I waited for him with my eyes closed, listening to the remaining logs pop and hiss in the fire slowly dying in front of me. I extended my hands and leaned in toward the low flames. The temperature was dropping, and I wasn’t dressed for it. It was humiliating sitting out here, alone in the dark. Everyone had either gone home or stumbled inside; crashing on beds, couches, or the floor. He knew I was out here standing in the cold. He’d been watching me all night, and I had pretended not to notice. I bet he knew how nervous he made me, and he liked it. He probably enjoyed knowing that I was out here shivering for him. I began to imagine that he stood behind me until I felt him there. Soft lips and a prickly chin pressed against my cheek.
“Are you crazy? You’re wearing sandals? You should protect your feet,” he scolded.
“I’m not cold.” He raised an eyebrow and smiled, then slowly scanned my folded arms and trembling bottom lip. He placed a warm hand on my numb shoulder and a low chuckle vibrated in his throat. He shook his head and put his arms around me. As I leaned against his chest, I was surprised to feel his heart beating fast. I noticed that the top button of his shirt was undone, and I couldn’t resist touching the triangle of exposed skin there. He took in a sharp breath and pressed his nose into my hair.
“We can’t,” he whispered against my forehead.
“Why not?” I asked, the air thin between us, my humid breath circling his jaw. He turned his face away, but didn’t release me. I could smell him; smoke, coffee, and something slightly fruity.
“If I was 28…,” I began, but he interrupted me.
“…the way he said my name sounded as if he’d spoken it tenderly to himself many times.”
“You’re not 28, Amanda.” His expression was harsh, but the way he said my name sounded as if he’d spoken it tenderly to himself many times. “You’ll meet someone your own age, and you’ll forget about me.” I knew he didn’t mean what he was saying. He must’ve wanted to continue torturing me. I savored the smell of his breath and the sound of his heartbeat as I rested my head against his chest. He had never allowed me to be this close to him before. He always kept me at a distance during our conversations on campus or in coffee shops, where I’d wait, knowing his routine. Neither of us had expected to see each other at the party tonight. It had been a thrilling game to glance at him over the fire and find that he was watching me each time I checked. His expression had been teasing, but he never approached me. I ached with desire for him for hours while I spoke to friends and struggled to behave as though my stomach wasn’t in knots.
He placed his hands on my shoulders and held me at arm’s length as his eyes softened and he said bitterly, “If I wanted you, I’d have you warm in my bed. Not freezing in a backyard surrounded by empty beer bottles.”
“You don’t want me?”
“No,” he said, turning his back to me.
I watched him take a few breaths to regain his composure. He stepped closer to the fire, his body relaxed and confident. The night was silent except for the steady sizzle from the embers pulsing red in the fire pit. My eyes stung and began to water from the smoke that wafted between us, or was it a reaction to his words? How was I going to face him in class for the rest of the semester? He always focused his attention on me when he gave his lectures. “You understand concepts that the others don’t,” he’d told me, “Your essays are well written, and I can tell you’ve read the textbook. You’d be surprised how rare that is among the undergrads I teach.” He respected me. He was protecting us.
A tear rolled down my cheek as he turned toward me, and I saw him notice it and clench his fists. The air was frigid, and with the fire dying and my professor’s arms no longer around me, the cold began to creep back. I trembled in the silence, admiring his strong, capable posture. The lock clicked in the backdoor behind us, the homeowner likely believing no one was left outside. We were truly alone. This seemed to have been the last straw. He scowled at me, and I could tell he had reached his breaking point.
“Go home,” he commanded. Although his tone was menacing, he approached me slowly closing the distance between us. The glowing coals in the fire pit beside us murmured soft secrets and occasionally popped, sending sparks into the darkness.
“I can’t,” I said in a small voice. “My friends left a long time ago, and I didn’t drive myself here,” I explained.
“You stayed knowing you had no way to leave.”
“…yes,” I looked down at my feet.
“Reckless”
“Yes”
“Irresponsible,” he was scolding me again. I gathered my courage and said in a defiant tone, “Yes, I know, professor.”
This was my choice. I knew what the consequences might be, and I chose to stay, believing that he would wait for me to leave before he went home and possibly decide to take me with him. His eyes blazed at my mention of the title referencing his position and our relationship as teacher and student. I was the one torturing him now, and I felt his annoyance at the realization that he was losing control.
My whole body shook uncontrollably. I placed my hand against his cheek. My fingers icy against the heat of his skin. He tightly grasped my wrist and pressed it against his mouth. His tongue was deliciously warm against my pulse throbbing in his grasp. His eyes dared me to pull away, but I was going to show him that I was ready to receive anything he would give me. I shivered so much that I was sure hypothermia was beginning to set in. The moment I realized I wouldn’t be able to stay on my feet much longer, he opened his coat, pulled me to him, and wrapped it around me. I melted into him with a sigh of comfort. I looked into his eyes, expecting tender passion but his expression was lascivious and dangerous. The temporary comfort I felt turned into apprehension and excitement as he kissed me so aggressively it took my breath away.
His hand was in my hair, grasping a handful of it. He used it to pull my face away from his, and he stared at me for what felt like a long time as I panted, breathlessly waiting for more. I could tell he enjoyed whatever he saw in my eyes. When he finally released me, the absence of his body was agony. He bent over, and placed a few logs on the fire. They soon ignited over the hot coals, and flames hissed through them. He poked them until the flames became larger. I could tell he had made a decision. He took off his coat, and placed it on the ground.
“Lie down,” he said sweetly. I obeyed without hesitation, and his weight was quickly on top of me. “How could I not want you?” he circled my face in his hands and brushed my hair away from my temples. “I’m suffocating with how much I want you.”
My heart hammered in my breast, my nipples rising under his palms. My handsome professor’s face glowed in the firelight as he lifted my shirt and exhaled a long sigh over my belly button. I couldn’t move at all as he unbuttoned my jeans, pulled them off, and buried his face between my thighs.
I felt smug in my victory over his resistance, and I reveled in my orgasm as it rippled through me and warmed me to the core. I smiled with the knowledge that I would own the memory of this moment forever.
