Chapter 7
I’m dressed in a matching workout set and sneakers just in case someone sees me and wonders what I’m doing.
The botany building is tucked away on the eastern edge of the campus, close to the fields that are used for Agricultural Science.
The secluded nature of this part of campus is probably why Professor Holmes chose it.
Night has already enveloped the campus, and save for the twinkling streetlights, the sky is starless and pitch-black.
The air carries the scent of the forest, as well as the hint of smoke from the bonfire on the lakeside.
There’s supposed to be a party going on there, another thing to keep everyone occupied.
Cassidy was nowhere to be found when I slipped out of the room. I don’t want to run into her either; she would be able to tell what I’m up to with just a glance—she’s the only person who would find my outfit strange.
I’ve never exercised for fun a day in my life, and I don’t intend to start.
The paved walkway beneath my feet changes into cracked concrete pavers riddled with invasive weeds, and that’s when I know I’m getting close.
Of all the disciplines here at Saint Frederic University, the Horticulture and Agricultural Science faculties get the least funding.
Every year, they have only about five or six students enroll. Combined.
The bushes on either side of the walkway are overgrown, and I twist my torso as I walk to keep from getting scratched by them. Having to do this is a welcome reprieve, as it gives me something else to focus on, something else to think about.
Instead of the reason why I’m in this secluded part of campus.
To get fucked by my professor. I swallow around the lump that thought has lodged in my throat. To say the last few weeks have been eventful would be an understatement. I’ve had my future ripped from me, and I’ve also had one of my deepest, darkest desires presented on a silver platter.
It’s the ultimate irony. However, after a lot of thought, I’ve settled on how to feel about it—absolutely nothing at all. From this point forward, I’m living in the moment. I don’t have much time left here, and Professor Holmes will be a welcome distraction from the craziness enveloping my life.
My steps slow as I approach the botany building.
It’s a single-storey brick building, with whitewashed walls and flowering vines creeping into the eaves of the wooden roof.
I’ve only ever been here once before—with one of the Chaos House guys to smoke some weed.
Whatever he gave me was horrible and triggered a panic attack. I’ve never ventured here again.
It nearly looks abandoned, its only saving grace are the muted rays of light streaming from one of the windows. The glass is frosted, so I can’t see much through it. I take a deep, shuddering breath and square my shoulders.
I go to knock on the heavy oak door, but it swings open at the touch of my knuckles.
The door deposits me in a narrow, dimly lit hall. Inside isn’t nearly as dilapidated as outside, with signs of obvious upkeep. The sickly-sweet smell of woodland flowers is overpowering, and I wonder if it’s something the students that use this building eventually get used to.
Taking a few steps deeper into the hall, I look around tentatively. Professor Holmes only told me to meet him here, nothing else. I’m not sure where he is, but I decide to investigate the room where the light is coming from first.
When I get to it, I find the door ajar.
It’s more of a classroom than a lecture hall, with around fifteen pairs of desks and chairs positioned to face a large bureau in front of a whiteboard. It’s at that desk that I find Professor Holmes, reading a newspaper with a lit cigarette perched between his lips.
I move deeper into the room.
He looks at his watch with languid movements, breaking his eyes from the newspaper at the last second.
“Hm. You’re on time,” he says.
Now that I’m here, all the thoughts leave my head.
All I can do is gawk at him. He’s changed his clothes as well.
He’s in a tailored short-sleeved shirt with the first few buttons undone, and a pair of jeans.
It’s the first time I’ve seen him in this kind of relaxed clothing, and it’s like I’ve seen something I shouldn’t have.
I can see more of one of his tattoos—though I still can’t make out what it is, there is one word that I would know anywhere: Morte.
He takes the cigarette from his lips with two fingers and offers it to me.
I take it, only because of the nerves building in my chest. Is that the reason why he’s smoking too? Is he as nervous as I am? I take a look at him and find it hard to believe. The newspaper has his rapt attention, and there isn’t even a tic in his jaw.
“You read the newspaper at the end of the day?” I ask, taking a long drag of the cigarette. It burns going down. I resist the urge to cough.
I sidle to the nearest table and slip into the seat.
Professor Holmes lowers it just enough to look at me over the edge. Now that I’m closer, I see it’s a foreign newspaper. An Italian one, to be exact.
“Yes, it’s the only time I get,” he says, pragmatically. “Why? Is there something wrong with that?”
A slight chuckle leaves me. The nicotine has already started to help my frayed nerves. “Everything you’ve read about has already happened a while now. It just doesn’t make much sense.”
He doesn’t allow me to see his eyes this time. “I read for confirmation, not information.”
What does that even mean? There’s silence for a few more minutes as I smoke, and he reads. It’s not tense or uncomfortable. If I had to choose a way to describe it, it would be a sense of foreboding.
Like we both know that what’s about to happen is inevitable.
The sudden rustle of him closing the newspaper startles me, and I look up to find his gaze is fixed on me. Even from this distance, I can feel the heat in them. They’re dark with lust, like molten lava.
He runs a hand roughly over his chin—the hand that now has a bandage on it where I bit him earlier today. “Good girls don’t smoke cigarettes, you know.” He’s smiling.
I give him a slight grin. “I never said I was one.”
He pats the desk, and I’m on my feet and walking toward him before I’ve even thought it through. I perch myself on the edge of the desk. He picks the cigarette from my lips and takes a drag, but not before making a show of licking the part where my mouth was.
A blush heats my cheeks. The only light in the room comes from a flickering light fixture overhead that’s missing a bulb. The incandescent rays are weak but warm, bathing the room in a glow that adds another layer of intrigue to our surroundings.
In this light, he looks like a devil sitting on his ruined throne.
Professor Holmes ashes the cigarette on the desk, tossing it into the trash-bin in a corner of the room. His hand settles on my thigh and I tense. Even through the fabric of my leggings, I can feel the roughness of his fingertips.
He pulls on the fabric, and it slaps against my skin.
There’s a grimace on his lips.
“From now on, I’ll send you a dress code,” he says. “At least for the days we will see each other.”
I feel attacked. “You don’t like what I’m wearing?”
“I do,” he says, raking his eyes up my body. “It’s just incredibly tedious to get you out of.”
There is hunger in his voice.
“What would you rather have me wear?” My question comes out breathier than I expect.
His hand moves to the waistband of my leggings.
“A skirt,” he says, a slight smile playing on his lips. “I like it when you wear those. The shorter the better.” His voice lowers, transforms into a growl. “Sit on my lap.”
I push away from the desk, slowly moving towards him. He peels my leggings from my waist, palming the skin there as I turn and back up against him. I sit on his leg shyly, glancing up at him over my shoulder.
The sudden proximity of him is overwhelming.
He smells of mint, expensive cologne and cigarette smoke.
He pulls me into him, crushing me against his chest. Even with me on his lap, our height difference is staggering.
I can feel the rough hairs on his chest against my bare shoulders. I tilt my head back to see his profile.
Professor Holmes adjusts me on his lap until I’m sitting right on his dick.
His hard dick.
I wiggle my ass just a bit, enough to get a better feel of it. It’s massive, even tucked away in his jeans. When my eyes meet his, he’s searching my face.
“That’s what you do to me.” His voice is low. “This is your last chance to leave if you’re having second thoughts.”
Second thoughts? No. I’m sure I want this. Am I wondering if I’ll be able to take him? Yes. Even without seeing it, I know it’s bigger than any I’ve ever had. To come this far and chicken out is out of the question, but I also hope I don’t embarrass myself.
His grip on me loosens. “Are you?” I don’t miss the note of disappointment.
I shake my head quickly, snapping myself out of my spiraling thoughts.
“No,” I say quickly. “I want you.” A slight smile twists his lips.
Professor Holmes uses his hands around my waist to turn me toward him.
Our lips collide in a searing hot kiss that knocks my world out of orbit. It’s a clash of soft lips and sharp teeth, and when he coaxes my mouth open with his tongue I melt into him. An appreciative grunt slips from him when I grab his lower lip between my teeth. His grip on my waist tightens.
It’s like I’ve been suffocating all my life but now I’ve finally had my first taste of air.
I kiss him until everything else falls away, until all I can feel is the dizziness in my head and the sensitivity of every inch of my skin.
The kiss is equal parts pleasure and pain, a promise of things to come that sends wet heat pooling in my core.
“You taste amazing,” he says against my lips in a strangled voice.
I moan, desperate for our lips to join again. My hands are in his hair and on his shoulders, trying and failing to get as much contact with him as possible.