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“You look beautiful,” he says in a low hungry growl. “I almost want to skip dinner and move on to dessert.”
When he licks his lips, I’m totally game for an alternate plan.
We get into the car he’s recently purchased and before I can buckle up, he pulls me to him and kisses me. It’s the kind of kiss that says I’ve missed you. He raises a brow. “You want to skip dinner?”
I nod enthusiastically.
He drives us to his house where we spend the evening in his bed. When our stomachs roar in tandem, he slides out from next to me and jumps into a pair of sweatpants that accent the perfect globes of his ass.
Fit isn’t a word I’d use to describe Hugh. He’s perfect from his tousled brown hair to his size ten feet.
“Omelets okay?” He tosses me his shirt and tells me to join him in the kitchen. It all feels so perfect and domestic. He makes everything so easy.
“Omelets are perfect. You want some help?”
“Love, if you try to help, we’ll be another hour away from eating. I can’t seem to get enough of you.” He takes eggs, milk, cheese and bacon out of the refrigerator. “Have a seat at the table.” He looks over at the piles of papers and shakes his head. “Just push that stuff to the side.”
I take a seat where I can watch this man make me breakfast. He’s barefoot and bare-chested, and I’m barely in control of myself. We’ve shared so much in the last few weeks—our hopes and dreams and desires along with our bodies.
I snap a picture of him whipping up eggs and send it to my sister. She’s a huge believer in fate and thinks that it is no accident I met Hugh in a bar and fucked his brains out that same day.
I’m not sure if I’m on board with fate, but I do believe that Hugh is the perfect fit for me. He relaxes me, and I don’t feel nearly as stressed out about graduating.
My sister texts back. “Aren’t you glad you stepped out of your comfort zone?”
“Yes, I am. He’s one sexy professor, and I would have missed him if I’d remained the mouse.”
Lisa responds back with, “He’s one naughty professor you little lioness.” I haven’t told Lisa everything, but she knows enough to know that Hugh isn’t reading me sonnets at night.
I look at him again. His arms flex as he flips the omelet. I’ve been in those arms. I’ve grabbed that perfect butt. Something territorial inside me says, “He’s my naughty professor.”
While he whips and flexes, I glance at the top of his papers and see my graded assignment. A big fat C- stares back at me.
“I’m going to fail your class.” I let my head fall with a thunk to the table.
He pushes a plate toward me. The smell of bacon makes me sit up and take notice.
He sits across the table like we’re at a formal meeting.
“I was going to talk to you earlier at dinner, but we got distracted.” He looks at the paper sitting between us. “It’s a passing grade, Kat. You have no idea how much it pains me to grade you so low, but I won’t give you special treatment in class. I can’t honestly say the work is better than a C-. In fact, I’d say I was pretty generous.”
He takes a bite of his omelet and turns the paper to face him. His eyes scan down the page and he shakes his head.
“It’s not that you lack intelligence. You lack expression. Everything is black and white for you, like there should always be a sequence that will give you one particular answer.”
“It’s how I am—expressionless.” I push the paper to the side not wanting to let it ruin our moment together.
“You are anything but expressionless. You should see your face when I make you come.”
“That’s different because with you I feel something.”
“And you don’t feel anything when you read or write?”
“I feel bored.”
“It shows. You lack passion in your writing.”
“I don’t get it. How am I supposed to infuse passion into my words?”
