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Her writing is excellent, clear, and direct, with good use of sources and a developed voice. I read it through several times, and then make a few notes about where I think she could improve a few things. I want to make sure I do a good job here so that I can help her submit the best possible piece of work.
And so that, when we meet, we have something to talk about other than how hungrily I want to devour her.
My manhood is hard again, the way it often gets when my thoughts turn to Autumn. My fingers twitch, trying to get me to grab my manhood and stroke it, trying to get me to unleash all this pent-up need buried inside of me. My balls feel so full, swollen with my seed, as though trying to force up my throbbing shaft and into her young wet slit.
With a grunt, I walk over to the window.
I won’t waste a single drop of my seed. Every drop belongs inside of her, where it has a chance of settling and bringing us a child.
I laugh huskily when I think about the track my thoughts are on. It’s relentless. No matter how hard I try to think of this as not a date, no matter how hard I try to think of it as me helping out a college student and nothing more…
I can’t stop imagining what would happen after our date. I can’t stop imagining how perfect it would be to take her from the café to a five-star hotel, where I’d tear off her clothes and indulge myself in her flesh. I’d bury my hands in her ass, exploring, rubbing, and massaging as I listened to the way her moans filled in the air.
Closing my eyes, I take yet another breath. It seems like all I do lately is try to sigh away my urges. But they won’t stop. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to get through coffee without making a move on her.
I have to remember what she thinks is happening.
An older professor is helping her with an essay, nothing more.
Can I make a move on her without letting it all out?
Can I kiss her without telling her I want to be with her for the rest of our lives?
I don’t know. I’m not sure.
And that’s dangerous.
If I go too far, I could ruin what we have before it even starts.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Autumn
I walk from the college campus toward the café, relieved I brought a change of clothes so I don’t have to show up in my cleaning uniform. My body is sore from a day that started at six-thirty AM, but my mind is anything but tired as I approach the café’s exterior.
He agreed to meet and he’s already taken a look at my essay. Even if there wasn’t all this craziness in my head, the idea of Asher Alexander reading something I’ve written would still flood me with anxiety.
I wait at the red light, the street busy, the sun shining down from an unbroken sky. It’s a cool day, my breath clouding in front of me, but the sunlight is welcome after a week of grayness and rain.
Just like Asher is welcome after years of grayness, and waiting.
As I cross the road, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I walk over to the edge of the café, pulling out my phone quickly just in case it’s Asher and he wants to cancel. I’ve been expecting a call or text ever since he said we’d meet.
“Hello?” I say, without bothering to check the phone screen first.
Big mistake.
“Finally.”
It’s Declan’s voice. I can tell he’s been drinking from his tone. It always gets lower, nastier when he’s like this.
“I asked you to stop calling me,” I snap.
The only reason I haven’t changed my number is that I don’t want to give him that power over me. And, immediately after the breakup, he stuck to his word and didn’t contact me. But lately, he’s been calling me at all hours of the day and night, even when I’ve either declined all his calls or let them go to voicemail.
“I already told you to block my number if you care that much,” he slurs.
“I shouldn’t have to,” I hiss, struggling to keep my voice level. “I don’t know why you can’t leave me alone. It’s been over a year, Declan, over a year since we were together. You have to know this isn’t normal.”
“Maybe I miss you.”
I groan. “Miss controlling me, you mean. For the record, I do not miss you. That’s why I left. If you keep calling, I’m going to contact the police.”
“And tell them what?” he laughs.
I can just imagine him with his narrowed eyes, mocking.
“That you’re harassing me. That you won’t leave me alone. That you make me feel unsafe.”
