Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

I t was dusk when we stepped outside, the sky painted deep purple and pink as rain began to clear away. The scent of it hung heavy in the air, and I let Ambrose slip my arms into my coat, neatly tucking the lapel in front.

"Where do you live?" I asked, taking my bag and umbrella from his spidery fingers.

He extended his bent elbow for me to take, though I hesitated a moment, casting a glance around us in case anyone noticed.

"Scared?" he teased.

"Obviously!" I took his arm anyway, letting him pull me tight into his side and steer us north.

"I live in the original president's house. Grew up there, in fact. My father had the current beast of a mansion built in the early two thousands, after my mother died."

My shoulders slipped downward and I watched his expression harden as he shared this heavy piece of himself with me. "Oh, Ambrose. I'm so sorry," I murmured, giving his forearm a squeeze. The skin was still exposed from his rolled-up sleeves and he donned no jacket .

He cleared his throat. "She was a wonderful woman. She is part of the reason why I can't leave Oakwood House."

There was a pause, the silence weighted with a misery I couldn't understand because the only emotion I could imagine if my mother died was…relief. Relief for being free from her. From her harsh judgments and critical eye.

So I let him be for a moment, let his mouth and eyes soften, let his shoulders relax before I made another attempt.

"Aren't you cold?" I asked after we'd passed the northern most lecture halls. A thicket of brightly colored trees lay before us now, the brick walk looking more worn that it had before. I hadn't ever been toward this end of campus and my eyes were hungry to soak in every detail of every knotted tree trunk, every cracked piece of masonry.

"I find the Autumn air refreshing. Especially after you've tempted me so." He smirked, giving a small nudge.

"Please." I rolled my eyes. "I tempted you no more than Romeo tempted Juliet."

"And yet, here we are. On the way to my home…after you've assaulted me in my classroom." Ambrose chuckled darkly.

"I did not assault you." I laughed. We entered into the cover of the trees, everything around us damp and muted. A small stream cut through the center, which had a miniature wooden bridge connecting it to the other side.

"Barging in on a man while he's planning his lessons and kissing him does count as assault, doesn't it?" His steps echoed on the wood of the bridge and my eyes were cast over the ethereal space, some fairytale scene of an enchanted forest.

"You walk this every day?" I blurted in awe, the stream rushing beneath us.

"Isn't it lovely? One of my favorite trails on campus. If you look just ahead, you'll see Oakwood House. It's an original fixture. I like to imagine what it might have been like in the 1700 s." His ringed finger pointed straight, through the clearing of the thicket.

And just beyond the small, open space framed by yet more forest was a brick colonial home. The house was large, much more so than I imagined, and the drive in front circled itself around a fountain. It was…classic.

"It's adorable." I smiled, tugging him faster now, eager to see the inside. The sun was dipping farther beyond the horizon, blanketing everything around us in deep indigo. When we reached the glossy black front door, he unlocked it and extended his hand to allow me to enter first.

The floor creaked under my weight and I inhaled deeply. For the scent of the whole space was nothing but pure bliss.

Ambrose filled the air. Coffee, tobacco, parchment, and ink. It all mixed delicately with the scent of old home—a distinct smell I would know anywhere. The original wood floors groaned with each step and the walls were barely visible behind all of the classical art he had displayed in gilded frames. From what I could tell, the walls themselves were painted deep green beneath.

"Allow me," he said from behind, taking my coat from my shoulders.

To the left, there lay the wide and sweeping staircase upward. To the right, his formal dining room, the furniture as ornate as I would have expected with golden candelabras adorning the table. It seemed to lead to a butler's pantry and the kitchen, but I couldn't have been sure.

Straight ahead, through the archway, there was a formal living area I could but imagine him hosting university officials in. The fireplace was cold and quiet, but the walls…the walls were covered in books.

"What do you think?" he asked, hands on his hips .

"I think it's lovely." I beamed, dragging him back toward where I assumed the kitchen was.

And I was correct.

The space had been updated at some point, more open planned than originally built. The breakfast nook lay in the back, a bay window combined with a bench opened to the outside. Everything was beautiful, dark, and cozy, all unpainted, rich oak wood and comfort. His kitchen island was scattered in newspapers, stacks of books, and empty brandy glasses. I ran my fingers down the cold granite as I walked.

"Such a bachelor," I commented, casting my gaze toward the living room.

"Well, it has almost always been me, lost in my books." He began to gather his cups from the counter, stacking them in the deep sink in the midst of the chaos.

"No misses?" I leaned against the granite, eyeing him as he laughed.

"No, no misses. I've been buried in my books since my mother died. Literature has never left me." Stormy gray met me, cast behind thick dark lashes.

"You're not a forty-year-old virgin are you?" I joked, my fingers clasping and unclasping nervously.

"God, no. Not everyone has remained so dedicated to their celibacy as you, Vivian." He began gathering ingredients from the fridge—cherry tomatoes, a block of parmesan and clove of garlic. I tried not to let his comment sting, it was difficult to think of his hands and mouth on someone else. "I've been meaning to ask, why haven't you? Saving yourself for marriage?"

I scoffed, coming around the counter. "No. I just…haven't. As a kid, my parents were very strict with me. Not Walt, of course, he could go out and do whoever and whatever. But I was forced to be compliant, gentile even."

I took the large pot from his hands, setting it on the gas stove and extending the pasta arm to fill it, the uncomfortable sensation of a lost childhood sat heavy in my chest. Piano lessons, manners, and etiquette tutors. Debutant society shoved so thoroughly down my throat until my eyes bled and my lungs ceased to work.

"And not even at NYU? With grades as low as yours, I would have assumed you were a party girl." He set to slicing the cherry tomatoes and garlic after preheating his double oven.

"My parents thought so, too." My foot tapped restlessly.

"And you weren't?" Ambrose tossed me a grinder salt to pour into the water.

"No," I muttered, embarrassment stinging my cheeks. Was I not but an imposter? "I just…stopped trying. I did party a lot in the beginning, but after a bad trip I stopped." Memories of bright, flashing lights and dry mouths flooded me.

"And no…?" He trailed off, causing me to face him. Ambrose's eyes were on me, his face grave.

"No," I whispered. "There had been opportunities—oral, too. But I just…never made it beyond that."

"Is that so," he mused, turning his attention back to the tomatoes which he tossed in the oven and almost immediately the scent of Italian wafted through the kitchen.

"Yes." The water was coming to a boil and he carefully emptied a box of angel hair pasta into it. "And? Now that you've quizzed me, tell me what you're thinking."

Ambrose smiled. "I would be lying if I said I wasn't pleased to be the only person inside you. It is…an intoxicating prospect."

I shivered.

"You drink, right?" he asked after a moment.

"I'm not twenty-one," I reminded him playfully.

He laughed, full and hearty and I couldn't help but smile in return. "I didn't ask if you could drink, Vivian. I asked if you do drink. "

"Will you report me to the authorities?" I quipped, waggling my eyebrows.

"For that and a great many more things." Shadows gathered under his eyes.

I giggled, a nervous undercurrent highlighting my apprehension and I threw my hand in the air. "You know I drink, you caught me red handed at the opening game."

"So I did. I should have known then just how naughty you could be." He disappeared for a moment toward the living room, leaving me to sit there and stir the pasta in silence.

My stomach twisted in uneasy knots as I considered what he'd said earlier, about seducing me…did that mean that he was going to fuck me tonight? And if it did, what did that mean for us in this professional relationship we were forced to play as teacher and student?

I didn't have the answers, nor did I have the experience to deal with that sort of tangled mess. It was an idea one only read about, the teacher who was forced to resign or even arrested for secret flings with students.

I stood alone, in his kitchen fighting the urge to chew my nails as my stomach flipped in somersaults.

When he returned, Ambrose carried two bottles of wine and inspected the labels with a contemplative stare over the rim of his glasses. "Vintage chiantis. Should be perfect for the pasta tonight." He grabbed a bottle opener from the mess of his counter, popped the cork of one, and poured the rich red liquid into a wide mouthed glass. I took it gratefully, downing an entirely too big gulp, but fuck I needed to settle my nerves.

Ambrose watched from above his own glass and his Adam's apple dipped with his swallow. "Nervous?"

The chianti burned, dry as it was, down my throat. I couldn't meet his stare, checking the pasta in the rolling boil instead. "For? "

His arms twined around my waist, front meeting my whole back. I stilled and something low in my belly warmed immediately.

His mouth came by my ear as he breathed. "For us."

"Us?" I replied, stirring the bubbling water unnecessarily.

"Yes, Vivian. Us. For me to kiss every inch of your body, to brand your skin with my touch. For me to mark you, wholly and completely, in a way you'll never recover from." His mouth moved from my ear to my neck, fingers stroking my hair to the side to trail kisses there.

I was trembling, my knees weakened and my heart thudded unevenly in its cage. This was what it meant to be alive, the rush of sensation, the fluttering wings of my essence in my chest.

"You can't do that," I intoned, out of fear more than anything else. I believed he could, knew he would in fact, and I was terrified. Terrified of what it meant for me to feel so strongly about what he might be able to accomplish.

Ambrose's hand dripped below my waist band, teasing the curls over my center. My tongue wet my lip and every pump of my heart was harder than the last.

"Believe me, darling, that I can and I will." His fingers slipped further, brushing over my clit and dipping into the wetness that had pooled merely from his touch. I moaned, gripping the counter for support as he curled his fingers and pressed on some sensitive spot inside me. "Watch me."

"Oh!" I cried, rocking my hips to gain friction against his palm. The rush was overwhelming, blazing waves of fire through my core.

Ambrose swigged the rest of his wine, setting the glass on the counter so he could wrap his hand around my neck and apply the slightest pressure as he pulled me back to his chest and took my mouth as his fingers continued their cruel game.

I was overcome, the stroke of his hand left me underwater, smothered in the sweet sense of pleasure. I was fire, liquid, grinding against him and chasing the building release. This simple act I had done a handful of times—more with girls than guys—but Ambrose outdid them all.

His tongue teased my mouth, the dry berry of wine all I could taste as the slick sound of my arousal rivaled the boiling water. It was dizzying, the low light of the kitchen, the pressure applied to my neck, the heat coming from my front and back. The metal of his rings was warm against my skin, sending my mind tumbling further into the abyss.

"God you're fucking close," he rumbled. My fingers sunk into the flesh of his arm as my vision blackened around the corners. "Come for me, Vivian. You're safe. I have you."

I spasmed from his words and mouth, the pressure of his fingers and palm, I was done for, my walls clenching in profound waves around him. Ambrose loosened his hand around my neck and the influx of air wretched the orgasm through me like a bolt of lightning, twisting my body around his fingers in a form of possession until I stopped, breathless and limp in his arms.

The oven beeped and his body disappeared from behind me. I wrapped my fingers around the cold granite, willing myself to gain control, though the only thing I could think was how good it would feel for him to fill me.

He came behind again, switching the stove off, and guiding my mouth back to his.

He tasted just like me, as if he'd licked his fingers clean.

I didn't fight, letting him kiss me instead as he had before. His tongue searched my mouth and teased my own and I wrapped my arms around his neck, panties soaked and breasts heavy and aching.

Ambrose hooked his hands behind my thighs, hoisting me up as I squealed and wrapped my legs around his waist so that my ass sat perfectly on his erection. He didn't pause a moment, marching us through the kitchen and into the dining room.

I bit my lip. "Where are we going?"

"Upstairs," he growled, kissing me again. "I've done my waiting."

I moaned against him, my hands wound in his soft hair. I hadn't realized he was on the stairs until we were already there, halfway up.

"Holy shit!" I shrieked, clinging to him harder. "We're going to fall!" The foyer looked ominously far, and if he'd only lose his balance, it would be over. I wasn't exactly a small package to carry.

But he chuckled without so much as a stumble until we reached the second floor where he gripped the flesh of my ass with an appreciative grunt, kicking his bedroom door open and then closed once more, leaving me no time to take in the space before he threw me onto his bed.

I bounced against the mattress, immediately shielded in his delicious musky scent as I came to my elbows.

In the dark, Ambrose's silhouette undid my trousers, pulling them from my legs, tearing socks from my feet. I could barely make him out in the low light from the moon outside his window as my eyes adjusted, but his were wild as he took me in.

"Dr. Wilder," I said, more urgently, fraught for what he was about to do. He gripped the hem of my shirt, pulling it up and over my head until it disappeared and I lay before him in nothing but my bra and underwear. He sat between my thighs, moonlight glinting from his glasses.

"You're fucking gorgeous, Vivian," he said. Fingers trailed the skin of my calves down to my toes. I shivered, from the temperature of the room, from being under his iron gaze, from waiting.

He pulled his sweater off, tossing it to the side and immediately I could make out yet more ink in his skin, swirls of rich black against creamy white. Ravens, roses, spiderwebs, fine loping scroll, skulls, and reapers. This man was positively covered.

He undid his belt and trousers, but did not remove them.

Instead, as I lay there panting, my breasts straining against the cups of my bra, Ambrose slunk down and hitched my legs over his shoulders, his eyes glued to me as his nose skimmed my center.

I gasped, arching against the touch.

"I couldn't wait to taste you properly," he said, curing his fingers underneath the band of my underwear. I lifted my hips just enough, letting him slide the fabric down and off, exposing myself completely to him. "It was a tease in the kitchen but now…well, now I'm going to drink my fill."

The very sight of Ambrose Wilder between my legs had me spiraling. How was it possible? This enigmatic, handsome man who taught me fucking Shakespeare. Here he was, between my thighs, his mouth about to taste my most sensitive spot.

He paused, urgency softened his features but a moment. "Are you okay?" he asked, offering a squeeze of the flesh of my thigh. I nodded frantically, rolling my lip between my teeth. "You tell me when you want me to stop and I will, Vivian, I promise. You are in control." He kissed the innermost skin of my thigh and I tossed my head back. I was practically bursting at the seams. "Tell me you want this, I need you to tell me you want this."

"I want it," I breathed to myself more than him with eyes on the ceiling.

"Look at me."

I did, taking him in. He was the picture of seduction and my pussy offered a reflexive pulse in response.

"Keep those gorgeous eyes on me, darling." Ambrose took the opportunity to take a languid stroke of my pussy with his warm, wet tongue. And I cried out, tossing my head back once more as the pleasure coursed through me in a heated wave. "Ah, ah, naughty girl. Eyes. On. Me."

Ambrose nipped the swollen bud between my lips and I yelped, bringing my gaze back to him. His large hand came behind my back, unlatching my bra in an adept movement and once more, his tongue stroked my core.

I was melting, mewing, barely able to focus on tossing my bra away so that my breasts were exposed for him to palm, which he took no hesitation in doing, growling against me as his fingers pinched the turgid flesh.

My thighs shimmied, snapped around his head when he sucked my aching clit into his mouth and dipped his tongue inside.

"Oh," I sighed, rolling my hips against his mouth. His tongue flicked, teased, tormented me until I was sweating, quivering underneath him.

He never relented, working his mouth and hands over every sensitive piece of my flesh until I finally snapped, my cry for him echoing off the walls, sending my hands to the covers on either side of my wound up body until I was oh, so wonderfully spent.

Ambrose crawled over me as the convulsions ebbed, kissing me and filling my mouth with my own taste.

"Aren't you delicious, my love?" he asked, sucking my tongue into his mouth.

"Even better on you." I brought him back to me, slipping my tongue in, drinking every drop of my come from him.

"You are a naughty girl, aren't you?" He ground his erection against my pussy, sending a new thrill of excitement through me.

I was breathless. "I think you'll find I can be quite good."

"You're right." He chuckled, leaning back to tear his trousers off, his thick cock bouncing freely.

My teeth found my lip again. This was different than in his classroom where I'd sat on my knees ready to swallow him. This was real, there were no risks of interruptions now.

He would be my first .

And goddammit all if he wasn't my last.

"Are you ready?" Ambrose asked, coming over top of me and dotting small kisses against my collar bone. I was breathing too hard, gripping his biceps as I nodded.

"I am. I'm ready for you."

"Goddammit." His skin thinned as the head of his cock found my entrance and my body ignited once more. "It'll pinch at first, okay?" He took my mouth again and I was so close to losing this stupid label, so close to having him fill me, and the only thing I could do was squeeze my eyes shut and lose myself in his kiss.

"Look at me, Vivian," he murmured, softer this time. Gentle. His long thumb came over my cheek in a tender swipe.

I opened my eyes to find his glasses were gone. Those gray eyes seemed somehow bigger, clearer than from behind his lenses and they stared so mercifully, worried even.

"Look at me." Ambrose slid inside and my body screamed, fighting against the intrusion as he stretched and filled me. I gasped, nails sinking into his arms as the burning tore through my pelvis.

I fought to keep my eyes on him as the burn turned to an ache and he stilled inside me. My pussy pulsed around him and the very sensation snatched my breath.

"Fuck, you have to relax, Viv," he cursed, his own frame trembling over mine as if it took everything in him to stay still. I tried to do as he said, taking a deep breath to allow my body to open for him. He allowed one shallow stroke out, nipping my lower lip. "You feel so goddamn good ."

I focused on the stroke of him, the heady sensation of his thickness invading me, the way my body clenched around him, the rough patches of his hair against my bare skin. I focused on his mouth teasing mine, the brush of his finger over my nipple.

I was liquid fire again while his cock butted up against that very same spot his fingers had in the kitchen, and I wasn't human anymore. I was lust, only lust. We were coated in a glimmering layer of sweat as we came against one another in a frenzy of ecstasy.

"Ambrose," I moaned, arching into the pillows, my nails dragged down his back. He hissed, slamming his inundated hips into me and sent a luscious ache up my spine. "Please!"

"You never have to beg me, baby," he vowed, kissing me as his final thrust sent me over the edge. Stars bloomed behind my eyes and my joints locked, the orgasm rocking through me in a wicked rush. "Yes, that's it, let it go. Such a good girl, coming for me again."

The orgasm rendered me mute, snatched me from reality and floated into bliss.

Ambrose sank his teeth into my neck, a hand gripping my ass and bringing my hips forward, he found his own release, spilling inside me endlessly. He panted, his wild moans imprinting themselves on my mind until he fell to the side, a sticky arm thrown over my stomach.