Professor, page 8
“Tell me about yourself,” I said just as Vincenzo brought the bottle of wine and two glasses. He didn’t say anything as he poured us each a glass, set the bottle off to the side, and gave a slight nod of his head before leaving us in private.
Dinner tonight was chef’s choice, and I was thankful for the extra time to talk with Grace without any interruption.
I picked up my glass and gently twirled the liquid inside of the clear crystal. I brought it to my nose and inhaled deeply, the scent of berries filling my head. I stared at Grace as I tipped the glass back and took a small sip, letting the liquid run along my tongue before sliding down my throat.
And the whole time I kept my focus on Grace.
The wine tasted spicy yet sweet, with hints of summer and warmth. When I set my glass down, I saw her eyeing hers. She wasn’t twenty-one yet, but that made no difference. I wasn’t trying to get her drunk.
“Try it, Grace. You can’t have authentic Italian food without a glass of good wine.” I leaned in close and gently pushed the glass toward her. “And this is a very good year.”
She picked up the glass, her fingers delicate as they wrapped around the stem.
“The year?” she said softly.
“The year you were born.”
Her eyes widened slightly.
“This wine is twenty years old?”
I nodded and leaned back in my seat.
My focus went right to her hand once more. That small, fragile bone in her wrist could be seen underneath her skin, so delicate as she brought the glass up. I watched in amazement and desire as she took a sip. Grace closed her eyes and swallowed, a slight hum of approval leaving her.
“Tell me what you taste.”
She opened her eyes, and I saw her pupils were dilated. “It’s spicy but has hints of sweetness.” She set the glass down as a little sigh escaped. “I’ve never been much of a drinker, but that wine tasted—”
“Exquisite?”
She nodded.
Just like you.
“What do you want to know about me?”
“Anything. Everything. I just want to hear your voice. I want to know everything there is to know about you, Grace.”
She smiled, a look of embarrassment covering her face. I didn’t stop myself as I reached across the table and took her hand in mine, smoothing my thumb over her pulse that beat rapidly under the soft skin of her wrist. But I let go of it and didn’t linger.
“There’s not much to tell. I’m pretty much as plain as they come.”
I shook my head slowly, my fingers wrapped loosely around the wineglass, moving the digits along the smooth stem. It was idle work, something to keep me busy, because if not I’d have her in my lap and be kissing her until we were both on the verge of losing it.
“There’s nothing plain about you, Grace.” She lifted her hand and tucked her hair behind her ear, the little pearls she wore catching the light and shining slightly.
“My mother and father are divorced. He lives in Florida with his new wife now. They just had a baby last year.” She looked up at me, this vulnerability in her expression. It was like she had never talked about herself to anyone else, had never bared herself. “I’ve never seen the baby in person. It’s kind of weird to think about visiting them when his new wife isn’t much older than I am.”
I didn’t like that she seemed upset talking about this, and I was about to tell her we didn’t have to talk about it anymore, but she took a deep breath in and I knew she wanted to say more.
“So it’s just been my mother and me for the past couple years.” She was staring at her wineglass, the candle catching it and casting light prisms along the table.
I could see she was flustered in what she’d said, her mind elsewhere. I didn’t like that. I wanted her here, in the present with me.
There was so much I wanted her to tell me, so much I wanted to know about Grace. I wanted to know what her favorite food was, her favorite smell. I wanted to know if she liked sunsets or sunrises better. I wanted to know what she thought about before she fell asleep, what was the first thing that came to her mind when she woke up.
I wanted to know everything, but I didn’t want to take her to a dark place, and it was clear that the divorce of her parents, the fact her father had moved on with someone close to her age and had another child, bothered her immensely.
So as much as I didn’t want to tell her about my past so soon, wanted to work up to that, talking about myself might bring her back around to where she wasn’t drowning in her worries.
The waitress brought out the antipasto, but my appetite had taken a nosedive.
“My parents died when I was young, and I ended up moving in with my uncle.” She looked up at me then, and I saw instantly that her thoughts weren’t on the problems in her life anymore. She looked concerned for me, sad even. “My uncle was a hard man, cold and reclusive. He was a self-made multimillionaire and was so engrossed with his wealth that he kept people at a distance. He had no emotions, didn’t make personal connections or relationships with anyone.”
“God, I’m so sorry.”
I gave her a tight smile and hated that the atmosphere had gone melancholy, but I wanted her to know every aspect of my life.
“The only reason he took me in was because he didn’t have an heir, and the thought of losing everything once he died had the selfish part of him rising up.” I picked up my glass and took another long sip, thinking about the past, about how everything had played out in my life. “He didn’t care for me. In fact, when I moved in with him, that was the first time I had ever met him. He and my father had never been close and had actually been estranged since before I was even born.”
I thought about how whenever my uncle had been brought up in conversation, my father would close up, get angry. It was rare that his name was uttered in our house, but every time it had been, my father became closed off, hateful even.
“What a lonely life to lead.”
I didn’t know if she was talking about my uncle, my father, or, hell, me. But she was right regardless. “To this day I don’t know what caused them to hate each other so much.”
Grace was the one to reach out and take my hand in hers, and electricity and pleasure moved through me. “It’s probably better that way. You don’t have to carry that burden.”
In that instant she took everything away, the dark memories of being alone after my parents passed, and the sadness that tried to creep up and claim me. She was the light, and I was desperate for it, having lived my entire life with shadows surrounding me. I just wanted to grasp on to her and not let go.
“I really am sorry, Lucian,” she said softly.
I didn’t stop myself from leaning across the table, cupping the side of her face, and kissing her. She tasted of wine, sweet and potent, addictive and mine. I forced myself to sit back, but all I wanted to do was keep kissing her, to have our lips pressed together until we were breathless, until the control was completely snapped in two.
“It was so long ago it feels like another life.” I cleared my throat and saw the waitress bringing our food.
Nothing was said as the first course was brought out. It was Il Primo, a garlic and butter infused gnocchi. We ate in silence, and before the topic could be broached again, the Il Secondo was served, which consisted of a delicious chicken dish I knew was from the northern parts of Italy where Vincenzo’s family was from. With the chicken, the Contorno was served, a fresh salad with vinegar and oil dressing, and topped with a sprinkling of salt and pepper.
Vincenzo came by to make sure everything looked perfect, and then left us.
The silence stretched between us, and although I didn’t want to spoil our meal with talk of how shitty my past had been, I’d already opened that box.
“You don’t have to talk about it. I know it’s painful.”
She was so empathetic, so perfect in every way.
“I want to tell you. I want you to be let into every part of my life.”
“I’d like that, Lucian.” The way she said my name had my pulse racing.
“My childhood consisted of being in my uncle’s shadow, learning the business, and being promptly neglected. I had no friends once I moved in with him. I was shut out from the rest of the world.” And fuck had I been isolated. “And the only time he ever did show me any kind of attention was when he wanted to talk business, wanted to show me how things were run. In that moment I was that young child who just missed his parents and hated his life.”
The clank of my fork against my plate when I picked it up seemed overly loud. “My father had always told me to be strong, so I endured being alone, having nannies and being homeschooled, knowing that the life I once had was no more.” I heard Vincenzo’s voice in the distance and couldn’t help but smile. “And then there was Vincenzo, the son of my uncle’s head of landscaping. We’d come from two opposite ends of the spectrum, but we became best friends. And it was during the summers when he’d spend most of his time at my uncle’s estate with his father, that I realized I wasn’t so alone.”
I glanced up and saw she watched me, a sad expression on her face, her food untouched. I cleared my throat again and shifted on the seat.
“Enough talk about that. It was so long ago, and life has changed since then. Please, eat and enjoy your meal.” She picked up her fork and started eating, not saying anything. But I could feel this heaviness surrounding her. And then I felt her gaze on me, knew that she had questions.
“But you became an educator instead? You didn’t end up following in his footsteps after all that?”
I took a bite of the entrée, chewed and swallowed, and then washed it down with a sip of wine. I shook my head. “My uncle passed away a decade ago. And although things had been secured, his business relations, his wealth, all of that already in place so it could sustain itself, I knew running things wasn’t what I wanted in life.” I watched as she took a bite of her meal, the way her lips wrapped around the fork an erotic sight that was turning me on.
God, anything having to do with Grace aroused me.
“I refused to accept that was my future.” I smiled, a genuine one that wasn’t filled with the burden of having the past weighing on me. Although my uncle’s business had been placed in my name, although technically I owned the wealth, that’s not what I focused on. “And so, I decided to do what I loved, to follow in my father’s footsteps. I went to school to become a teacher, to become the man you see now.”
The smile she gave me was sweet. She was happy for me, and that made me feel like I was on top of the fucking world.
We finished our meal just as the Formaggio e Frutta was served.
“I’ve never had an authentic Italian meal before,” Grace said as she stared at the fruits and cheese on the platter.
“This is to clear our pallets in preparation for the desserts,” I said and picked up a strawberry, not able to help myself as I extended my arm and offered it to her. She hesitated for a second before opening her mouth and allowing me to feed her. This low sound of possessiveness came from me as her soft lips touched my fingers when she ate the fruit from my fingertips.
And that’s what I did with the rest of the fruit, fed her from my hand and grew hard with need.
When the coffee and dessert came, homemade cannolis and fresh whipped cream, I couldn’t help myself from dipping my index finger into the cream and bringing the digit to her mouth. “And this is the Dolce, the final course.”
I was rock-hard at this point, so ready for her that I was at the point where I almost said fuck who would see us and took her right then and there. And as we stared at each other, as the heat increased and the conversation that had grown so heavy started to dissipate, the only thing left between us in that moment was solid need.
It was raw and hungry, and it would eat us alive if we didn’t give in to it.
I felt that with everything in me.
But Grace held the power, and she was in control of this moment.
“Take me to your place, Lucian,” she whispered as I looked into her face.
I wanted nothing more than to hold Grace, to kiss her and show her that there wasn’t anything else more important in this moment, in this fucking world than the two of us being together.
“I need to be with you.”
I groaned, unable to help myself at hearing her say those words. And then a beast rose up in me and I was helpless to stop it. I stood and walked toward her, pulled her from her seat, and had my lips pressed to hers a second later. I fucked her mouth in the way I knew I’d be doing between her thighs tonight. I didn’t care who watched, who saw me claiming her in this way. I wanted everyone to know that she was mine and that nothing would come between us.
And God, I couldn’t wait to take her innocence … to make her mine.
17
Grace
I felt out of my element a little, like I was walking through a dream—a really good one, but a dream nonetheless. After dinner Lucian had taken us to his place … like I’d asked, hell, pretty much begged him to do.
That was also another thing so unlike me. I never asked, all but demanded what I wanted, but with Lucian I felt myself wanting to jump out of the box I’d put myself in. And then when he’d opened himself up to me, told me about his life, his past, I knew in that moment that we were one and the same.
I had a loving family, a mother who was always there for me. My father was another story entirely, but the loneliness I could see in Lucian was one I’d felt countless times. By nature I was a solitary person, living life by keeping people at arm’s length.
And it had been in that one moment that I realized my love for him was true, justified, and consuming.
Now here I was, back at his apartment, my head clear but my nerves taking over.
As I walked through his apartment, taking everything in, learning about Lucian through his things, I couldn’t help but feel closer to him.
It was modest but had lavish accents, as if he’d plucked each piece out of a different time period, a different era. I walked toward the painting hanging on the wall, a large piece that had a tiny light illuminating it from the top, the glow showing the sweeping lines of color, the intricate way it all came together.
I moved on to the bookshelves, massive oak ones that were filled with books, most looking old, the leather spines having gold leaf accents. I ran my fingers over each one, and I swore I could feel their gaze, the knowledge they held inside those pages.
I moved to the window, a large, picturesque one that looked out onto his backyard, the cityscape beyond vast, beautiful.
When I turned, I saw the black piano, gleaming under the dim light, the ivory keys so white and pristine. I’d been so out of it my first night here that I didn’t remember any of this.
And among his worldly things, I noticed the one piece of decor he was missing.
Pictures. Of his family, friends … of himself.
I faced Lucian, saw him standing in the entryway to his kitchen, the lights off aside from the low entryway one he’d turned on when we arrived. The shadows played across his body, accenting the lean and cut muscle underneath his tailored slacks and Oxford shirt.
My mouth went dry, knowing he watched me even though I couldn’t see his face clearly, couldn’t make out his eyes with the darkness that surrounded him.
He’d let me wander, looking at his possessions, running my fingers over them.
He pushed away from the wall and took a step toward me, slipping his hands into the pockets of his slacks, his head slightly lowered as he continued to watch me. I moved closer to the piano, saw he tracked my movements like a predator watching his prey. The hairs on my arms stood on end from awareness, from realizing that in this moment I was very much at the mercy of Lucian, of my feelings.
I felt like he stalked me, like he knew my every move before I even took the step.
“How about some wine?” he asked, but it wasn’t so much a question as him telling me that’s what he was going to get for us no matter what.
“Okay,” I said softly and then licked my lips.
Lucian went into the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and wineglasses clinking together drowning out some of the stillness in the air. I sat on the bench and ran my fingers along the smooth keys of the piano, the ivory cool to the touch, the feeling of soft silkiness beneath the pads of my digits comforting.
I didn’t know how to play, but I could picture Lucian sitting right in this very spot, his fingers moving effortlessly over the keys, the sounds he created filling the air. I closed my eyes, picturing that very moment, imagining being in the room with him as he played.
I hadn’t heard him come back, and when I felt him stand behind me, his arms pressed right next to mine, his fingers over mine, a small sound escaped me. I snapped my eyes open and was about to turn, but he made a soft, almost disapproving sound in the back of his throat. I sat there frozen, unable to move, the side of his face so close to mine, his chest barely brushing against my back.
I stared straight ahead, could feel that he was as well. And then I felt him slide his hands underneath mine. My fingers now rested on top of his, mirrored, a parallel image of what he was doing. He didn’t speak, but his close proximity was so intense it had my arousal rising to the surface viciously.
I clenched my thighs together as wetness started to pool on my panties. I felt my nipples harden underneath my blouse. Fire licked over my skin, from the tips of my fingers to the bottom of my feet. I tried to breathe normally, to attempt to act like this wasn’t affecting me. But I failed miserably.
And then he started playing, my fingers still over his, as if I were a child stepping on his feet and he moved with me, my actions mirroring his. He was so calm, so collected as he played the piano, the notes filling the room, surrounding us, like little bee stings all along my body. I started breathing harder, this moment so intimate I couldn’t even concentrate.
I parted my mouth, breathing deeper, the air coming in and out of me in short, fast pants. And still he moved fluidly over the keys, playing a song I didn’t know but was mesmerized with. I curled my toes against the soles of my shoes, pulled my legs closer to my body so my feet were now on the tips, my thighs clenched tightly together.
