AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Chelsea, can I see you?” Professor called mildly.
Chelsea forced a pleasant expression on her face as she approached the big wooden desk. She had passed her three tests with shining colors, after all; surely Professor Deveaux would now issue her formal invitation to the Valentine’s Ball.
To her surprise, Professor Deveaux handed her a box. “This is for your fourth test, which begins in…” She consulted her elegant black watch. “One hour. The limo will be waiting outside this building.”
Fourth test? Chelsea stared at her. Who ever heard of a fourth anything? There were always three wishes, three chances, three choices. Why did she need to take a fourth test to prove her eligibility? And why hadn’t she received the usual email instructing her on this test?
Then again, it wasn’t as if she’d argue with seeing her Muse before the weekend.
Professor tapped the box. “When you arrive at the hotel, find a restroom and open this box.” Her dark eyes stared challengingly into Chelsea’s. “You’d better be going.”
A while later Chelsea stared at herself in a local hotel restroom mirror. She was dressed as a naughty schoolgirl in knee socks, a short plaid skirt, cotton panties and a white blouse. The Lolita outfit only emphasized her very grownup curves. She stared at the expanse of her slender thighs between the socks and skirt, and the shadow of her black lace bra through the schoolgirl blouse. Being dressed like this in public was humiliating. Her instructions said she was to report to room 403.
Taking a deep breath, she exited the safety of the lounge and crossed the hotel lobby. As the male clerks stared at her, she concentrated on reaching the elevators, her cheeks burning with shame. She knew they thought she was a call girl. She could only hope they weren’t students in any of her classes.
Up on the fourth floor, no one answered the door of room 403. She stepped inside.
Was he in the bathroom? Hiding in the closet? Something about this didn’t feel right. Then she saw the laptop blinking on the dresser. As soon as she approached it, a message appeared.
Sit on the bed facing the mirror and remove your panties. Then open your legs.
Okay. That she could do. She didn’t understand why she had been given the white cotton panties to wear in the first place, but she had learned not to question the tests. As she leaned back and pulled the underwear down her thighs, she realized the obvious. The mirror must be two-way. Someone was watching her. Was it him? The thought of undressing before him aroused her. She sat obediently with her legs open, waiting for the next message to appear on the laptop.
Stand up before the mirror and get undressed. Blouse first, then bra, then skirt.
With trembling fingers, she unbuttoned her white blouse, pausing to view her own reflection in the short skirt and black bra. She unhooked the bra, letting her breasts bounce free for the unseen eyes watching her. Not knowing for sure that it was him watching her added a thrill to the naughty warmth growing between her thighs. At last she stood before the mirror, naked except for her knee socks. Long moments dragged by as her stiff nipples began to ache. Who was watching her? What were they thinking?
Get on the bed on all fours, facing away from the mirror.
She obeyed, feeling more vulnerable than ever.
The door opened. Her heartbeat began to race as soft but heavy footsteps approached the bed. The bed creaked and sank beneath her as it accepted a much heavier weight. Two hands roughly parted her slender thighs and began to play with her pussy.
Her body went cold. This wasn’t him. The man touching her now was rougher, less intimately connected with her body, and larger than him. Immediately, she slipped away from him and rolled away.
The naked man staring down at her was Jonathan Danvers.
She knew his face immediately. He looked very different from the author photo on his book jacket—he was significantly older than she expected, in his late thirties, with a harsh and disapproving mouth. His dark hair was receding as well. Yet she knew it was him. The man of her teenage fantasies loomed over her, naked and available.
She couldn’t have been more disgusted.
“This isn’t what you’re supposed to do,” he snapped, thumping the mattress before him.
“You—you’re not him,” she said as she scrambled off the bed.
No, he certainly wasn’t. She had been wrong about one thing—the name of her anonymous Muse. But she had been right about their connection, because being here naked with Jonathan was not arousing in the least. Now she knew that it wasn’t the kink or the anonymity that thrilled her as much as him—her Muse’s eyes, his touch, his essence. He was the key to her erotic gratification, not these ridiculous scenarios.
Now she just had to find out his name.
“Not who?” Jonathan sat back on his heels and leered at her body. “Come on. Back on the bed.”
“I don’t think so.” She groped for the ridiculous schoolgirl outfit. What had Professor Deveaux been thinking, tricking her into having sex with Jonathan Danvers? True, she knew Chelsea was a fan of his work. But she also knew that Chelsea was deeply smitten with her Muse. Clearly she had intended to give her a rotten surprise tonight. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”
Jonathan softened his voice to a wheedle. “Come on, Chelsea. Odette told me you were a fan. How about giving your favorite author a little head?”
She winced, more disgusted by the second. How could such a crude man have written the books she loved? “Thanks, but I’ll pass.” Stuffing her bra and panties in her purse, she hastily headed for the door. She had only one item on her agenda—finding her Muse again before she lost him forever.
The hotel room door swung open before she reached it. Professor Deveaux entered with a look of rage.
