Epilogue
Elle - Six months later
V incent and I left East Regent University in our rear-view mirror and never looked back. On the outskirts of Albany, we stumbled across an old shop that used to house antiques. It still had that rustic charm, with polished oak counters, hidden little nooks, and an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows. There was a cute little apartment above the shop, too.
Vincent bought the place for a song, and we started sprucing it up right away. By the new year, we had moved in and filled the shelves with books. By February, The Professor’s Bookshop was open for business.
While I went back to school part-time, I picked up work as a tutor, teaching kids to read. Most of the lessons were conducted online over video chat. Although a few of my students were local. So, we met at the shop or the library. Together, we poured over books bursting with illustrations, excited to discover a new adventure hidden away between the pages.
My lessons made such a good impression on the head librarian that she offered me a job on the spot. And I accepted.
I enjoyed it so much that I was toying with the idea of getting my Master’s in Library Science. The bookshop was Vincent’s passion project, and I would gladly help him in any way I could. But becoming a librarian was rapidly developing into a dream for me.
Maybe I saw myself in those shy, quiet, lost kids who drifted through the shelves, searching for a story they could escape into.
Or maybe it was the fact that working as a librarian was as far away from the corporate business world as I could get. My father would be furious to hear I handed out free books for a living.
During the first few months after the bookshop was up and running, I held my breath, half expecting my father or Helene to hunt me down and destroy everything that Vincent and I had built.
But nothing came. I never heard a peep from them.
Sometimes, it stung.
More often than not, it was just a relief.
Vincent found out that Dean Wilcox was quietly fired from the school, placed under investigation for accepting bribes on more than one occasion and endangering students.
I woke to the steady rhythm of Vincent’s heart pressed to my cheek. My bare body was tucked against his side with my leg hitched over his hips. He had one hand on my back, fingers idly tracing up and down my spine in random patterns, while his other hand held a book propped against his stomach.
Six months of living together had flown by, and I still managed to find little ways to fall in love with him even more. I took advantage of the moment and studied his profile—that strong jawline, his tousled salt-and-pepper waves. Still as handsome as the day I met him.
“Would you read to me?” I whispered.
Vincent turned his head to meet my gaze.
“What would you like? Byron? Keats? Dickenson?”
I shrugged and wiggled closer, if that was possible.
“Whatever that book you have in your hand is fine.”
The corner of his mouth tipped up in a wry smile.
“How do you know what it is? I could be reading something terribly dry. Ethics, perhaps. Philosophy. The history of economics.”
I hooked an arm around his middle and kissed his neck, breathing in the faded smoky-sweet scent of his cologne.
“I trust your judgment,” I replied. “I just like hearing your voice.”
Vincent brushed a kiss to my forehead and adjusted his glasses.
“Flattery will get you everywhere, love.”
Then he cleared his throat and started to read.
“She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looking up,
And gazed upon my face.
‘Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly ‘twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.”
“That’s beautiful,” I said softly.
“It’s a rare edition of Coleridge’s work I bought for the shop,” he replied. “I’ll hate to part with it one day.”
Gingerly setting the book on the nightstand, he gave my thigh an affectionate tap.
“We’d better get moving, or we’re going to be late for work.”
I groaned, clinging to him tighter. Vincent laughed and pried my arm free as he set the book on his nightstand.
“I’ll get the coffee started.”
“Can’t we just call in sick and stay in bed?”
Vincent tugged his sweats on, but didn’t bother with a shirt. My gaze followed his bare back as he pulled the curtains open. I squinted at the onslaught of sunlight and pulled a pillow over my head.
“That kind of work ethic will get you nowhere in life, young lady,” he teased.
I lobbed the pillow at him. He chuckled as it bounced off his back.
The bed dipped as Vincent crawled up my body, hovering over me. I smiled at him, running my hand along his forearm, over his biceps, and curving around the back of his neck.
“Are you sure there isn’t some way I could convince you to change your mind?” I asked.
He took my wandering hand away from his neck and traced his thumb over the diamond on my ring finger.
“You have five minutes,” he said. “Then I’m bringing you coffee and dumping your ass in the shower.”
I pretended to pout. Vincent tapped my nose with a laugh and turned to leave.
“Don’t give me that look, baby. I’m immune to your charms.”
“No, you’re not,” I called after him.
Smiling to myself, I snuggled into the warm indent left from his body. Five minutes later, as promised, Vincent returned. He held out a cup of coffee, but when I reached to take it, he moved it away.
“Tease,” I muttered.
“Work for it,” he replied, arching his eyebrow in a challenge.
I watched, incredulous, as Vincent pulled up a chair and sipped his coffee. Waiting. Expectant. I weighed my options for a moment, searching for a way to get him back. Then I pushed the sheets aside, exposing my naked body.
Vincent’s posture stiffened imperceptibly. He dipped his chin, studying me over the rim of his glasses with that no-nonsense teacher look. I spread my legs, gliding one hand down my stomach. A muscle flexed in his jaw when I touched myself, dragging my fingers through my folds and tracing up over my clit.
“Are you sure you don’t want to join me?” I offered.
Vincent leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs, crossing his ankles.
“You’re doing just fine, love. Don’t forget those pretty pink nipples.”
I brought my hand up to one breast, giving it a plump squeeze. Vincent’s cock twitched in his gray sweatpants. Even though I hardly had any reason to be shy around my fiancé when it came to the bedroom, it still felt strange to be on display like this. Under his watchful gaze.
“Vincent,” I whined, curling my fingers inside my pussy. “I can’t come without you.”
“Open yourself up for me.”
I twisted and scissored my fingers, brushing my clit to make my walls contract. My skin felt tight and hot. My orgasm rose, trembling. Vincent gave no further instructions, his dark gaze locked on my fingers, pumping in and out.
Finally, he set aside his coffee and patted his thigh.
I practically flew across the room. Vincent cupped my hip with one hand as he freed his cock from his sweatpants. I bit my lip as the blunt head pressed against my entrance. Then I sank down, inch by inch.
Fuck, that stretch never failed to fill me up in the most perfect way.
Vincent skimmed his hands up my sides and cupped my face, pulling me close for a searing kiss. His cock throbbed inside me as the hot, slick heat of his tongue slid against mine. I whimpered, rolling my hips.
Vincent smiled into the kiss.
“My bride-to-be,” he murmured.
I playfully nipped at his lower lip.
“My sexy professor.”
A laugh rumbled in his chest and he picked me up, moving us to the bed.
“We’re going to be so fucking late,” he muttered into the curve of my neck.