Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

I didn't see him Sunday.

Something about that ate away at my mind, driving me to chew the skin around my fingernails and an acidic sort of pressure to blossom in my stomach.

Clearly, he regretted what we had shared.

Did I? I didn't think so. Being with Ambrose—he wanted me to call him Ambrose!—was easy, easier than it had been with anyone in so long. And I wanted to keep that, to hold it close so it couldn't leave again. Even Walt, as much as I loved him, wasn't as easy a companion. Walt was always so tied up in his own troubles, more so now, but with Dr. Wilder there was only us. The rest of the world simply fell away.

Sam made several attempts to pull me from my stupor, but I was trapped. I couldn't confide in her what happened, not until I knew for myself what it meant and how he felt.

Monday morning came after a lulling Sunday and I rushed to dress and get out the door before anyone else. It was raining, as he said it would, and I was ever grateful for the shield of the umbrella. The patter of the drops on its wide, open cover warmed my chest knowing it had been him—his idea that kept me dry.

The sun had barely risen, casting the sky in a blue gray behind thick clouds. The air smelled delightfully of Autumn rain and was kicked up by my shoes splashing in the puddles. I wasn't sure if he'd be in yet, but I needed to see him. I needed to know if what was happening was real and that meant doing something painfully stupid.

The doors to the English Department were unlocked, allowing me to step inside quietly and shake my soggy umbrella of its mist.

There were faint voices from within various classrooms which signaled professors preparing for their morning lectures—a good sign. He had to be in then, even if the door was closed.

Which it was when I reached it. I gave a gentle knock, bouncing on the balls of my feet in anxiety.

Maybe I'd misread the whole thing. Maybe it was a mistake…

"Vivian?" Dr. Wilder said with a thick, groggy voice as he peered around the door.

Relief slackened my shoulders. "May I come in?"

He nodded, opening the door enough for me to slip inside. It snicked shut behind us.

"To what do I owe such the pleasure so early in the morning?" He smiled. His hair was tousled, falling over his forehead and he straightened his glasses in such a cute, nerdy way I was on the brink of melting.

My heart thundered in my ears. I didn't even think—I just kissed him. Dropping my bag and umbrella, I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him.

Large hands wound around my waist and he sighed contently as if he'd been as desperately wanting as I had been. I needed him to know how badly I needed him, the affect being with him had on me. So, I kissed him, explored his mouth— tongue and teeth—with wild ecstasy until he shoved my ass on top of a near desk, tearing my coat from my body.

"No skirt today?" he asked, quirking an eyebrow as I gasped for air in the absence of his mouth. Today, I had thrown on high waisted khaki trousers not by choice. I loved getting under his skin with the skirts.

"They're washing." I pulled his mouth back to mine, relishing in the sensation of his grip on my thighs.

"What a shame, I do love them so," he purred against my lips. I whimpered, tossing my head back as his kisses came to my neck, nipping and licking and sending me into a blaze of fucking lust.

"Please," I begged. "Oh my god, Ambrose I need it."

"Begging for me already, darling? Have I strung you out so easily?" His voice rumbled against the hollow of my throat and my hips inched closer to feel him.

"I don't care if you tease me, just touch me." It was like falling, the sensation of losing grip on myself and reality. There was only his hand on my breasts, palming the flesh beneath my button-up shirt, the hand on my thigh with its fingertips sinking in with a sensual bite.

But mostly, there was his mouth. The beautiful torture of his tongue and lips, casting a spell over my skin and in my heart. Dangerous, dangerous magic.

My hands squeezed the hard muscle of his biceps and desire blazed hot. Ambrose tugged my shirt from beneath the waistband of the trousers and for the first time, his heated skin touched mine.

I drew in a sharp breath, my panties absolutely fucking soaked through and still his hand traveled from my stomach to my breast, a low groan emanating from his throat.

"You are perfection incarnate," he growled, taking my mouth .

"You don't even have me naked."

"Yet."

I fumbled with the buttons, tearing my shirt open to allow him easier access, my breasts straining against the top of their beige bra and heavy with desire. He laughed, pushing the fabric down my arms and kissing my bare shoulders.

My hand flew to his cock, eager to find it, to feel it smothered under his trousers. It was magnificently hard and throbbing. He hissed through his teeth under my touch, bucking into my hold.

"There's something I need to tell you," I mewed.

Ambrose rumbled an acknowledgement, his cock filling my hand and his mouth trailing along the cusp of my breast.

"I haven't…I haven't done this before."

"You haven't what? Made out with your teacher?" His tongue glided over my collar bone with a chuckle and I moaned. "You did that very thing on Saturday, did you not?"

"No, Professor—I mean…"

His fingers neared my center and I was going to black out if he didn't stop. "What, then, precious Vivian?"

"I'm a virgin." I blurted, practically gasping. Ambrose stilled, leaning back with an absolutely horrified expression.

Goddammit, I fucked up.

"Come again?"

My cheeks blazed hot. I attempted to cover my face, ashamed as I was, only for him to snag my wrists and hold them in my lap.

It wasn't shame for being a virgin, but rather shame over his reaction, the way he pulled from me, the twist of his face as if he were disgusted.

"Don't you dare. I'm simply…astonished. This almost feels foolish to ask now, but how old are you?"

"Twenty," I mumbled.

"Twenty. My god." He released his grip and scrubbed his face. "You're a child. "

"I'm an adult woman," I insisted, crossing my arms.

He licked his lip, nodding. "That you are."

"So, is it a problem for you then? My being a twenty-year-old virgin?" I finally managed to get out.

Ambrose kissed my collar bone once more, biting the ridge that stood out against my skin and dragging his tongue up to the little hollow beneath my ear. I trembled.

"Is it a problem for you then?" he parroted. "My being your Shakespeare professor?"

"No…" I steadied myself with his intoxicating biceps.

"Then you have your answer." He gripped my hips roughly. "Have you done nothing? Or is it the act of penetration you've somehow kept yourself from partaking in?"

I scoffed. "Let me show you." I came to the floor on my knees and he bit his knuckles, eyes on the ceiling while I palmed his thick erection. I eagerly fought with his leather belt and tore open the zipper to pull his thick cock from its prison.

A phone buzzed as he sprang free, tempting beads of liquid starting just at the tip. My mouth watered and I sucked it off, shivering at the first taste of him—salty skin.

"God fucking dammit!" he cursed, long fingers coming under my chin. "I'm going to murder my father because of you."

I sputtered a laugh, "What?"

"Get up, get dressed, and get in my fucking office, now. He's nearly here." Dr. Wilder shoved himself in his trousers, adjusting his sweater so it fell over the belt in a rather French way, barely concealing the erection underneath.

I scrambled to my feet, the idea of being caught by his father did little to tamp my desire. In fact, if anyone would have walked in here, I might have just?—

"Please, Vivian, hurry." His temple pulsed and I did as he bade, buttoning my shirt with quick steps into his office. "Make yourself a coffee. It shouldn't be long."

I pulled my hair up into a tangled bun, willing myself to cool. "Yes, coffee."

"I have a box of pastries there on the desk, they're fresh from this morning. Help yourself." His smile was kind, genuine but barely hid his stress.

A knock, sharp and quick, echoed through the classroom.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, starting the kettle.

"Don't be. Just…stay quiet." He closed the door behind himself and one look at the knob told me he'd locked it from the inside. Likely a precaution in case his father attempted to join him in here. I was only slightly relieved to see it.

Through the door and the soft bubbling of the kettle, I could barely make out the murmur of Ambrose's voice, the thump of his door closing as his father joined him and I desperately wanted to eavesdrop, to know what they were saying to one another.

But I knew that whatever relationship they had together was strained and listening in felt…wrong.

Which was ironic, considering that I was just on my knees ready to suck my professor's cock.

I cleared those thoughts from my head, pouring the hot water over his instant coffee and taking a seat at the desk. Everything in here was so him . The scent, the feel, the clutter of mess on his desk.

Coffee was sharp and bitter as it washed down my throat. I gulped greedily, hoping it would clear my clouded mind from the exchange in the classroom. I flipped through some of the papers on his desk, those from students in various classes and my own, with marks made in the margins of familiar delicate script which seemed timeless in its style.

Voices grew louder, more irritated on the other side of the door after a moment. I crept carefully near it, leaning my ear against the wood .

"You don't understand the importance of this—" a deep, unfamiliar voice said, his words muffled as he grew angrier.

"I understand it enough. I told you I'd do as you ask and nothing more," Ambrose bit back.

"The dove has already been selected, my son. You cannot intervene, you know this! No matter what, the society comes first."

I drew back, coffee suddenly lead in my gut.

The society?

"Are you quite done?"

"I expect to see you in the Chamber on Halloween. You will participate. This— Oakwood, White Dove—is your destiny and you will be prepared to inherit it."

I was practically flattened against the door, holding my breath as I strained to hear him prattle on about chambers and societies and… White Dove ? My imagination was kicking into high gear again, every conspiracy I'd ever known whirled around with frantic ideas.

"Thank you for the rousing pep talk, Father. If you don't mind, I do have students arriving any minute."

"Of course, I'd hate to keep you much longer. You are my star instructor, aren't you?"

Silence, a shuffle.

When his father spoke once more, he was closer. Much closer and the tension from the room practically leaked under the crack of the door. "Do keep your priorities straight, Ambrose."

I stepped away, patting my pockets for my phone.

They were empty.

My breath stalled. My phone wasn't in my pockets, it was in my bag .

My bag which was by the desk in the classroom. The very desk I'd been much too eager to be sprawled across.

I cursed internally, sickened with anxiety. Bile crawled up my throat as I picked at my fingernails and a small slice of skin peeled back in a sharp burn. How could I have been so stupid? I should have grabbed it! Instead, I was too worried about how I could get him inside me.

The door unlocked and Ambrose stepped into the tight space, his face bracketed with stress.

"Please accept my apologies, Vivian. Did you eat?" He pulled a smoke from his pocket and placed it between his lips. He filled the kettle with water from a pitcher in the minifridge and set it to boil.

"I couldn't. That was a lot more terrifying than I anticipated." I laughed breathlessly. "Are you alright?" I plopped into his chair behind the desk.

He stood with his back to me, hunched over the kettle. Any mugs that had littered the desk previously had been washed and stacked beside the kettle, which he grabbed from and flipped to fill with instant coffee grounds.

"My father is…a severe man. We don't often get on well."

"So you've told me." I sipped my coffee.

Ambrose continued fixing his own drink, adding copious amounts of milk and sugar once he'd poured the water. "If it's alright with you, I'd rather not think about it right now. I'm afraid he spotted your things and I'm not entirely sure what that means yet."

"I didn't even think, I was panicking?—"

"Vivian," he interrupted, setting his mug on the desk and holding me hostage with his stormy glare. "It isn't your fault. I was too frenzied to notice and he couldn't have known it was you in the office. It could be anyone's bag, my own even. You are safe, darling."

I nodded, chewing the chapped skin of my lip.

"Please." The pad of his thumb came over it, easing my lip from my mouth. "Let me be the reason you bite your lip. Not my father." He came over me, offering the most gentle kiss.

"I can't say I'm not disappointed we were interrupted." I murmured, wrapping my hand around his wrist.

One side of his mouth tipped upwards. "As am I."

Another knock on the door sounded, tearing him away from me yet again as he peered at his watch. "That'll be the first of the students for class."

I came to my feet, tossing the coffee back in a rush so it fell heavy in my gut.

"Did you not find the sugar or milk?" His nose scrunched, staring into my cup.

"I drink my coffee black, it's…easier that way," I explained, trying to remember when I'd started to leave out the extra fixings. It had been at NYU, when I'd been less than enthusiastic about life and stopped adding the flourish almost as a self-depreciating punishment.

"Why would you torment yourself in such a way, Vivian?" Ambrose shook his head, placing a cream cheese danish in my hand. "Eat this."

"What is life if not constant torment?" I retorted, taking a bite of the buttery pastry only to appease him. The door rattled as someone tried to turn the knob.

"The key, my darling, is romanticizing the little things. The steam of your coffee, the flicker of a flame, the rain dripping down the pane of the window. The moment your stop romanticizing your life is the moment you've already dug your own grave."

"You are a poet, aren't you?" I smiled, struck by him.

"I think we all have a poet inside of us somewhere, we need only let them out every once in a while to feel alive." He tucked a stray hair behind my ear and I shivered with the touch. So casual, and yet… "Take your seat. The longer we linger, the more likely they will be to suspect something."

I nodded, working quickly to grab my bag and situate myself at the table I shared with Sam.

"Alright you, eager for more rousing debate are you?" Ambrose opened the door to a group of young ladies loitering outside.

"Good morning, Professor," they greeted, filing in. Their glares stung against my skin.

Part of me wondered how often they'd been coming in so early, indeed eager to sit in his presence and ogle at him. Was this normal? Had he shown them the same attention he'd shown me? My breakfast soured, and I fidgeted in the hard chair uncomfortably, drenched in a bucket of ice.

"Vivian, if you would please, I'd like to continue our conversation about your assignment after class." Ambrose stood at the corner of my desk, his face serious. Shadows danced under his eyes and he adjusted his glasses just so on the bridge of his nose.

"Yes, Professor, of course." I pulled my laptop open and let the long tresses of my hair fall from the bun, slipping the black hair tie over my wrist.

His eyes flashed, and his smirk was serpentine, sensual as he stalked to his desk and more students meandered into their Monday morning class.