Study Me: A Student Teacher Romance Page 7

  Marley opens her mouth to speak, and I tsk her. “No, speaking tonight. Unless I tell you to.”

  She nods her head, understanding my simple request. She has an uncanny ability to know what I need from her.

  Her pants are removed while my fingers unbutton my white, pressed shirt. I let it fall to the floor.

  The descent of my zipper teases her as it slides down before I remove my pants and boxers.

  Sprawled out on the bed, she plays with her tits at my request. “Help me forget everything,” I say on a whisper.

  She nods, her green eyes spearing me open with one glance. I turn my head, not wanting to meet them with my own. It’s too painful. I push any ounce of emotions aside.

  “Play with your pussy for me. Imagine it’s my tongue eating you up.”

  She does as told. A good little girl. An obedient one.

  I fist my throbbing cock, pumping up and down the shaft. Fuck, it feels good. I suck in a deep breath, releasing the tension plaguing me.

  “Tell me you’re ready for me to teach you, to instruct you.”

  “I’m ready for my lesson, Professor,” she coos, and my cock damn near explodes.

  “I’m going to show you the art of dirty talk. I want to make that pretty little mouth of yours filthy.”

  She stretches her body against the soft cotton sheets of her bed, twisting and turning as I watch her in her black lace panties and bra. Naughty girl.

  “I’m yours to teach.” She smiles, arching her back off the bed, the white sheets caressing her sweet body.

  “Lie down and tell me, using the filthiest word you can think of, how wet you are.” I step closer to the bed, my cock still in my hand, pumping slowly.

  I love the way she bites her bottom lip, her eyes roaming over my body, landing on my dick. “My cunt is slippery wet for you. I’m drenched.”

  “Good girl. Now spread your legs and show me. Use your fingers.”

  She does exactly as she’s told. Her hand slips between her long legs, disappearing underneath the lace of her panties down to her sweet spot. “Houston,” she moans.

  “Keep calling me, Professor.” I arch a brow, gauging her reaction.

  “Professor,” she says in a whisper. Her fingers rub along her pussy as my hand on my cock picks up speed.

  “Good. Now tell me what you want in that sweet mouth of yours. Make it dirty.” I reach my finger up and tug on her bottom lip as I drown in her soft eyes.

  “I want your cock.”

  “You can do better than that.” I pinch her lip and release it between my fingers.

  “I want you to fuck my mouth with your cock.”

  I lean my head to the side, contemplating if her words are dirty enough to my liking. “Nastier,” I demand.

  She breathes in deep, her hand still working her tight pussy. “I want your thick cock to slam into my hot mouth and fuck it hard. I want you to come down my throat while you pull my hair.”

  I grin, leaning my head back, my eyes closed, thinking about doing just that. “You want me to come along your tongue?”

  “Yes.” She removes her panties from her legs and tosses them to me.

  I catch them with my free hand, bringing the lace to my nose and inhaling her succulent scent. “Damn, baby, what else do you want?”

  She gets up to her knees, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Never have I wanted anyone more. “Professor,” she seduces me, “I’ve been a naughty student. I didn’t do the assignment you assigned. Punish me.”

  Hot damn. Who knew Marley Murphy, timid, shy, Marley Murphy, could say such filthy things to get me riled up.

  “Talk dirty to me, baby.” My cock is once again in hand as I rise from the bed, ready to act against her.

  Having her dirty mouth is just what I need tonight to not think. About anything. My life, my future, and definitely not my fucking past.

  I slip a condom on and line myself up with her needy pussy. “Baby, you want me?” I ask as I slam my cock deep inside her.

  Fast, punishing strokes consume me as I thrust with everything I have.

  I don’t stop, the feelings are too much. Her sweet pussy engulfs my cock, and my head spins.

  She moans and groans with every pound of my dick, making me reach my release that much quicker.

  “Do you like the feel of me deep inside you, spreading you open, making you come all over me?”

  “Yes, Professor,” she screams as her orgasm shakes her body against me. Fuck, she feels like she was made for me.

  I chase after her orgasm with my own release, closing my eyes and my mind to any thoughts of having her for the rest of my life.

  I can’t have those thoughts, even if I’m beginning to want it.

  17

  Marley

  Delirium-noun-an acutely disturbed state of mind.

  No strings are definitely not working for me. Sex with him is amazing. The last few weeks since I agreed to this, I’ve tried everything to not fall deeper into like—keeping my eyes closed, doggy style, reverse cowgirl. Anything to keep from seeing the look in his eyes when he’s in the throes of passion. Nothing works. I’m so deep in like, I’m drowning. Sex changes everything. There is no way to have that type of intimacy with someone and not develop feelings. Right?

  We’ve been very careful with our sneaking around. In class, we’re professional. Professor and student. Well for the most part. There have been times when I dropped something off at his desk and his fingers traced up my thigh in a promise of things to come. My first inkling the strings were attaching happened at the campus coffee shop two days ago. After a great night of sex, the next morning I stopped for a coffee and a chocolate croissant. Houston’s dark hair stood above the throng of people in line. Before I could sneak up and surprise him, maybe save some time and cut in line, I saw her. Caroline Parker, professor of Organic Chemistry. They stood engrossed in conversation, his dark eyes pinned on her, and jealousy sliced through me as I eased in line. It’s not fair. He’s allowed to fraternize with her in public, but not me. Whatever she was saying probably didn’t call for the huge ass grin on her face or her perfectly manicured hand on his arm. At that moment, the first string shot out and attached itself to me. His eyes found mine in the crowd, and other than a sultry millimeter of a smile, I received no acknowledgement. None. You’d never know he spent the night before coming on my face. Which is fine. I get it. We’re “taboo.” “Forbidden.” And even if we weren’t, he’s been upfront about what he’s capable of giving. They left as I stared straight ahead to avoid looking at her leaning too close to him, trying to create chemistry…organically.

  Another string shot out and looped itself around me when he gave my hand a slight brush with his pinky as they passed by. And the tightest of all strings wrapped around me when I got to the counter and the cashier pushed a caramel cappuccino and chocolate croissant to me, bought and paid for by Professor Dale. It made my heart pinch that he’d noticed I brought this in sometimes before working with him.

  Tonight, he’s coming over, and I’ve decided to throw something else into the mix besides our bodies. Pizza and a movie. It’s very string like, but everyone needs to eat. I ordered plain so it doesn’t look so alarming to him. Less toppings, less strings.

  Hands on hips, I survey the set up at the bar countertop that serves as my kitchen table. A large cheese pizza, wine, wine glasses, and real plates. Very very string like. I quickly stack the plates on top of each other and slide them back in the cabinet and pull out the paper plates instead.

  Perfect.

  I don’t have time to switch the wine glasses out, because there’s a quick rap on the door and he’s here.

  “Hey, you,” he says when I open the door. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way he looks in jeans and a t-shirt.

  “Hey,” I say, smiling. “Don’t panic,” I tell him as he steps inside, “but I have pizza.”

  His eyes bounce to the countertop and he doesn’t look like he’s ready to run screaming,
so that’s good.

  “Ah, you broke out the fine china,” he says, crossing to the countertop.

  “Only the best for you,” I tease him.

  We settle in, and he grabs a slice of pizza.

  “How are you liking school?” he asks.

  “It’s a lot of work, and sometimes I’m not sure if I’m cut out for it.”

  “Why do you think that?” He sips his Shiraz as his questioning eyes pin me with curiosity.

  “I don’t know really. I’m just worried I’m not cut out for psychiatry.”

  He scoots his stool closer. “When I first became a doctor, I was terrified.”

  My eyes widen. “I don’t believe it.”

  He cracks a smile. “Well, believe it. My first week, a gsw came rolling into the ER, and I froze.”

  I listen as he recounts the details of the gunshot wound victim.

  “He never made it, and I was so upset that I lost a patient,” he whispers.

  I lean my head to the side and reach my hand out to touch his. “I’m sorry.”

  His eyes soften. “It’s fine. But, I remember Dr. Charles Abernathy took me to the side and told me sometimes you win some and sometimes you lose some.” He shakes his head.

  “Wise man. You can’t save everyone.”

  He moves his hand from mine, shaking off my words. “Yeah, I guess not.”

  “I’m sorry, Houston.”

  “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Marley you’re a smart woman. I think you’ll go far.”

  Heat washes over me, and I smile.

  Two slices of pizza and a glass of wine later, we settle on the couch, and I feel comfortable enough to spring the other on him.

  “Ever seen Gross Anatomy?” I ask.

  “Never heard of it.” I gasp, and he chuckles. “Of course, I have. I think every future doctor should see it.”

  “I knew I liked you for something other than your superior sex skills.” I smile as I put my feet up on the coffee table and lean back into the sofa. “I thought we could watch it.”

  That sounded very string like. I almost think he’s going to say no, because he chews the corner of his lip sizing me up. Probably wondering where I keep the scissors so he can cut the strings and escape.

  “Well then, fire it up. It’s a must-see.”

  The movie starts and sometime during the middle, his hand makes its way to my hair, toying with it. That’s the last thing I remember before I wake up with my head in Houston’s lap. He sleeps soundly, and I carefully push up from him to check the time.

  He stirs and his eyes open, dazed from sleep. “Shit, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

  “Go back to sleep,” I tell him before I think about what I just offered. I can tell he’s uncertain what to do with me now, but I’m not an idiot. I know he wants to leave. This is how it always goes.

  “It’s ok, you can go home,” I say.

  “Fuck,” he whispers, scrubbing his face. I need to stop fooling myself that he will want more. He stands and heads for the door.

  “Thanks for a great night, Houston. Once again,” I say, a tinge of bitterness creeping into my voice.

  He stops at the door and turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it might feel fucked up, but it’s best like this. No one can get hurt, right?” he asks. I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself.

  I nod my head, agreeing with him. “Yes.”

  Someone is already hurt. Me. It’s my own fault. I want his love, and I can’t stop myself from it. All the pretending in the world won’t make this only about sex for me.

  Houston’s phone chimes from the coffee table. “You forgot this,” I say picking it up from the coffee table. And I see the preview from someone named Jennifer:

  Call me. I want to see you.

  18

  Houston

  April 26th

  And so, it begins…

  “Who’s Jennifer?”

  All the balls I’ve been juggling come crashing down.

  “Excuse me?”

  She fidgets. “Who’s Jennifer?” she asks again, quieter this time. I run a hand through my hair. She holds my phone out, and I walk over and take it from her. “A message came through…”

  “And what? You think you have a right to know?” I lash out.

  “What? No. I was just…,” she fumbles for words. “How many no strings deals do you have?” God, damn it, tears fill her eyes. Please don’t cry. “Houston, I can’t do this anymore,” she says. “It’s too hard.”

  “What because of a message?” Please don’t do this. Can’t you see I need you? “If I wanted to talk about her, I’d tell you. Don’t you trust me?”

  “Trust you? I don’t know anything about you. You won’t talk to me.”

  You won’t like what I have to say. You won’t have that look of I can do no wrong on your face anymore. “You’re ridiculous,” I tell her.

  She stands and her pinky wraps around mine. “Houston, talk to me, please.”

  “Talk to you? What you think you’re a psychiatrist now?” Freeing my hand, I stalk to the door. “You think you can fix me? Isn’t that what it’s always about? Fixing what’s broken.” I open the door. “I’m incapable of love?” I could love you if things were different. I’m probably halfway there.

  “No one’s incapable of that,” she whispers.

  “I am.”

  I leave without another word, and head off in the opposite direction of my place. Somewhere I’ve always been able to think. A place I feel at home. The Langone Medical Center beckons me with the fluorescent lights shining within, and I step through the sliding doors.

  The emergency room is packed, but I glide on past the sickness and suffering to the second floor and wander the halls looking for the chapel.

  When I step into the dark room, a priest sits in a pew upfront. I take a seat near him, and bow my head. I pray.

  But, like always, God doesn’t answer my prayers. He never does. Does he even hear me?

  “God works in mysterious ways,” the priest says to me.

  “Yeah. I guess.”

  “Someone you know sick?” His bald head shines in the candlelight, and I offer a tight smile in his direction.

  “Yeah, me.”

  “God will take care of you.”

  I want to tell him to shut the hell up, that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but I don’t. I nod instead. “Yeah, maybe he will.”

  “What do the doctors say is wrong with you?” he asks.

  “I’m the doctor, and I say I’m slowly dying.”

  “Aren’t we all, son.”

  I laugh off his words. I’m not sick; actually, I’ve never been healthier. Which, right now is a shame. It’s been two years. Two long years of wishing for death.

  A death which has never come.

  He works in mysterious ways? And, all I can think is what did I ever do to him?

  They say doctors have the worst God complex, and maybe at one point in my life I did, too. Now, I spend every day knowing damn well, I’m no God at all.

  “And how does that make you feel,” my therapist, Dr. Gail Flanigan, asks.

  “It makes me feel frustrated.” I told her about Jennifer calling and about my parent’s nonstop pestering about my life.

  “Ah, maybe you should see what she wants. It may be good for you.”

  I glance around her office. I’ve been coming here for almost two years. A plea my mother made and I finally relented.

  Gail tries to get me to face my issues, but I’ve never wanted to deal with it. My reasoning? Maybe if I didn’t, it would just go away.

  It was Gail who suggested I teach instead of practice medicine. An idea I have come to appreciate. I wouldn’t do any good trying to save lives if I have no desire to save my own.

  “Tell me about the girl? Any more interactions with her?”

  I lean back in the chair. Everyone thinks you lie on a comfy leather sofa when in therapy, but no, I si
t on a yellow pleather chair next to a window I constantly glance out.

  Gail has no idea Marley is a student. She would never have been able to tell anyone, and I would trust her not to, but it’s still something personal I don’t want to divulge. For Marley’s privacy.

  “I think that’s over.”

  “Why do you say that?” Her black hair is pulled back tight and it reminds me of Jennifer’s.

  “I fucked things up. I don’t know. I just don’t want to get too involved.”

  “I think that’s smart. You have come a long way, Houston. I’m proud of you, but you still have a long way to go.”

  A long way to go. Maybe I don’t want to reach that destination. Maybe I just want to continue down this desert my life has become. Travel down the dusty roads in my mind and lose myself in the forgotten plains of everything.

  Gail thinks she can fix me. Marley thinks it too. But, maybe I don’t need to be fixed. Maybe this is my life now.

  “Yeah, maybe,” I say to her, rubbing my hand along my stubbled jaw.

  “Houston, I want you to think about calling Jennifer.”

  I nod. “Ok.” I watch the clock waiting for the session to end. Every second feels like an eternity, and I beg the universe to hurry up with it already.

  Gail notices my discomfort and smiles. “We can end early today. I think you have a lot to think about.”

  I stand, stretching my long legs. “Thanks.”

  April 26th

  I didn’t sleep at all last night. Memories flooded me. I don’t have Marley anymore. I miss her.

  April 27th

  How long can someone go without sleep? I know the answer to this. I’m a doctor after all. Two-hundred and sixty-four hours. The nightmares are relentless. I saw Marley sizing me up in class. I wanted to beg her to help me make it go away. But nothing can.

  April 28th

  And so, the day is here.

  19

  Marley

  Via dolorosa-noun-a distressing or painful journey or process.

  I’m so mad. It’s like fighting fire with fire. Houston is fine when he doesn’t have to open up about anything personal. Maybe he’s right, maybe he can’t love. Maybe he can’t give me what I want. But, oh how I want it with him. I want it so bad. But I can’t keep wishing for things that will never happen. Why wouldn’t he say who she was? But, technically, what right did I have to ask? No strings means being free from answering to anyone. Free from emotions. I’m not supposed to care. And I do. So, it’s best to end it.