“I’ve yet to document your ‘soon-to-be-departed-virginity.’” His lids close halfway, letting me know he can make my virginity depart a whole hell of a lot sooner than I bargained for. And the way he’s leering at me, I might be open to the idea. “I wasn’t planning on mentioning you in my thesis, Kenny.” He presses out a dry smile. “And, as much as I like to consider my foray in fornication as field study on some level, I’ve collected more than my fair share of data. I’m turning in the keys to the carnal kingdom.”
Turning in the keys? Maybe Cruise Elton is boyfriend material, or maybe he just wants me to believe he is. This is all probably a ruse in the name of continuing his promiscuous blind study.
“That’s too bad.” I strut in front of him with an air of false confidence. “Rumor has it you hold a black belt in arousing the female anatomy.” Did I just say that?
A husky laugh escapes his throat as he makes his way over.
My stomach cinches at the thought of Cruise using me all along as some sort of immoral barometer.
“So,” I whisper as he warms my senses with his cologne, “I guess once I start sleeping around, I’ll be tearing down all sorts of gender barriers.” I say in a lame attempt to spice up my resume in the event he reneges and labels me Slut Number Three or something equally degrading. “I mean, women get a horrible reputation for sleeping around, and men get called a player, which basically amounts to a term of endearment. I guess you can say I’m striving for fornicating equality.” God, you’d think I was angling for a prized position in his pornographic term paper.
“Fornicating equality.” Cruise comes in close with his eyes heavily lidded as if he had a serious boner to contend with, and he were about to recruit me in on the alleviating efforts. “I think we should advance your training.” He rasps it out low while breathing an invisible fire over my skin.
“I suppose this is where the sexual syllabus comes in handy.” I tug him in by the collar and do my best to get him to kiss me. “Which of the many perverted points would you like to try out first? Master and servant? Professor and student?”
His cheek pulls back, and his dimple depresses, approving of my scholarly seduction.
“I was thinking something more along the lines of show and tell,” he whispers, stepping in until his body warms mine.
For a second I think of telling him all about my adventures in art class, but he wraps a solid arm around my waist and the moment passes.
Cruise Elton looks beyond gorgeous in his scholarly suit and glasses, and that embarrassing incident which took place in his classroom comes flooding back to me. I can’t believe I managed to hang myself with a noose crafted from the finer points of love of all things, in front of a jury of my peers and my scorching-hot professor, which reminds me, I’m still a little miffed at the big scholastic reveal.
“Show, or tell?” My head rolls back involuntarily, and I snap out of the spell of seduction he’s busy casting. “Neither.” I break loose from his embrace and take off down the hall.
“Where you going?”
“To bed.”
“What about me?” It comes out a plea on his behalf of his blossoming crotch.
“You can take a cold shower.”
The alarm clock blinks mockingly at me, two a.m.
It’s so freaking cold I’m about ready to jump in the refrigerator to warm myself. Honest to God, I’m beginning to think this whole broken heater thing is a ruse to land me on his mattress. And God knows I’ve thought long and hard about hopping into Cruise Elton’s bed tonight, pride be dammed.
So what if he didn’t confess to being my professor? He probably thought it was funny. I bet he had a good laugh printing up that secret syllabus rife with perversion.
I’m sure the “Art of Whoredom” was meant to give me a good chuckle and not at all allude to the pact I entered into with Satan himself. Not that Cruise is Satan. He’s more of a sexy alien being who’s rumored to have a penis the size of a lightning rod and the superpower to make women scream with pleasure on three different occasions in a very short span of time.
My body writhes at the prospect. I close my eyes and envision Cruise pouring those molten hot kisses all over my body, his searing hands traveling at the speed of light, then dipping down in all the right places.
A rustling sound emits from behind the dresser.
I freeze and cease breathing to hone in on the mystery noise.
A loud scratching comes from the wall—and HOLY MOTHER OF GOD, IT’S TRAMPLING IN THIS DIRECTION!
I let out a muffled scream and bring my knees to my chest so fast I knock the air out of my lungs.