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"You struggled with that set. I don't think you have it in you for a third." If I only knew her from the conversation I had with her dad, I would not expect her feisty attitude. Under normal circumstances, I would enjoy the opposition. Right now, the biggest challenge I'm having is keeping my goddamn hands to myself. The women I’m typically attracted to are submissive, and quick to say yes to every whim or desire. It makes for a decent time in bed, but beyond that, I'm fucking bored. So, now here I am with this smoke show of a woman who can dish it out just as well as she can take it, the chemistry between us undeniable, she's sixteen years my junior, and she's the literal pride and joy of Bennington University.
I'm so lost in my pity party, I almost miss Olivia's arms giving out two reps into her final set. The barbell rapidly falls towards her chest, and I grab it just before impact, hoisting it back up to the rack. She pants, her muscles spent, with a look of disappointment and a hint of anger on her face. I stare down at her, taking in every curve and detail while she's allowing me to. She stands up and tries to walk away in silence. After a split-second decision, I grab her wrist.
"Hey, look at me," I plead gently. She's both seething and heated with an expression on her face that looks like she may cry or come. I'm not sure which to placate. She stares down at my fingers wrapped around her dainty wrist. Her father was right. She really is a people pleaser and can't stand to fail. I let go of her wrist, and when she still doesn't shift her eyes up to meet mine, I cup her chin, tilting her head back so she has no choice but to look at me. Her pert little mouth opens. If it wasn't obvious before, it's obvious now.
She doesn't say a word and neither do I. I have the overwhelming urge to pull her to me and kiss her with wild abandon. I have to remind myself that I'm the adult here. I just had the same pep talk with myself three hours ago and I'm already considering saying fuck it. Instead, I blink and when I open my mouth to say something-to say anything-nothing comes out. She continues to look at me expectantly, like she can hear my internal monologue of tormented thoughts and indecision. She doesn't rush me. "You don't have to do that all the time."
"Do what?" She cocks her head in curiosity.
"Try to impress people. I'm already impressed by you. You didn't have to lift heavier to enrapture me. You have my full attention." I half-expect denial from her. All things considered, what I know of her is extremely limited, and what I know of her firsthand is even less. To her credit, she doesn't shy away from the truth. Her voice is low and matches the glimmer of sadness lingering in her eyes.
"I've fought to live up to everyone’s expectations for so long that I forget what it's like not to do it."
"I just want you to be yourself. You are enough." Her lips purse as the lines become increasingly blurred throughout the duration of this conversation.
"Neither one of us knows who I am."
"Let's put it this way, Olivia. As a professor to his student, I have no expectations of you other than to apply yourself in my class."
"And what would you expect of me outside of class?"
"Honesty. Authenticity. I’m a grown man who shouldn’t be paying attention to you, but unfortunately, I’m hung up on every fucking thing you do." She nods, turning the words over in her mind.
Before continuing, she closes the distance between us. There wasn't much space to begin with, but with her this fucking close, it's disorienting. The proximity is heady. It's… fuck. It's too fucking tempting. Still, my legs fail, my brain pleads for me to take a step back, and I still stay rooted to the spot. The faint smell of roses on her skin invades my nostrils. The intoxicating smell coupled with the sight of her, and my imagination conjuring lewd images of kissing my way down her neck to those sharp collarbones and those supple curves lying below, my cock swells for the fourth time today.
Any trace of sadness lingering in her green eyes vanishes and becomes a mirror of my hungry gaze. She doesn't inhibit herself as she lets her eyes roam over me freely. When her eyes move lower and take in the shape of my erection through my pants, she downright gawks. Reason and logic fail me again. Instead, a cocky smirk plays on my lips as she openly eye-fucks me.
"Care to enlighten me on your thoughts now?" That crimson blush I love so much spreads across her high cheekbones. The more I see it, the more I realize how much I love making her squirm.
"I'm just wondering what the fuck I've done in life to deserve you making me this goddamned crazy," she answers, without moving her eyes away from the bulge in my joggers. I tilt her chin upwards again because if I don't fucking touch her right now, I'm going to lose it.
"The feeling is mutual, if it wasn't blatantly obvious enough for you." In a bold move that surprises the hell out of me, she cups my face. Her long nails send chills down my arms.
"What do we do about it, Tomas?" My chest constricts when I see the look of lust and loss in her eyes. Her voice is so tender and hopeful, beckoning me with promises of all those soft, slow Sunday mornings that I've been dreaming of. She registers the sad look on my face before I answer, the look of defeat settling on her face.
"We do nothing. These interactions change nothing. We can't pursue this, Olivia." I avert my eyes, trying to spare both of us from a surprisingly painful conversation. She grabs my cheeks a little more firmly, seeming to savor the sensation, before she gives me a sad smile. Wordlessly, she gathers her gym bag and water bottle, then turns on her heel and leaves without a glance behind. The little vixen needs the last word. She hesitates for a moment, having some internal power struggle.
"Well, I'm going to go take a shower and take care of myself if you won't do it for me."
My mouth gapes. "Is that a challenge or an invitation?"
"Both," she says in a sultry voice as she walks away, no doubt to keep her promise.
I groan into my hands. How do I just ignore that? How do I just let her walk away knowing she’ll be knuckle deep in that pretty little pussy? Every ounce of restraint tethering me to my good conscience detonated with her low-blow ultimatum. Without a second thought, the raw, primal need surging through me spurs me to follow her into the locker room, shutting and locking the door behind me. I follow the sound of the water and find that Olivia already has her clothes off and is standing in the stream of water. Her back and that perfect ass face me as the steam billows around her. She savors the heat, oblivious to my presence.
“Show me.” She startles, but without missing a beat, the little temptress uses the sultriest of sultry voices.
“Show you what?”
“Show me how you intend to satisfy that needy little pussy.” She turns towards me, giving me an unrestricted view from head to toe. Her hair is cascading down her shoulders, the curls clinging to her silky skin. Her nipples turn to hard pink buds that beg for my mouth. I drink in the exquisite sight of her like I’m taking a long pull of the smoothest bourbon I’ve ever had. My breath hitches, my arousal obvious and dominating. I let my hungry eyes devour her, knowing damn well she’s enjoying my perusal of her curves. She’s soft in all the places that soften a man’s resolve. Her curves beg for my hands. Round, full breasts that dip from their weight give way to a toned, soft stomach. Her narrow waist blossoms into voluptuous hips and frames a trimmed, soft patch of curls that leaves my mouth as dry as the Sahara.
“If you’re here, isn’t it because you want to do it for me?” She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and looks up at me with big doe eyes.
“I’m here because I’ve been imagining what you look like on the brink of orgasm since you first walked into my classroom in September. Show me the filthy things you’ve been doing to yourself all hours of the night to the thought of me, Olivia.”
A wicked smile curves across her lips. “Funny, because I’ve been on the perpetual brink of orgasm since I walked into your class, Professor DeLuca.” I don’t miss the implication in the way she pronounces professor. Filthy fucking girl.
“Oh, Miss Hamilton, I assure you the feeling is mutual. Are you self-aware of what a shameless little cock tease you are?” She blushes at my words, but her eyes tell a different story. They greedily roam over my biceps, forearms, chest, abs, and then dip lower expectantly as I pull my t-shirt over my head. My question sits hanging in the air.
