Jesus.That makes him swallow hard, even though the conversation is hypothetical. Purely fiction. This could go wrong in so many ways, so he decides to keep it chaste.
Nick:Then I imagine I’d play her some records. Ask her about her life.
Cook her dinner.
He hopes this makes her laugh, at least a little.
Ramona:1 out of 5 stars
you really are out of practice
She seems to love being in control of this, so he punts the question back to her. Let her be the one to sweat it out.
Nick:What would *you* want me to do?
Three dots appear and disappear, each yanking up his heart rate. She could screenshot this and show it to the dean. It’s probably already enough for him to get a severe warning, if not worse.
Ramona:well, first I’d say thank you for dinner
then I’d want your full attention on me. maybe you’d give me another compliment, if you’re feeling generous
Nick:Ha, ha.
Is “relentless” a compliment?
Ramona:I’ll take it
then you’d move closer, and I would too. maybe you’d find some excuse to touchme, your hand in my hair or at my waist. you’d be breathing a little faster. pupils dilated. this perfect look of anticipation right before you kiss me.
after that…I think I’d want you to lose control a bit. I’d want to see what desperation looks like on you.
hypothetical you, that is
Nick:Of course.
Even though his brain knows this, his body needs the clarification. His jeans zipper has grown tight, his whole face warm. He hadn’t expected her to be so…detailed. He thought they were talking about dating, but Ramona’s taken this somewhere more physical. Somewhere that makes his vision blur as he struggles to cling to reason.
Ramona:maybe I’d want you to push me up against that desk in your office. have you ever done that, professor?
No, he types, certain he’ll never be able to look at his desk the same way again. He must already be drunk—that has to be the reason he’s not shutting this down.That would be a first.
Ramona:and then…and then you’d probably want to unbutton my shirt
Nick:I would.
Ramona:you’d put your mouth on me, and I’d throw my head back and tell you how good it feels
but you’d already know that, because I’d be moaning your name
And there goes the last shred of his willpower.
With his heart in his throat and his logic halfway to Maine, he unzips his jeans. Wraps a hand around his length, hard and hot and aching for relief. He’s dizzy, imagining his face between her breasts, her body pressed right up against him. The intoxicating scent of her perfume.
At some point the conversation changed from a faceless “her” toRamona, specifically, andgod, that’s dangerous. She’s twenty-six. Ten years younger than he is, a whole fucking decade, not to mention the fact that he is her professor.
As she keeps reminding him in her texts. He didn’t even know he found that sexy, someone calling himprofessorlike that, but fuck, he does.
She’s twenty-six, and she’s famous, and she’s probably putting him on—but he hasn’t felt this good in so long, after he spent the last couple years desperate to make someone happy who’d already decided to move on. Thiswanted, even if none of it is real.
