I stumbled backward, a slide reel of my life flashing before my eyes, ending with a vision of my skyscraper heels taking me out, my brains splayed across the bathroom tile.
“Whoa.” An arm wrapped around my waist, yanking me up and forward, my body colliding once again with the wall of warmth. My fingers clutched his chest, nails digging into leather.
My eyelids slid open; my heartbeat slowed. I met his eyes.
“Hey,” he said, in a voice that would have been a whisper were it not for the loud around us. “I got you.”
I searched his face. Blue-green eyes, the color of a shallow tropical lake. Jet black hair, sticking up all over. A well-defined jaw line covered in a few weeks’ growth of black facial hair. Brown eye glasses hanging from the front of his cornflower blue shirt, right in the center of his leather jacket he wore open.
I waited for him to say something.
“You alright?”
Not really what I was hoping for. I nodded my head a little more frantically than I’d intended, my blonde hair falling all over my face. I peered up at his eyes, looking for a spark of recognition, looking for anything that told me he recognized me.
After staring at one another for several seconds, three things became immediately clear:
1. Professor Easton didn’t recognize me as his student.
2. Professor Easton was fucking hot. I’d only seen him from my seat in his class, yards and yards away. Being mere inches from him made my blood warm, my legs tingle.
3. I was still holding onto him and he was still holding on to me.
I tilted my head, causing my hair to fall back over my shoulder. His eyes traveled to my exposed neck and stayed there for a beat, before returning to my eyes.
“What’s your name?”
I debated telling him a lie. I compromised, telling him a nickname instead. “Add.”
“Add?” He raised one thick, well defined eyebrow. “Like Math?”
“Yes.” It came out breathier than I wanted. “What’s yours?”
“Nathan.” It was also a nickname, I knew, as my syllabus had listed one Nathaniel Easton. He didn’t look old enough to be a professor, but he had a solid ten years on me.
“Hi, Nathan.” I licked my lips, coming away with gloss. “Wanna dance?”
Nathan looked surprised. His lips opened as if he was going to instantly say no, but he hesitated. I wasn’t usually that bold, but with my all black costume and sex hair and Dr. Easton looking—let’s be honest—absolutely fucking mouth-watering ... well, I would have kicked myself in the ass with my pin needle heels if I hadn’t tried to take advantage of this cliché meet-cute.
“Dance?” He looked over his shoulder, but didn’t shift his body to let me go. “I’m not much of a dancer.” He turned back to me, eyes roaming my face, trying to figure me out.
“Mm,” I purred, my fingers slowly crawling up his chest, thumbs brushing in their wake. I looked up at him under my lashes. “It’s easy.” My hands clasped his shoulders, squeezing slightly, and I stepped closer, so we were stomach to stomach, my eyes inches from his; my mouth breathing his air. I tilted my head again, letting my hair fall to one side and brought my lips to his ear. “Move with me,” I said, lips brushing his lobe. I pulled back to meet his gaze as I dipped my hips, sliding along his body like water.
His reluctance lasted only a moment before the arm around my back tightened, securing me more firmly against him. My entire body hummed, atoms coming alive at his touch.
We moved away from the bathroom, toward the dance floor, arms and legs entwined and hips aligned. Nathan’s eyes didn’t stray from mine, holding me in place. The music roared, the speakers bouncing the bass all the way to our space on the middle of the dance floor. The song was a slower one, with a resounding beat. A song that exuded sex, a song that demanded we get so close that we tangled with one another.
My face brushed against the stubble on his jawline a couple times, leaving a tingle across my cheeks. Images of his face between my legs, that hair scraping against my thighs, came vividly to the surface, making me ache. I wrapped one hand around his neck, lightly dug my nails into his skin, taking in his warm, spicy cologne. It was subtle, but enough to drive me mad. With my other hand, I explored: fingers along his jaw, hand in his hair, along the muscles of his shoulder.
“What are we doing, Add?” He’d narrowed his eyes, and the lights danced across his face as we swayed from song to song, keeping our bodies close.
“Dancing.” As another slower song came on, I turned around, bringing my back to his chest, my ass aligned with his crotch. I shivered, feeling his arousal hard against the thin fabric of my leggings. One of his arms came around my stomach, pulling me closer. My breath seized for a second, my own arousal a lightning jolt in between my legs.