"Doing all right?" he asks, still kneeling down in front of me. His hand brushes against my cheek, brushing a piece of my hair that fell out of my ponytail behind my ear. "You scared me there for a moment."
I nod, keeping my eyes low to the ground, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. "Yes, I think so."
"Can I get you anything? Water? Crackers? Soup?"
I lift my eyes to him and snort. "I'm not sick," I remind him. "But thank you. I'll be all right."
He continues staring at me for what feels like minutes but is only a few seconds. He's got that look in his eyes, that very look I dread anytime someone sees me like this. I feel weak and helpless, and I hate that look.
"You should go home. I can finish … " he begins, but I cut him off.
"It's my sister." I close my eyes and exhale.
"What?"
"She fell from a tree," I explain. "That's how she died," I clarify and open my eyes to him focusing on mine. "I watched her fall to her death."
"Oh my God, Aspen … " he gasps, his features drop in a frown. "I'm so sorry."
"She's the reason I started painting in the first place. I needed an outlet, a way to express my emotions."
"She's your muse."
"Yes. I paint her to keep her alive. I know it sounds stupid-"
"Not at all."
"I'm afraid I'll forget her. That day after day after day, I'll forget what her voice sounded like. How her obnoxious dancing made me laugh until I cried. How her smile and laughter were contagious." A tear slides down my cheek, and I close my eyes to keep them in. "I feel so guilty."
"Aspen," he says softly. "Aspen, look at me," he demands, but I can't do it. I squeeze my eyes tighter, hating that I'm sitting in front of my panty-melting hot professor crying like a two-year-old. I feel his fingers press under my chin, tilting my face up. My eyes reluctantly open, grabbing my attention back to him. "There you are." He smiles sweetly. "There's nothing you could've done."
"I can't believe that. I was up there with her. Her hand was in my hand, her eyes pleading for me to save her. I should've fought harder."
"If it was her destiny, you couldn't have," he says genuinely, but I hate the truth in his words.
"You believe in destiny?" More tears slip down my cheek, my throat burning with every beat in my chest.
He sucks on his lower lip for a moment before responding, "Yes. I do."
I lower my eyes and whisper, "I'm not sure what I believe in anymore."
"It can't be easy losing someone so close to you, especially at a young age."
"She was my identical twin," I say, lowering my eyes. "Not easy doesn't even touch the surface."
"You hadn't told me that before."
I look up, his eyes lost but filled with concern. "Like I said, I don't like to talk about her."
"You can always talk to me about her. Or even just about how you're feeling."
"Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why would you want me to?"
"Because everyone needs someone to talk to, and I can relate in some respect. If you'd let me, I can be a great listener."
I'm surprised by his generosity, but I'm still reluctant to talk about it. "It's not that I don't want to talk about her, I just have this fear that by talking about it will mean I'm accepting it."
"Well, you can talk about it, or you can bottle it up inside you until you burst with resentment for not having anyone to talk about it with."
"Bottling it up has been working fine for the past six years," I retort. He glares at me, and I know I'm only fooling myself. "I just feel … " I pause, trying to collect my thoughts and find the right words for what I want to say. "Do you think it's possible to feel like a part of you is constantly missing? Like … never feeling complete."
He nods, his lips part for just a moment, but he stays silent.
"I feel like I'm only half a person and it's the half that doesn't know how to function emotionally."
"Considering she was your twin, I'd say it's very possible. Twins share a bond that regular siblings don't." The truth in his words causes an ache deep in my chest. Sharing a bond doesn't sound strong enough for what I felt with her.
I nod in agreement. "Ever since the accident, I feel like my soul has been ripped out from underneath me. Not only is a part of me missing, but also it's the part that knew how to function emotionally and mentally. Most of the time, I find myself faking it just to keep on going."
"Your art isn't fake," he says matter-of-factly. "Your art is very real. What you put into your paintings is deeply emotional. It tells a story that you're mind is expressing visually since you can't vocally."
"Yeah." I smile, choking back a sob. "It feels like home when I paint. Comforting. It feels natural."
I feel his fingers slowly rub against my jawline as he lifts my head up. Our eyes meet, and before I can take a breath, his mouth covers mine. His hand slides around my neck, pulling me closer and kissing me deeper. I lean into him as his warm lips nudge mine open, sliding his tongue in to claim mine. His other hand wraps effortlessly around my waist as he shifts his body in between my legs. A deep moan releases from my throat as his chest presses firmly against mine. I can feel how chiseled and tone his body is as he squeezes my hip and closes the gap left between us.
A soft whimper escapes from my lips as he pulls back slightly. My chest moves rapidly up and down as he draws my lower lip in between his teeth, lightly biting and groaning. My body goes into overdrive as I wrap my arms around him, soaking up every inch of his mouth. His hold on me tightens as our bodies mold together in a heated kiss. It's better than I even imagined and the soft groans coming from his throat tell me he feels the same.
My heart is racing in my chest, thumping hard against my ribs as I feel what this man is doing to me. I've kissed plenty of guys before, but it's never felt like this.
Realization comes crashing back that we're at the gallery and someone could catch us at any time. I don't want to stop, but I know we'll be risking it if we don't.
"Um … " I say against his lips. "Someone's going to-"
I feel him smirking against my mouth, my body shivering at the way his lips feel on mine. "Going to what?" I open my eyes and see he's taunting me.
His lips softly kiss mine, slower now, almost torturous. "I've wondered what it'd be like to kiss you." His voice is smooth, genuine, my breathing speeding up at how hard my heart is pounding in my chest.
He releases my lips for one short moment before wrapping a hand around my throat and pulling me closer once again, his eyes intense and greedy.
"And now that I've found out, I can't stop." The corner of his lips tilt, flashing one of his deep dimples.
"Do you normally go around kissing your students?" I tease, breaking away just enough to see the eagerness in his eyes, hungry and desperate.
"Just the ones I really like." He winks and a soft chuckle releases from my throat.
"Good to know."
He presses another soft kiss on my lips before standing up and holding his hand out for mine. I place it in his and stand up so we're chest to chest.
"And for the record, I've never kissed a student of mine before." His finger rubs along my cheekbone, brushing the hair back behind my ear.
I smile, loving the way his hand feels against my flushed skin. "I've never kissed one of my professors before. But then again, none of them had ever looked like you either," I taunt, earning a pleased smile in return.
"Good to know."
The sound of easy chatter grabs our attention as it becomes apparent people are coming this way.
"I should go-"
"I'm going to-"
We both say at the same time. I laugh at how nervous I am, how nervous he makes me when just a moment ago, his body and lips were all over mine.
"We'll talk later, okay? I'm going to help Aunt Mel finish up." He places a soft kiss on my forehead before sliding his hand down my arm and giving my hand a quick squeeze.
I watch as he walks away, my mind spinning at what just happened. I bring my fingers up to my lips, swollen and warm, my body still humming at the way it felt to have him pressed against me.
I smooth my hands down my shirt and stand up straighter before heading back to the front of the gallery as if nothing had happened.
MORGAN
Kissing Aspen is something I've fantasized about for weeks.
I know I shouldn't have, considering she's my student and the consequences could really screw me, but the moment she opened up to me, I couldn't stop myself. She walks into my classroom, so strong and confident in her work, but there's so much she's covering up on the inside. The force I feel to be near her is undeniable.