks contact with a light peck on my collarbone. Then he raises his face to look me square in the eye as his finger pauses in its quest. “Please tell me you want more.”