29. Daisy
29
DAISY
I refused to feel guilty.
Sure, I was sitting in the train speeding toward Columbia University, hoping I was about to lose my virginity to a man who was not my husband.
In my defense, Aaron wasn’t a loving husband. He wasn’t even a good person.
I mean, he had a sex contract, for God’s sake. Who did that?
My stomach flip-flopped as I read through the contract, eyes blurry as I took in the list of all the things I was agreeing to let him do to me and where he could do them.
I didn’t know if I was scared or turned on.
Aaron wouldn’t be slow or gentle, especially if he didn’t know it was my first time. And I’d rather give up cheese for a decade than let Aaron know that he’d done it, that he’d won, that with one cutting announcement he’d completely ruined my life, condemned me to an untouchable virginal existence.
It wasn’t just that after that night at the beach, everyone knew I was a weirdo and untouchable. No one wanted to hook up with Dump Truck Daisy, let alone date her. I was so terrified of a repeat of the humiliation with him that I’d gone out of my way not to be in a position where a guy could screw me over like that.
I’d attended a women’s college then an English master and PhD program that were dominated by women as both students and professors.
Professor Pennington was my first and only chance to meet a guy, fall in lust, and lose my V-card. Finally. I was going to have sex—fifteen years too late, but I was going to do it. Then I would finally be able to move on from Aaron Richmond.
You still have to have sex with him.
The clock was ticking. It would happen soon.
I knew Aaron. He would ensure this contract was executed properly. He would have sex with me.
He wouldn’t, like, force himself on me, though, right?
I shouldn’t have drunk all that coffee before coming here. My heart raced, and I was amped up with anticipation—not the fun kind but the kind you felt right before speaking in public.
I squared my shoulders. Out of solidarity to my teenage self, Aaron wouldn’t be my first. Couldn’t be. That would have to be enough. I’d close my eyes and think of the Hamptons.
Since it was summertime, the gothic library, with its stacks of books stretching to the vaulted ceiling, was empty. The table lamps cast a warm glow as my feet padded silently across the carpet through the library. The scant few professors in the English department who brought in any sort of grant funding got offices in the historic library building.
Professor Pennington’s office, which was on the second floor, had a window looking out to the quad and another out over the reading room that always made me feel like I was preparing for a grand adventure with a dashing hero.
“The gilded cage has lost its luster, and she’s come to be led into the wide world of intellectualism and knowledge,” the professor greeted me when I knocked on the heavy wood door.
I almost shot back that I had a master’s degree and wasn’t a completely sheltered imbecile, but I was trying to lose my virginity, not get into an argument. He wasn’t Aaron.
The professor’s office smelled like old books and English tea as he led me in. I was wearing a 1950s calf- length dress that was once a costume for one of my dad’s movies.
“No string of pearls?” Professor Pennington asked, tipping up my chin.
“I was hoping you’d give me one.”
“So bold. So forward. She is starved for a man’s touch.” His thin fingers rested briefly on my waist. “Tea, Mrs. Richmond?”
He sat down next to me on the threadbare couch, and his thigh pressed against my leg through the petticoat layers of the skirt.
“I do love a woman in these more traditional dresses,” he said. Normally, the inflections on his words would make me go gaga. Now, though, I was just wondering when it was going to happen. I wanted to go home, take a hot bath, then eat some cake.
“It’s like she’s asking a man to unwrap a particularly enticing package.”
He made heavy-lidded bedroom eyes at me. I guessed I should have been aroused, but all I could think about was how his ears did in fact stick out a bit from the side of his head. Now that Reese had called him rat-faced, Ratatouille was all I could see.
Even his front teeth were too large for his head.
He’s fine. He has that accent.
He kissed my hand. “Mrs. Richmond, looking for an escape.”
I crossed my legs.
Then I uncrossed them.
“Nervous?” he said in his British accent before resting a hand on my knee. “Wondering what it will feel like to be really touched by a man, to truly be seen by a man?”
The professor leaned in for a kiss, and I automatically leaned back, half falling against the couch pillows before his mouth could connect to mine.
He grabbed my hand, pressed it to his crotch, and rubbed against it.
“John Thomas has been aching for Lady Jane.”
Ooh, yikes… We really were committing to this Lady Chatterley’s Lover bit, huh? I wasn’t sure if I was going to make it through losing my virginity without having a panic attack—or laughing if we had to give a name and backstory to my vagina.
Professor Pennington leaned in to try to kiss me again. His, ahem , John Thomas—yeah, that was not going to work for me—poked me through the layers of my skirts.
“Are you ready for your string of pearls, Mrs. Richmond?” His thin fingers worked at the buttons of my dress.
“Can we just stick with first names?” I squeaked, worried that even saying that name would summon Aaron like a demon. “I think that might make me more comfortable.”
“‘ She’s got an indiscreet voice ,’” the professor quoted from The Great Gatsby as he panted moist breath all over me. “‘ It’s full of… ’” He pulled at the ribbons of the corset. “‘ Her voice is full of money .’”
His hands were seeking under the layers of petticoats.
“Is Lady Jane ready to receive visitors?”
Yuck. Also…
“I thought we would take our time get to know each other?” I squeaked as clammy fingers touched my thigh.
“Our first time together must be here a stolen private moment in my office, two renegades of polite society finding each other, stealing what moments they can.” He pawed at the dress.
I didn’t feel much through the thick structural foundation garments that held everything up and together. I turned my head at the last minute so he could slobber a kiss on my neck as he fumbled with my zipper.
“The cleaning staff does come through at six thirty, and I would like to be able to take my time, to truly give you a thorough lesson in the pleasures of the flesh.”
“Oh yeah?”
He cupped my cheek and looked down at me with watery blue eyes.
“I’m sure you can convince your husband, a man of means, to provide you a small pied-à-terre . Tell him it’s your writers’ retreat. Then we could meet there instead.”
“Totally,” I yelped.
As if. After I lost my V-card, I would be finished with my sexual journey. I’d adopt a little brother or sister for Dorian.
More panting and fumbling at my clothes.
“Even better if it was somewhere out of the way for him, where he wouldn’t pop in unannounced.”
“Sure thing,” I bleated as Pennington snapped one of the garter straps holding up the nylon stocking.
I had thought the experience would be sexier. Now I was wishing I’d worn layers of Spanx. It was just that things were moving awfully fast.
We’re doing this for all of us.
“How quickly do you think you could arrange it, my dear Margaret?”
“I mean, is there a big rush?”
“While I do love teaching at Columbia,” he admitted, “the pay isn’t all that it’s cracked up to be, especially in New York City. My sublet was terminated prematurely, and I’m currently residing in a hotel, but it is awfully expensive. In exchange, I will teach you everything”—he planted wet kisses up my arm—“you need to know about being a woman.”
Double yikes.
“Doesn’t Mrs. Richmond desire a bit of extra attention out of class?”
“I don’t want to take you away from your scholarly duties, Edmund.”
“No.” The professor grabbed my chin briefly then ran his hands down my chest. “You must call me Professor Pennington. I am your teacher,” he said with a chuckle. “In all things.” He unzipped his pants.
Barf.
“We can go away on weekends,” he whispered. “Your brute of a husband has a private jet, of course, yes? Have you ever made love on a private jet? We could go back to my native England, explore Thornton and the Bront?s’ parsonage, our own gothic romance. Do you feel that, Margaret?” He bucked John Thomas and all his luggage against my hip.
“Maybe you could just call me Daisy?” I swallowed, my mouth dry. “I keep thinking that I’m in trouble.”
“Oh, you are trouble.” His breath reeked of stale tea, and I suddenly couldn’t do it.
“You know what? Why don’t we pick this up at a later—”
Professor Pennington shoved me back onto the couch. “Don’t worry, Margaret. I know you’re scared to be with a man who knows how to pleasure a woman. I understand, but you must work through the fear.”
“No, I think I’m just going to go.” I tried to push him off.
“But John Thomas has a date with Lady Jane.” His weirdly damp hands pushed under the layers of petticoats.
“Get off of me!” I yelled.
Pennington slapped a hand over my mouth. “Shut up, stupid girl. You’ll get me sacked.”
Before I could I fumble around for my Mace, the professor flew off me and crumpled against a bookcase.
“Keep your fucking hands off my wife,” a deep commanding voice boomed in the small office.
Shrieking, I grabbed at my clothes as Aaron prowled around the office, a wall of fury between the professor and me.
“Security!” Professor Pennington shouted from the floor, coughing and wheezing. “Maniac!”
“They’re not here.” Aaron turned on him. “Summer hours.” His smile was sharp. All teeth.
John Thomas had gone completely limp.
Aaron sneered, “You might want to put that away before you hurt yourself.” He took a menacing step forward.
“Back, ingrate!” Professor Pennington yelled, trying to fasten his pants and grab for his messenger bag. “Attacker! Trespasser!” he shrieked when Aaron hurled the tea kettle at him. “Assault!”
Aaron was in full destructive-predator mode.
I grabbed his arm before he could lunge at the professor.
“Don’t hurt him, please. He wasn’t trying to…you know.” I gulped, trying to prevent Aaron from going ballistic. My mom would be pissed if he got arrested for murder. “I came here to, uh… Well, he’s just got this accent and…”
I squeaked when Aaron turned on me. In the cramped, book-filled office, he was huge, the top of his head almost brushing the low ceiling as he bore down on me.
“You let him rub his flaccid fucking cock all over you and then you stand here in front of me, your husband, and defend him?”
Aaron reached out. I cringed, not sure if I should expect a hit. But he swept his arm behind him.
“A man who wouldn’t even stay to fight for you?”
Hopping as he zipped up his pants, Professor Pennington was racing out the door. “I will weep for you, Isolde!”
It slammed shut behind him, leaving me at Aaron’s mercy. Hand shaking, I tried to fasten my girdle and dress. I’d needed Reese’s help to get them on in the first place, and now I stood in front of Aaron, vulnerable, my hair in disarray.
“You came here for that?” Aaron’s voice was dangerously soft.
I scuttled back until my heels hit the bookcase.
“You don’t have any right to be angry.” I hated how my voice trembled. “We’re not in love. I didn’t mean those vows. It’s just business. Don’t take it personally.”
Aaron was right up on me, grabbing me by the shoulders and giving me a rough shake.
“My own wife, spreading her pussy for some pasty-faced, tea-drinking creep with bad teeth? And after she refused to fulfill the terms of our contract and let me pour my cum in her? Not fucking personal?” he snarled softly in my ear.
“You can’t control me.” I hated that he could see the fear in my eyes.
“I am your husband. I own you. You will obey me.” He stroked the back of his hand down my jaw, making me shiver. “You belong to me. I owned you the moment I saw you standing in your bedroom window, a protected little princess in her castle. You were mine,” he growled, inches away from my mouth.
“I—” I gasped. He was too close.
“You are mine .” He snarled the final word against my lips and gripped my shoulders. His fingers dug into me as the snarl transformed into a kiss.
I was sucked into a riptide. This was the first kiss I’d dreamed of, that I’d craved from Aaron. Powerful, just the two of us shipwrecked on an island during a storm. He kissed me frantically, nipping at my mouth until I parted my lips for him so his tongue could slip inside.
I clung to his neck like he was my only salvation as I drowned in the ocean of him. His hands were everywhere, cupping my face, tugging at the disheveled clothes.
With my last bit of air, I moaned, straining against him, needing him to know how much I longed for him, wanting to feel all of him on me, in me .
I must have fucked something up because his green eyes opened, and he pushed me away.
He seemed almost as shocked as I was, staring at me like he was seeing me for the first time.
“That was a mistake,” he gasped out.
To keep him from seeing the humiliation on my face, I used his distraction to run. I raced down the stone staircase and into the stacks of books.
Too bad I didn’t have my train card or my phone.
I could hide out in the library, right? Anything not to have to see Aaron again.
I sucked. I sucked at kissing. I was probably too weird. It was just like the last time when I—
I yelped as a huge hand grabbed my wrist, spun me around. He shoved me. My back hit the bookcase making my teeth clack. Volumes bounced off Aaron’s back as he bore down on me.
“Don’t run from me,” he warned. Then he kissed me again in the dark caverns of the book stacks. “It makes you more enticing than you really are.”
Aaron kissed me until I was dizzy and breathless and aching with want. He hiked me up against the bookcase so my shoes fell off and my toes barely touched the floor. A hand in my hair held me in place so he could claim my mouth.
I wanted him to claim all of me.
Too soon, he let me drop to my feet.
Unsteady, I gripped the front of the dress, trying to catch my breath in the tight girdle.
He handed me my bag.
“I was just going to return this.”
He looked a little spaced out, a little unhinged, like he wasn’t completely there. Something dangerous lurked in his eyes, green eyes so dark they were almost blue.
“Turn around,” he ordered.
I whimpered.
I couldn’t tell if I hated or craved the thought of him taking me here, right now.
His hands lingered on my back and trailed slowly to my hips.
They arched up, betraying me, offering myself to him.
Instead of bending me over and ramming me with his cock, he deftly began to piece my outfit back together, lacing up the girdle, fastening the tiny pearl buttons.
His hands trailed down my back and settled on my waist.
My breath caught as he placed a delicate kiss under my jaw.
“You’re doing this because you hate me, because you want to drive me crazy, because you think it will hurt me.” He squeezed me tighter. “Guess what? You miscalculated. All you did was show me that I don’t have to worry about bending you over and coming in your ass to fulfill the contract because any woman who would sleep with a man who looked like that just to fuck me over can handle my cock even if,” he said mockingly, “she hates me.”