“Ah.” His breath fluttered against my mouth. “So we’ll have to make this quick? Pity.”
His fingers opened the buttons of my blouse, exposing my stomach to him first. His thumbs caressed the skin there and as delicious as it felt, I knew I couldn’t let him prolong this.
“I’ll be late,” I said, leaning forward and planting a kiss on his lips. “Fast. I want fast.”
He sighed, but turned me around and pushed me against his desk. My stomach pressed into the wood and I reached my hands forward to grip the other side of his desk.
One of his hands slid up, over the back of my shirt to the nape of my neck, brushing the hair aside to get a firm grip. I breathed across the wood; ready, waiting.
I heard the jingle of his belt buckle seconds before I heard the firm but insistent knock on his office door. “Professor Easton?” I froze at the feminine voice, as if I was stuck to his desk.
“Fuck,” he hissed under his breath, letting go of me and backing away.
Slowly, I straightened, but nerves made my fingers fumble on the buttons of my shirt. Fear sat like a weighted ball in my throat and I couldn’t say a single word as Nathan pushed my hands away and took over the buttoning for me. “Just a moment,” he called.
Shit.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuck.
The words were on repeat in my head. I’d danced too close to fire this time, taunting it with my fearlessness. I was too focused on seeing what Nathan could give me that I didn’t give a single care to what I could lose.
I could have not only compromised Nathan’s reputation, but mine too—as well as my fucking scholarship … the only reason I could attend school.
Nathan’s fingers were hurried and my legs felt like they’d crumble underneath me, but I kept my breathing even and soft.
When my shirt was buttoned, Nathan thrust my coat into my hands and began brushing my hair with his fingers, as if he was trying to manage some semblance of normalcy. I pushed my arms into the sleeves of my coat but left it unzipped, my heart loud in my ears. I opened my mouth to say something but Nathan pressed his fingers over my lips and shook his head.
“Shh. Come over after class?” he whispered.
I nodded my head jerkily as he ran his hands through his own hair and straightened his shirt. He gestured for me to move toward the door and when he opened it, I tried to fake a smile. “Thanks, Professor Easton,” I said cheerily as I took in the female student waiting for his attention.
I didn’t miss the way she narrowed her eyes, looking over us both before turning her attention to Nathan and clearing her throat. “I need to drop class,” she said.
“It’s your last day to,” Nathan replied.
I squeezed past her and moved down the hallway, my cheeks warm with the excitement of that moment, as unwelcome as it was. It wasn’t until I was outside that I looked down to zip my coat and noticed the opening in my shirt, the button we’d missed, exposing the center of my bra.
* * *
All through my next class, I had sweated bullets of worry. I’d glanced at my phone a dozen times, willing Nathan to message me. We could have been caught. And if the female student had missed the way my cheeks were flushed, she most certainly wouldn’t have missed the flash of my bright red bra peeking out of the unbuttoned gap in my blouse.
I couldn’t afford to lose my scholarship and if I wanted to continue to be with Nathan—which I most definitely did—I had to figure something out. My feelings had shifted from wanting him to something more profound: wanting to keep him. It wasn’t something I was used to, but because it was new and special, I wasn’t willing to give it up yet.
After checking my phone for the hundredth time, I clicked on Celeste’s message and read it again.
Me: Were you serious? I can’t see Dad wanting to support me at all, after defying him.
Her reply came at the end of class.
Celeste: I’m serious, Adele. We’re all sick of watching Mom worry over you. You know Dad would have supported you if you’d taken a more practical choice of study.
I waited until I’d exited the classroom to call her.
“Adele,” she answered.
I gnawed on my lip, feeling like I was making a deal with the devil just by talking with her. “Why are you reminding me now?”
Celeste’s sigh caused me to roll my eyes. “Because Thanksgiving is next week and it would be really great if we could have a relaxed holiday without you and Dad ignoring one another. You know he’d be proud if you chose another vocation.”
Was I really listening to her and considering what she was offering? I wanted to correct her: Dad was the one who did the ignoring. And how fucking hard was it for him to be proud of me anyway?