Chapter 14
Gabriel
The Egyptian wing of the Met hums with excited voices as my students scatter among the displays. I stand near the entrance, clipboard in hand, playing the role of the dutiful professor. But my attention keeps drifting to one figure weaving through the crowd.
Rose stands before a limestone relief of the goddess Isis. Her head is slightly tilted, eyes fixed on something beyond the stone itself. She’s fully absorbed. Her fingers hover just above the glass, as if tempted to trace the ancient hieroglyphs—but she holds back.
"Professor Thorn, what's the significance of this piece?" Cassandra's voice interrupts my observations.
She is standing near a golden sarcophagus, and clearly expects my full attention.
I walk over there, giving her the explanation she wants about Middle Kingdom burial practices. But my peripheral vision tracks Rose as she moves to the next display.
"The craftsmanship is remarkable," I tell Cassandra, though my mind is focused on Rose. "Each detail was carved with incredible precision."
Cassandra nods eagerly. But I excuse myself and move toward the center of the gallery. Rose has stopped in front of a painted wooden coffin. Her face is still, contemplative, and, I dare to say, perfect.
I approach her from behind, letting my presence announce itself before I speak.
"The Book of the Dead," I say, close enough that she'll feel the warmth of my words. "This particular version dates to the Ptolemaic period."
She turns slightly, knowing what kind of game I’m playing. These moments of public propriety hide something that only two of us know.
"The paintings are so intricate," she says. "How long would something like this have taken to complete, Professor?"
I step closer to point out details on the coffin's surface. My hand finds the small of her back. And I allow my fingers to spread just wide enough to span the curve of her waist.
The contact is brief and professional to any observer. But I can feel her subtle reaction.
"Months," I answer, my thumb tracing a circle pattern on her back before withdrawing my hand. "The artisans who created these pieces were masters of their craft."
Rose nods, but I catch the way her lips part slightly. She's trying to concentrate on my words while processing the electricity of that touch.
"Professor Thorn!" Another student calls me from across the room, asking me about burial practices. I give Rose a small, knowing smile before walking away to answer the question.
The afternoon moves along. I check in with the students, offering comments and answers, all the while adjusting my course to stay close to Rose.
When she examines a display of canopic jars, I position myself beside her to explain their purpose. My fingers brush her wrist as I gesture toward the different vessels.
"This is so fascinating," she whispers.
I suspect she's not entirely focused on ancient Egyptian beliefs at the moment.
When she moves to study a collection of jewelry, I follow after a reasonable interval.
The display case is low, and we have to lean down to explore the ancient pieces. I place my hand on her waist again. This time, I let it rest there as I point out the details of a collar necklace.
"You're being very bold today," she whispers so quietly that only I can hear that.
"Am I?" I keep my fingers pressed slightly into her side. "I thought I was being subtle."
She turns her head just enough to meet my eyes. "There's nothing subtle about the way you're looking at me."
"How am I looking at you?" I tease her, even though I know exactly what she means.
"Like you want to do more than just look."
Her cheeks turn pink as she says it, which makes me want her even more.
As I start to pull my hand away, she surprises me. Her fingers brush against mine and stay there. It looks innocent to anyone watching. But the electricity between us is beyond ordinary.
"I've been thinking about the last time we were… together," she whispers.
"I’m glad. And what exactly have you been thinking about?" I keep my voice steady even though her words make my heart race.
"You… and… umm… how good it was. I can’t focus on anything else."
“You mean how good it was when I fucked you on the lectern?”
Her face turns bright red in shock, but I know perfectly well what I’m doing.
“Professor Thorn! What is this, Sir? This… gold thing?” another student calls to me.
I get up and join that student’s group, talking to them, but every second takes me further from where I want to be. A few minutes later, when Rose stops in front of a statue, I find my way back to her side.
"You came back," she says softly, not looking at me directly.
"I always come back to you." The words come out more honest than I intended.
This time, she is the one who does something that makes my pulse race. She steps slightly closer to me, pressing her breasts against my arm. The movement is so small that no one else might notice. And yet, it makes me feel like I’m on fire.
"You’re such a naughty girl, Rose," I pronounce her name like a caress.
"I love it when you say my name like that."
She reaches out as if she's pointing at the statue. But her hand touches my neck instead, just for a split second. Her fingers stay there, warm against my skin, and her breasts are still pushing into me.
"You're making this very difficult for me, Rose. Are you… Are you wearing a bra? God…"
"Not at all, Professor," she whispers. "I thought you could use a treat today."
All I want is to tear off her blouse and sink my face into her breasts. I want to suck those hard nipples until she’s screaming my name, until she begs me to let her cum.
“What about you, Rose? Do you feel like a treat?”
“Of course, Professor. Did you have something good in mind?” she continues to play with me.
"Yes, but… Careful what you wish for." I let my hand slowly slide away from her waist. My fingers trail along her side.
"What if I'm not feeling careful today?" she asks, and her voice is breathier now.
"Then we might have a problem."
She turns to look at me fully. "The kind of problem that requires privacy?"
"Exactly that kind." I check to make sure no students are watching us. "My car is outside."
"That sounds perfect…” she adds in a sultry tone of voice.
“Maybe we can go in a little while, after the museum visit is over and everyone is distracted,” I tell her.
“Just let me know, Professor,” she adds and then leaves my side, heading for a group of students.
I can feel my blood boiling with desire for her, but I know that I have to control myself. Rose grows more distracted as the day continues. I watch her struggle to focus on the displays or to participate in conversations with her classmates.
Her attention keeps drifting back to me. I can see the desire building in her expression.
By the time we reach the final gallery, I can barely concentrate on my own explanations. The need to touch her, to have her respond to me, is overwhelming. When she stops to examine a painted sarcophagus, I position myself directly behind her.
"The paintings here depict the journey through the underworld," I explain to the entire room.
To anyone watching, it looks like I'm simply standing behind a random student as she leans forward to see better. But there is closeness between us. The way my body shelters hers creates an intimacy that has nothing to do with academic instruction.
"Professor," she whispers. There's something in her voice that makes my pulse quicken.
"Yes?" I keep my tone professional.
"I think I need some fresh air."
"Of course, Miss Devereaux. Museum visits can be overwhelming."
“Can I go outside for a second?”
“Of course, Miss Devreaux. I will come and check on you in a moment, to make sure you’re alright.”
The other students don’t notice a thing. They’re caught in their own conversations, most of them clearly bored with the museum visit. I announce that we’ll be wrapping up soon and suggest they finish viewing the final displays. Then I look for Rose—and find her near the exit.
"Please walk with me, Rose," I say quietly. "I want to show you something."
She follows me without question, and I lead her through the museum's gardens. We walk in silence, heading toward the parking lot. The tension between us increases with each step.
All I want is to hold her hand, but that’s too risky. I can’t even touch her out here until we get to my car, where no one can see us.
My vintage Rolls-Royce with tinted windows is parked at the back. It will shelter us from prying eyes.
When we reach the car, I open the passenger door for her, and she slides effortlessly into the seat.
I watch as her short uniform skirt riding up her thighs, immediatedly making my cock hard.
Knowing that she’s not wearing a bra, I can almost feel how pink and hard her nipples are. And that makes my mouth water.
I walk around to the driver's side, taking a moment to compose myself. When I get in, the enclosed space immediately intensifies everything between us. She's waiting to see what happens next, and I waste no time.
Leaning over the console, I cup her face and trace her bottom lip with my thumb. I kiss her deeply and slowly, and my tongue slides against hers. She moans into my mouth, softly but desperately. My cock is harder than ever, pressing against my pants.
Even so, I take my time, savoring her taste, the way her lips move with mine, the way we’re starving for each other. This isn’t just a kiss. We’ve been teasing each other all day. Our desire is a storm that threatens to ruin us both.
I pull back and look at her flushed cheeks and her parted lips. I need more, I know that much. She gasps, letting her hands run through my hair, and I feel her trembling. One by one, I undo the buttons of her blouse, each pop exposing more of her.
“You really aren’t wearing a bra,” I cup her breasts with my hands. Full and luscious, they feel incredible, the nipples long and hard, begging to be sucked.
“I would never lie to you, Professor,” she teases me.