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“Ok mom, I love you too.” I’d said it casually, like any other day. “Are you going somewhere? When will you be home?”
“I don’t know, baby. Soon I hope.”
And then I didn’t see her again. I didn’t hear from her until four months ago when she decided to call, to ask me for money because she was behind on her rent. I never asked why she left, who she left us for, or why she never came back. I just transferred her the cash and that was that. She didn’t call again.
Kate’s throat bobs as she tugs her panties down her thighs and adds them to the pile of clothes sitting on the floor. She’s naked, I’m stripped down, she’s got all my honest truths, I’ve got her on her back.
I finish my sketch. She lays still as I draw, as I capture every curve and divot and mark, all the beauty of her, all her perfection. When I’m done, I walk over to her and lean over her naked body. “I still need to get the face right,” I rasp.
“And—and what do you want my face to look like?”
I know what I want her face to look like, and I don’t need her to act it out for me. It’s burned into my brain, a picture of her that’s been committed to memory since that first day when we were in her room, and we were both young and I stopped trying to fight how badly I wanted to touch her. A feeling I’m fighting so fucking hard right now.
“Put your hand between your legs.” There’s only a moment of hesitation, and then she does as I ask, her hand sliding between her legs and resting at the apex of her thighs.
Laying my hands down flat on her desk, I watch, because if I can’t touch, I’ll watch, if I can’t touch I’ll get as close as I can. “That’s a good girl Katie, now rub those fingers all over your pussy and show me what you do when you think about me. Show me what you do after you’ve drawn me out in the pages of your book, and you need to come.”
A small moan slips from her mouth and she bites down on that lip again, and I want to taste it and drag my tongue across it and pull it between my teeth.
I don’t do any of those things. I know that will break the spell, the one that’s making her forget about everything outside of this room, the one that’s making her forget that she’s naked and on her back and fucking her hand in front of me when she’s supposed to be engaged to another man. In this room, there’s no sixteen months of silence, no fiancé, no scenario where I walk away.
Kate moves her fingers over her pussy, up and down, getting herself all wet for me as she circles around her clit. More moans, and my dick is painfully fucking hard, my hands twitching because they’re longing to feel her skin and cup her tits and slide between those fucking thighs so I can get my hands as messy as she’s getting hers.
“Fuck James,” she says, and my name is a song on her lips.
“Slow down baby,” I whisper. “You can’t come yet. I have to remember this, so I can finish my sketch. I have to get the face right, remember?” She nods, slowing her movements, but I can already tell it’s not slow enough, that she’s right there. “Light touches babe, so you can barely feel it. Yeah, that’s right, just like that. Slow and light. You’ll come when I tell you to come, understand?”
“Yes,” she says, her body trembling as I direct her hand. “James.” Her voice is strained, and I know she’s close, but I don’t want this to end. “James, please—I—I have to—god please,” her voice comes out begging, and I can’t resist giving her what she wants even though I’m barely hanging on, even though I’ve barely been able to resist dipping my head down and finishing her with my mouth.
“Come for me Katie. Eyes on me,” I dare pull her gaze towards me, her heated skin burning my hand as my fingers curl around her chin. “Right now, Kate,” I command, and like my Katie, she does what I ask, she gives me what I need.
Her moan is loud when she comes, and I watch as her body shakes, as her back arches, as her legs tremble and shudder. It’s the first time in my life I think I could probably nut without actually being touched. Or maybe I just like the torture of it, of watching her like this and not being able to touch her because she belongs to someone else now. Because what’s art without a little torture?
But fuck. Fuck I need to touch her.
“Katie,” I say, dropping to my knees. I pull her to edge of the desk, desperate to run my tongue over her dripping cunt. I’m starving for her—for her taste and smell, for the sounds she makes, for the way her body moves against my mouth when I’ve got my head between her legs. “Katie please. I have to touch you.”
Her hand finds my chin and she jerks it up before pressing her wet fingers against my lips and pushing them into my mouth. I suck on them—licking up what I can, devouring the part of her she’s giving me.
“That’s all you get from me,” she says. “And never again James. That was the last time.” Kate jumps off her desk and gathers her clothes. “I’ll leave my book. Finish the face.”
She quickly dresses before pushing out the classroom door. I’m still on my knees when she leaves, so starved for her touch that it hurts.
I’ve always liked the hurt though. I’ve liked making her hurt, and now I like feeling it.
I pick up the pencil.
It’s 11 pm and I’m drawing her face.
9
It’s10amandI’m staring at a brick wall.
“I was happy to hear you were paying our campus a visit, Mr. Ryan. Will you be staying in the city very long?”
I slip my hands into my pockets and regard the Art Program Director with a smile. “I haven’t decided yet. Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say as I flick my gaze back to the wall.
Professor Kim stares up at the building, her long dark ponytail floating in the wind. “Hemlaw has one of the best art programs in the country. I want something thatinspires, something that moves our students to strive for greatness. I’ve seen your work, and so I’ll leave the vision to you. I just ask that you keep it politically neutral. Anything with a strong message needs to be approved by the board.”
