Study Me: A Student Teacher Romance Page 4

  “How are the appointments going with the therapist?” my father asks the words, but I’m not really listening as I zero in on the front door. I’ll walk to the damn train station if I have to.

  Escape is so close as my father grabs me by the arm. “You need to face this. You can’t continue on this way.”

  I stop, dead in my tracks and turn to face him head on. “Are you kidding me? I don’t need you or anyone telling me how to deal with things. I’m fine.” My voice is low, with an edge of distaste.

  “I just think…”

  I cut him off. “I don’t care what you think. I’m fine.”

  My mother stands between us, rubbing my arm as she tries to stop the words. “Houston, it’s ok. Let me take you to the station. Harold, just drop it,” she pleads with her husband.

  “Carol, I just want him to understand,” my father says.

  That’s it. I’ve had it. “Understand? It’s you who needs to understand.” I point my finger in his face. “You have no idea. You think you can lecture me and it’ll make everything all better? It doesn’t work that way.”

  He steps back. “You need to move on.”

  “Move on? Fuck you. You have no clue.” Never in my life have I ever spoken to my father like this. I can feel his hurt he wears in his expression. I shake my head and rush off down the steps, my mother trailing off behind me.

  The ride to the train station is a silent one. She doesn’t offer any advice. As I leave her car, she hugs me and tells me she loves me.

  “Houston, go easy on your father,” she says, after I kiss her on the cheek.

  “Mom, I just can’t anymore.”

  On the train ride home, I think of nothing but Marley’s green eyes. Mesmerizing and magical. When I stare into them, I completely lose myself. And I like being lost.

  9

  Marley

  Immaculate-adj-(especially of a person or their clothes) perfectly clean; free from sin.

  Two days later, I woke still a confused mess with the imprint of Houston’s lips still burned into mine. His kiss changed things for me. I’m deeper in like. Now I know the sounds he makes when he’s turned on. The intensity he kisses with. The look in his eyes when passion consumes him. I’m fucked. How can I forget those things? How can I not want more?

  It’s like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, and now I don’t know what to do. It’s almost laughable I think I can go into psychiatry when I can’t even tell myself what to do. I feel like Alice wandering an alternate universe. Maybe, like in Wonderland, there are no logical answers here. I’m searching and searching for answers that don’t exist. Maybe it just is. I’ve always thought of Professor Dale in an unattainable fantasy capacity, but, the man who pressed his solid body against mine, not to mention his hard cock, was real. He was full of emotions and desire for me. Is that so wrong?

  All day yesterday, I couldn’t erase the kiss from my mind. I sat my Saturday away with my ankle iced and thoughts of Houston running rampant. A little part of me was disappointed he didn’t call. Now, it’s Sunday, and I’m resolved to not waste another minute analyzing. It happened, and it was a great kiss. A really, really great kiss. I have more important things to do besides wonder if he’s thinking about me too. Like laundry.

  My ankle feels better while I gather my laundry, only a slight twinge of discomfort. When I get to the laundry room, of course every machine is out of order. Dragging my laundry bag, I walk to the Coin Clothes Cleaner the next block over. It’s slightly outdated, but it’ll have to do.

  Finding a machine in the back of the empty laundromat, I toss my bag onto the large folding table and pull out my clothes. I throw my first load in as I sort through more clothes.

  “Marley?” I freeze when I hear the voice that has been playing over and over in my head.

  I turn my head to him and smile. “Hi, what are you doing here?” I ask. His hands are empty, so clearly not laundry. Besides, Houston doesn’t strike me as the type to do his own laundry. He’s too polished. I imagine all his clothes sorted by color, brand, and occasion in his closet. Most likely sorted by sexy. Even his jeans and worn Van Halen t-shirt are as sexy as his professional attire on campus. It’s a different sexy, and one I like just as much.

  Giving me a half grin, he answers, “I had a quick meeting this morning with Anna Tompkins to discuss some research she’s working on.” Oh. I school my face into one that I hope resembles not jealous. Because honestly, I’m a little jealous. Anna Tompkins, Microbiology professor, is the female Houston. “We were getting coffee next door. I saw you and decided to check in on your ankle.”

  That’s nice and all, but what about the kiss? Did I not cross his mind at all? A little knot ties itself in my belly that she is his peer and perfectly acceptable to fraternize with. I’m a dirty little secret, which he’s clearly going to pretend didn’t happen.

  “Ah,” I say, shoving my clothes in the machine. “I’ve heard she’s brilliant.”

  “She is,” his deep voice says behind me. “I should go. She had to run a quick errand and then I’ve agreed to accompany her to the library.”

  Well, isn’t that perfect? He doesn’t have to hide with her in a corner or feel guilty about crossing any lines. I turn to face him. His grin falls when he looks down at my hand. Pink panties dangle from my fingers. I ball them in my fist and bring it behind my back.

  “So, how’s the ankle?” he asks.

  “Barely hurts at all,” I tell him, turning back to my laundry. What does hurt is the way we’re apparently going to pretend the kiss didn’t happen. Well, that suits me fine. This is too complicated anyways. You know what? Fuck that. I spin around, panties still in hand, ready to address what happened the other night. But, before I can, he leans in and whispers against my ear, “Let me see them.”

  My eyes widen as I cling to the material in my hand. “See what?”

  His hand touches my neck and travels higher, fingers splaying into my hair. “Let me see my favorite pair.”

  My mouth goes dry. His favorite pair. Face it, I can’t say no to him when he’s so close and touching me.

  His full lips lift as I bring the panties from behind my back. I open my hand, and he snatches the panties from my palm.

  “Mine,” he asserts, his deep voice dropping an octave.

  “Um, no. Houston.” I say, reaching for them. “Let me have them so you can get going.”

  The tip of his tongue glides out, wetting his lips. “Start your machine, Marley,” he instructs me, sliding my panties in his pocket. Part of me thinks it’s hot he’ll have my panties in his pocket while he’s researching with Anna Tompkins. The other part is afraid they’ll fall out, and somehow everyone will know they’re mine. “Start your machine,” he demands again, this time in his husky authoritative voice. “I want to show you something.”

  “Show me what?” I ask, turning to start the machine. When I turn around, he leans in, his nose running along my neck. He nips at my collarbone, and I take a quick glance around to ensure we’re alone.

  We are. Thank God.

  When my attention focuses back to him, he’s already hoisting me up onto one of the machines. “Did you know these machines give the perfect stimulation to your clit when they vibrate?”

  He steps between my legs. I want his hands all over me, and he grants me my wishes. It feels so good as he runs his hand under my shirt.

  “Houston. What are you doing?” I take a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t stop.

  “Risking my career.” He grabs my chin, crashing his lips to mine.

  “Don’t stop,” I moan.

  Oh fuck. The machine rocks gently beneath me sending a vibration to my clit. He’s right. The sensation is temporarily overshadowed by his warm hand sliding inside my bra. What if someone sees us? What if Anna Tompkins sees us? My hardened nipple doesn’t care about the repercussions if we get caught. It wants to be squeezed and it gets what it wants.

  “Does that feel good?” he asks, nipping my earlob
e with his teeth.

  “Yes,” I answer, tilting my head to give him access. My legs find their way around his waist, pulling him into me. Now my pussy is lined up with his cock perfectly.

  “You know this is wrong,” he whispers against my ear.

  “I don’t care,” I whisper back.

  It’s foolish not to care. Years of school tossed away for an orgasm? I know the answer, yet, I’m still doing it. Still grinding myself against his cock. Still craving him, despite the risk. Funny how we can want something so much we throw every ounce of sensibility away. He’s no better, he has more to lose than me, and yet, he’s still slipping a finger inside my panties. Risking his career to run it along my bare lips, dipping it inside. We groan at the same time.

  “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he murmurs against my skin. “I need my cock buried inside you.”

  The machine beneath me hits the spin cycle and the vibrations drive me faster against his hand. He slips another finger inside me and bites down on my shoulder. A biter. Fuck, it’s hot. I’ve wanted him for so long, my orgasm is already looming, tightening in my belly. The pleasure is overwhelming when I rock along his hand, and his fingers pick up speed. “I’m so close,” I grind out.

  “I want to see your face when I make you come.” He leans back a bit, his fingers never slowing.

  The machine vibrates faster beneath me, and he brings me to the best orgasm I’ve had in a long time, or ever.

  After, he kisses me gently, I see it in his eyes. Regret. Not again. My phone rings, and I slide down from the machine and away from his turmoil. “Sorry,” I say, wanting to crawl inside the washing machine to escape the look on his face. “I have to take this.” I point to the phone in my hand.

  He opens his mouth to speak and then snaps it shut. Why are men so difficult? Whoever said men speak what’s on their mind was wrong.

  “Go ahead,” he finally says, giving a nod toward the door. “I’ve got to get going.”

  Once again, I have no appropriate reaction. He just finger fucked me, and I don’t know what to do besides let him go. So, I give him a smile and a tiny nod in agreement. Houston looks relieved and gives me a reluctant grin before turning and striding out.

  Sadness settles over me. “Hey,” I say into the phone.

  “Hey, you,” Erik says. “I’m in town on a layover. Come meet your brother for coffee.”

  He gives me the details and when I hang up, a text comes through.

  Professor Dale: Ice that ankle.

  10

  Houston

  March 18th

  Madness steeps in like a ghost in the night. My thoughts are not my own. The days blur together and nothing seems real. It’s as if I’m in a dark tunnel and Marley is the light at the end. I can’t explain the thrill I get when I touch her. The spark which ignites when I feel her.

  I’m well past the point of no return with Marley. The fear of losing my job isn’t even a factor in my mind. The thought she could get into trouble, however, is. I need to walk away from her. But, can I? When I left her, Anna Tompkins called to reschedule her research for another time. Her cancellation suited me fine, because although I agreed to her request, spending hours helping her locate what she needed is the last thing I wanted to be doing.

  When I get home, my phone rings and it’s my sister, Katy. I’m sure she’s calling to yell about the way I spoke to my father yesterday.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Hey, I’m not saying anything. I’m just calling…” she hesitates before continuing, “because I know it’s getting close.”

  My couch swallows me whole as I listen to her. She continues on, like a broken record playing the same tune as my parent’s words.

  “Yeah,” is my only response.

  “Have you been sleeping?” she asks.

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Don’t lie to your little sister.” She knows me too well. Truth is, I haven’t been able to sleep in a long time. But, I tell everyone what I think they want to hear.

  “I’ve been sleeping better. I’ve met someone.” I shake my head, wondering if I should have opened my mouth about Marley. Saying it out loud makes it real.

  “Go on.” Her voice is lighter, happier as I contemplate on how much to tell her.

  I tell her how Marley makes me feel better when I’m near her. How my mind unravels around her. How I can’t stop staring at her. I don’t clue her in on Marley being my student or that I keep running away from her. I’m tired of running.

  “Houston, I want you to be careful. It sounds like you’re using this girl as a crutch for denying everything else.”

  I sit up straighter. “Katy, what do you want from me?”

  “For my big brother to be himself again,” she whispers into the phone.

  “I don’t know who that man is anymore.” That man is long gone. I cut the conversation short, pretending to need to take another call.

  The four walls of my apartment close in on me. I need a walk, fresh air.

  It’s a chilly day in the city. The wind whips through the streets, the sun hiding behind the tall buildings, and I step off the curb to head in the direction of nowhere. The streets are alive with people and traffic, horns blaring occasionally in frustration. The noise of the city temporarily drowns out my thoughts. It’s not long before Marley infiltrates them again. My fingers can still feel her gripping them when she came. What I wouldn’t give to bury myself in her pussy. She’s so fucking cute with her wide-eyed wonder when she looks at me. I hate to admit it, but I smile a little thinking of her. Good thing no one is around to see it.

  And then my blood boils. What the fuck?

  My steps come to a halt when I glance in the window of the Tasty Bean Coffee Shop.

  Marley and some asshole sit at a corner table. They laugh, sitting close. Who in the hell is he? He leans in, putting his arm around her small shoulders, and she lets him. How could she allow me to touch her and then be out with this jerk off?

  For the first time, possessiveness grips me. Does she date? I’ve never seen her with a guy before, and I don’t fucking like seeing it now. He needs to get his hands off her. I should confront her. Confront this stranger. The stranger who now has his arm wrapped around her. But what right do I have?

  She appears happy. Her long, dark hair dashing around her face as he leans in to tell her a joke or something.

  I fist my hands at my sides, wanting nothing more than to go grab her and take her back to my place. Show her no man will satisfy her like I can. An older woman pushes past me as she tries to enter the coffee shop, and I don’t move. I can’t. My feet are cemented to the sidewalk watching them.

  “Excuse me, sir,” she says.

  Finally, I step free of the door. Like rigor mortis setting in, every muscle in my body stiffens as I try to walk inside.

  No, my obsession with her needs to end. The fact I even touched her today needs to be a one-time ordeal.

  No big deal. So, what? I fooled around with a student. It won’t happen again.

  He hugs her again, and I decide it’s time to leave.

  Tomorrow I’ll make sure I never touch her again. I’ll protect myself.

  11

  Marley

  Daydream-noun-a series of pleasant thoughts that distracts one’s attention from the present.

  Seeing Erik was exactly what I needed to regroup. I miss my family more than I realized. It was good to laugh and forget all the turmoil for a while. But, I can’t think about any of that. I have exams to prepare for, material to learn, and a professor to stop fantasizing about.

  Well, let’s not get crazy. He’s one man I can’t seem to forget.

  The next morning, I arrive to class a few minutes early, because I want to talk to him privately. The look of regret on his face bothered me all night. I want him to know if he’s feeling guilty about me being his student, or feeling he’s taking advantage of me, he shouldn’t. I’m fully aware of the consequences of my actions
.

  “Good morning,” I say, approaching his desk. He looks extra handsome today with his blue button down shirt clinging to his muscles and his grayish-blue tie.

  “If you say so,” he says, sharply. I stop in front of his desk. “Miss Murphy, this isn’t elementary school. Go find a seat,” he barks.

  Ok. His attitude gives me doubts about whether I should bother trying to talk to him, but, I’m slightly used to his mood swings. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.”

  “What about it?” He shuffles some papers and then focuses his deep eyes on me.

  “What happened at the laundromat,” I say in a hushed tone. Even though the classroom is empty, I still worry about someone coming in and overhearing.

  “And?” His expression is so impassive, I wonder if all those muscles he’s constantly teaching us about have suddenly disappeared from his face.

  “Well,” I start, then hesitate. Then I continue, “you and me.” This is so awkward.

  “You and me? What would you like me to say?” He raises his brows, and I remain silent. “Whatever little image of happily ever after you’ve envisioned in your head is not part of my plans.”

  And there you have it, folks, the brush off of brush offs. He repeats for me to find my seat, and this time I do, because somewhere in this traitorous body is pride. Embarrassment is front and center, most of all. But, anger is a strong contender to knock them both out of the top spot.

  Chatter fills the air as students file in, and I shake my head in disbelief at his dismissive behavior as I climb the stairs to my seat. His eyes clock me as he speaks to the class. Two can play his game. I decide to give him a little show of what we did yesterday. A show of what he just dismissed. When he glances up at me, I slowly spread my legs beneath the desktop giving him an open view of my red panties. His words falter just a bit before he resumes the lesson, eyes pinned on me. Chewing on the tip of my pen, I trail my fingers up my thigh, not breaking from his stare, then snap my legs together. He turns away abruptly with his back to the class. “Use the last fifteen minutes to study,” he barks out, stalking over to his desk.