Chapter 9
Two days later, my phone chimes in the middle of my Language Argument class.
I pick it up absent-mindedly, half expecting to see a notification from the Hemlock House group chat or the SFU App. Instead, it’s from an unsaved number I know by heart.
Professor Holmes.
My heart rate picks up, and I have to look away from the text to make sure nobody has seen my reaction. Fortunately, everyone else is caught up in Dr. Merrick’s class. I let the text sit for a few minutes while I compose myself. I text back an affirmative response, trying not to seem too eager.
Language Argument is my last class for the day, which leaves me with three hours to kill before dinner with Professor Holmes. His request caught me off guard because I didn’t think it was part of our…arrangement. When this started a few weeks ago, I thought that all I could ever expect was sex.
But a date? That’s entirely new territory for me.
Sure, I’ve been on a few before. But never with anyone I liked half as much as Professor Holmes.
While I shave every inch of myself in the shower, I try to imagine what it will be like.
Will he take me to a secluded restaurant, or somewhere that’s bustling with people but far away enough so nobody recognizes us?
My preparation routine includes two showers and a bath, as well as an extensive hair care regimen. When I sashay out of the bathroom, wrapped in a robe with my hair in curlers, Cassidy gives me a curious look. I act like I don’t see her while I busy myself in my closet.
She’s perched on the edge of her bed, drinking a bottle of that horrid green juice to prepare for her evening run. She watches me quietly, and I know she’s hoping I will say something.
I don’t take the bait.
Professor Holmes told me to wear something I know he would enjoy taking off me. Nearly all my dresses fit the bill, but I settle on a black velvet minidress. It’s just short enough that I’ll be able to flash him, and the fabric is thin enough for him to see my nipples through it.
I’m certain it will drive him crazy.
“You’re going out tonight?” Cassidy asks.
I look up from the dress I’ve laid on my bed.
“Why do you ask?” I say as I walk over to my nightstand and spritz myself in one of my sultry scents—it has sweet notes of red berries, white musk and a hint of patchouli.
“You’re getting awfully dolled up. I can’t remember hearing of any parties tonight.”
I stifle a chuckle.
“It’s a private one,” I say, almost haughtily. “A Kingmaker guy invited me to a hangout they are having.” I’m astounded by how quickly I come up with the lie, but it’s worth it to see the blood drain from her face.
I know exactly what’s going through her mind. “Will Alexander be there?”
I shrug noncommittally, turning away from her but watching her cycle through the stages of grief in my vanity mirror. “I’m not sure. I tried to get another invite, but he told me there was only enough room for me in the car.” I start on my makeup. “Sorry, sis.”
Though she’s trying to keep her cool, the knot in her brow tells me she’s pissed. She sips the rest of her drink with a frown.
“It’s fine,” she says, more to herself than to me. “Enjoy it.”
I nod and watch as she angrily ties her laces.
She storms out of the room a minute after.
I laugh into the back of my hand, happy to have given her a taste of her own medicine.
I still can’t shake the feeling that she got dressed up for Professor Holmes’ class because she knew it would psych me out.
If I was a different woman, I would have pursued Alexander just to get back at her for that. But he’s too fucked up even for me; you’d have to be a masochist to want him. This will have to do.
I meet Professor Holmes in the faculty parking lot at five minutes to six.
We get into his blacked-out SUV without a word. At first, I think he’s disappointed with what I chose to wear—he doesn’t even spare me a glance as we pull off campus. Meanwhile, I can barely stop myself from gawking at him.
He looks more refined than usual, which is saying a lot since he often looks like a renaissance man stuck in the wrong time.
Professor Holmes’ hair is freshly cut and styled—long on top and short at the sides—and he’s dressed in a charcoal suit complemented by a porpoise-colored shirt and skinny black tie.
I’m so caught up in staring at him I don’t realize he’s pulling us over until he’s already killed the engine. He stops the car a stone’s throw from the wrought iron gates of Saint Frederic University. I look around outside, wondering what’s caused him to stop.
Dusk is wrapping the forested landscape in its haunting, ashen cloak.
A growl from Professor Holmes pulls my thoughts back inside the cabin, and in the dull light I find him staring at me. His eyes are darker than midnight, glistening like shards of obsidian, and his jaw clenches with what I’ve come to recognize as restraint.
“What’s wrong?” I ask quietly.
My heart thunders in my chest. He doesn’t answer me. Instead, his strong arms reach for my face and pull me over the center console towards him. Professor Holmes kisses the question from my lips, replacing my curiosity with an urgent hunger for more of him. More of this.
It feels like he’s devouring me. He kisses me with every fiber of himself—all his passion, all his desire, all his choking lust. I accept it, tightening my hands on his wrists and melting into him as the waves of passion take me over.
When we break apart, I’m out of breath and he’s got my lipstick all over his mouth.
He stares at me with wide eyes, his chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon. A small smile creeps on to my face, and Professor Holmes glowers.
“What was that about?” I ask, leaning back in the leather seat.
He makes a show of fixing his tie and looking in the rear-view mirror to adjust his hair. He takes a handkerchief from the breast pocket of his suit and wipes my lipstick off his face. I watch him curiously, drinking in how handsome he looks when he’s lost his composure.
“When I told you to wear something I’ll like to take off of you, I meant after dinner,” he says, irritation twisting his brow.
I chuckle, reaching over to rest my hand on his thigh. He freezes. “You weren’t specific.” I bat my eyelashes as I look up at him, inching my hand closer to his crotch. “So, you don’t like my outfit?” I pout.
His eyes settle on my chest. I know my nipples are hard and I bet he can see them.
“No, I love it,” he says, clearing his throat. “Maybe a bit too much. I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to endure two hours of you looking like this and knowing I won’t be able to touch you. You look and smell good enough to eat.”
My hand grazes his cock and he sucks in a sharp breath. He’s hard, and even through his pants I can feel the ridges of him. Is he commando too? My smile grows.
“Why can’t you touch me before?” I ask, inching closer to him. I lean my torso over the center console. “I’m not wearing anything underneath this dress.” His Adam’s apple bobs. “We can be quick.”
Professor Holmes seems to seriously consider my proposition. I cross my legs, hiking my skirt a little higher, the friction sending a satisfying jolt of arousal to my core. He sucks in a sharp breath then moves my hand away from him.
The car purrs to life a second after.
“We don’t have the time,” he says, when we start moving again. “We’re already a few minutes late as it is.” Then, he gives me a knowing glance. “You know it’s never quick.”
I giggle. “There’s a first time for everything.” Though I’m a little disappointed, Professor Holmes is a hard nut to crack. In every sense. “We don’t have to go to dinner.”
He chuckles humorlessly. "No, it is important that we do.”
He runs his hand over his chin. Over the past few weeks, he’s let his beard grow longer.
“Why?” I ask when he doesn’t say anything else.
I’m satisfied with the way things are, I want to say. We don’t have much time left, anyway. I push the thought away as quickly as it appears in my mind.
Focus on the now, Tara.
The lack of conversation grows deafening.
The rumble of the SUV’s engine becomes the backdrop for my thoughts.
I lean against the door, staring out the window.
It’s a while before he finally speaks, long enough that it takes me a moment to remember what we were even talking about before the silence swallowed me up.
“I want you to know that you’re important to me,” he says. “That it’s not just about how good your pussy is.” I see the corner of his lips twist into a small smile.
I roll my eyes. “Is this because of what I told you a few nights ago?” My words come off harsher than I anticipated. “You don’t have to feel sorry for me, Professor Holmes. I’ve—”
He cuts me off. “You can call me Erik.”
That stops me momentarily. I give him a long look, trying to keep my face serene even as my heart feels like it’s about to jump right out of my mouth. Whatever we have is changing shape right before my eyes. I’m confused about how I feel about it.
“You don’t have to feel sorry for me, Erik.” My mouth feels full of cotton. “I’ve come to terms with my future,” I lie. “I just want to enjoy the now.”
He falls silent again. I would figure that my words have no effect on him, but the way he’s gripping the steering wheel tells me otherwise. The car hums as he steps on the gas. We’re hurtling down the winding country road now.
“I don’t feel sorry for you, Tara,” he says after a while. “No woman should be forced to marry their abuser. Worse than that, I fear you do not yet understand what I meant when I said you were mine.”
I shrug my shoulders. “I called you mine too, but does that make it true?” My voice is pitched higher than I would like. This conversation has spiraled into something else entirely, and I’m struggling to keep it where I want it to be.
Erik clicks his tongue dismissively. “Unlike you, I mean what I say.”
My chest tightens. I’m not even sure we are talking about the same thing anymore.
“What are we even talking about?” I say softly.
He sighs, and he runs a hand through his hair.
The same hair he seems to have put a lot of effort into fixing for our date.
I want to straighten the strand that has flopped over his brow, but resist the urge.
“I guess that this is my way of trying to hold on to what we have. I have been thinking about it ever since you told me, and I’m not prepared to give you up, Tara. ”
That steals the air from my lungs. “No, you can’t mean that—”
“I’ve never been surer of something,” he continues, and I wish he would just stop fucking talking already. “Now that I’ve had you, I can’t imagine a moment in time where what we have doesn’t exist.”
I look away from him with burning eyes. Something in my chest fractures. No, he can’t be saying this. Not now, not days away from summer break. I cover my ears with my hands, but it doesn’t do nearly enough to block out his voice.
And he just keeps talking. “I want to wake up to you every morning, even though you hog all the sheets and leave me cold as fuck in the middle of the night. I want you to tell me all about those dramatic romance novels you like to read, even though I think they are horrible and would never read one myself. I’ll suffer through those screaming metal bands if I must. You’re all I ever want to think about, Tara.
You’re the only person I can relax around.
I know it makes me a terrible person to want these things, even though all the odds are stacked against us. But I want them nonetheless.”
By the time Erik has finished talking, tears are streaming down my face, and I wish I could just throw myself out of the car and die. My heart lies in a million jagged pieces, stabbing my lungs every time I take a breath.
I want Erik Holmes the same way he wants me.
But that thought doesn’t make me happy, it only fills me with dread.
“Nico will kill us both,” I say, my voice warped. “He would probably kill my father too, for not pulling me out of school quicker. I don’t want anyone to suffer because of me.”
The SUV’s tires screech as Erik slams on the brakes.
“But do you want me, Tara?” he asks, almost urgently. I turn to look at him; his eyes are glassy. “If you had the choice, would you choose me?”
I don’t even have to think about it.
“Yes,” I say, lamely. “I’ve never felt like this with anyone before.
I don’t think I ever will again.” I suck in a breath, using the back of my hand to wipe my leaking eyes.
“It feels like we belong together, and that’s so fucked up because we shouldn’t have happened.
I’m betrothed to someone else, you’re my fucking professor and you’re twice my age. ”
“But it did happen, and I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” His words steal the last of my composure. We shouldn’t be talking about this. Not when he means so much to me, and there’s absolutely no chance in hell we could exist outside of these fleeting days before the summer holidays.
“We should stop talking about this,” I say, my voice quivering. “There’s no use talking about what could have been. It’s going to ruin our night.” I choke back a sob. My vision starts to swim, and I realize I haven’t stopped crying.
Erik pulls me into his lap, wrapping his arms around me so tightly it’s like he’s afraid I’ll disappear.
I wail into his chest. This date was such a bad idea.
He shouldn’t have tried to change things from what they were.
In the darkness of that cabin on the hill, I had always felt so distant from the world, from my horrible life.
Now, he’s shone light on the gaping crack in my existence.
“You’ve grown on me,” Erik’s voice is barely above a whisper. “I’m not letting you go, Tara.”
The note of finality in his voice sends a chill down my spine. But I’m too weary to ask him what he means. I’ve thought of every possibility—there’s nothing we can do. So, I do the only thing I have control of.
I hold his face and kiss him like my life depends on it.