Chapter 13

Chapter Thirteen

O ur breathing regulated, but my shaking didn't stop. I stared at the ceiling, waiting for regret to hit me, waiting for the moral quandary to catch up…

But it didn't.

Not yet at least.

Ambrose sat, reaching for his bedside table where he grabbed a cigarette. It sat between his lips while the cherry burned bright red and smoke billowed out from his mouth. He leaned back against the headboard, knee kicked up and utterly relaxed. It was like this that I noticed for the first time his thigh tattoos—on one, a raven in a Victorian portrait and the other, a matching plague doctor in his bird mask.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, playing with tendrils of my hair.

I rolled on to my side to face him, a sharp slice of pain radiating from my center. I winced.

"Not well then?" Those long fingers came over my cheek so sweetly and concern washed his expression.

"I' m alright," I said, offering him a small smile. "More than alright, I think. I didn't realize it would hurt afterward."

"I'm sorry, I don't like hurting you like that." Ambrose pressed a gentle kiss to the tip of my nose, drowning me in the scent of sex and smoke. "You don't know how difficult it was for me to hold back. God." He let out an exasperated sigh, tipping his ashes into a mug on the bedside table.

"Next time you won't have to." I came to my stomach, feet flying up in the air behind me.

"Is that right?" His eyebrow arched as he took another drag of his cigarette. "You think you can handle a proper fuck now that you're no longer in the grips of virginity?"

"I could always handle a proper fuck, thank you." I giggled, resting my head on my arms. The orgasms were settling in as I came back down to earth, rendering my limbs heavy and mind foggy.

"I would never do that to you." His hand gave a flourish through the air as he continued. "Your first time is always meant to be slow, savory. And here it is. Mine."

The air grew hazy with smoke and he tipped my head up so that he could tease my tongue with his.

"Yours," I murmured against his lips. My virginity was his and yet it felt as if he'd stolen so much more than that.

"Mine." He leaned back, surveying me. "Let me get you some water."

He leapt from the bed in an agile movement, tamping his smoke out in the mug which he hooked around his pinky. Just as I had fantasized in class countless times, his naked ass flexed away from me, round and muscular, out of the door and down the hallway. His tattoos on his back were many, intricate patterns I couldn't discern from a distance in the dark, but they were numerous .

I took the quiet moment to sit up and scan his bedroom. It was all very much as the downstairs, original wood flooring, original baseboards and crown molding. His walls seemed to be dark green, though in the light of the moon, everything was cast various shades of gray.

He had a small writing desk with an oil lamp situated between two windows curtained by thin, lacey sheers and a trunk at the foot of his fourposter bed. An iron fireplace stood in the midst of it all, flanked on both sides by doors with iron knobs, a painting of a white dove hung above it with wings stretched wide.

And bookshelves. More bookshelves with yet more books and random knick knacks that spoke of his life. Van Gogh's smoking skeleton hung above one of them, a painting I had adored since the first time I saw it years ago.

It was all so…Ambrose. I wanted time to snoop, to scour what classics he had stored on his shelf.

"Where's the bathroom?" I hollered toward the hallway, peering at the contents of his side table—a copy of The Screwtape Letters and discarded rings.

Steps sounded, drawing nearer. "The door on the right side of the fireplace."

Without hesitation, I jumped up, padding across the floor and pulling the bathroom open. The light in there was dim, but the design was as I might have expected: black and white tile, a clawfoot tub and pedestal sink. I cleaned up quickly, noting the tinge of blood on the toilet tissue before I washed my hands and peered in the mirror a moment to assess myself.

My cheeks were red, eyes wide and glazed, and my lips were bruised and swollen. I gripped the sink, staring into the bright blue eyes of a girl I suddenly didn't recognize.

In my mind, there was some physical mark, something left over for everyone to see and know that I'd been deflowered .

By him.

I wasn't a virgin anymore. The girl before me was different from the one I'd peered at this morning and I didn't know how to identify the emotion swirling inside. It was clouded by something else, something distracting.

Ambrose knocked on the door softly.

"Vivian?"

"I'm okay," I croaked, realizing the emotion had accumulated in my throat. I cleared it, opening the door to find him dressed in a white tee shirt and Oakwood flannel pajama pants.

In his hand was another tee shirt.

"For you," he said, a corner of his lush mouth tipped. "Although, I don't mind if you decide to stay as you are for the rest of the evening."

"It's not fair if you're clothed and I'm naked," I said, grabbing the shirt.

"I can be naked with you if that's what it takes." He leaned into the threshold, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Then why aren't you?" My gaze dragged from his socked toes all the way up to his sex rumpled hair which pointed in several different directions in various shades of black and gray.

And he laughed, his grin beaming as he tsk'd me and stalked off toward the bed. "Get dressed and come eat something."

I slipped his soft cotton tee shirt over my head, relishing in how it came just under the curve of my ass, which I hoped might torment him in the same way my skirts had.

As I approached the bed, I was pleased to see that, in the low light of his bedside lamp, the walls were in fact a rich, deep green.

Ambrose was sprawled on his side, a tray in the midst of the bed with glasses of water and wine, and two fairly thick slices of chocolate cake.

I situated myself just so at the same moment my stomach gnawed at itself with the realization of how poorly we'd eaten today.

"I know we started the pasta, but I figured since we were otherwise occupied, cake for dinner would be more suitable." He swigged his fresh glass of wine. "As long as that's alright."

"I've never had cake for dinner," I admitted, grabbing a plate and shoveling the first bite into my mouth. It was rich, earthy chocolate that melted immediately on my tongue. I groaned and my eyes rolled back from the sheer delicacy. "This is sinful."

"Isn't it? It's my favorite, an old family recipe. ‘Give me my sin again.' " Ambrose quoted, his gray eyes swirling with nothing other than pure, unadulterated ardor.

I snickered, trading my cake for wine, which was I greedy in drinking. "I feel this was your true intention for the evening, quoting Shakespeare over cake in your bed."

"You've found me out. This is my preferred form of seduction."

Something sour hit my stomach and I was suddenly reminded of the loitering students outside his door this morning. I didn't know I was capable of such jealousy, but the sheer embarrassment of how grossly innocent I was in comparison to him turned to acid in my chest.

Ambrose's mouth tightened. "I didn't mean that literally, Vivian. I don't just bring women into my bed with cake and Shakespeare. I promise."

"I believe you," I murmured. "It shouldn't bother me anyway, you're a man and you're living a human experience. Please ignore my momentary slip of logic."

"I am a man." It was a measured reply. "But I promise, Vivian." His hand came to my knee and a small smirk spread. "This, I have only done with you."

"It's stupid, I don't know why I'm feeling insecure about it," I lied, chewing on my cheek .

"You've just had sex for the first time. With your instructor, no less. Whether people think it is a big deal or not, it effects some part of you deeply, and I think it is normal to feel insecure about such a thing…you're only twenty. I don't expect you to be some wizened woman when it comes to this."

I cast him a glance from beneath my lashes. "So, what of those girls this morning? The ones who came early and were practically banging your door down?" I drank the remaining wine like liquid courage.

"Hey, look at me."

I did, my back teeth grinding in preparation for the blow I knew was coming. Maybe it would have hurt less if he hadn't been well, my first. Maybe I wouldn't have cared so much if I wasn't such a fucking virgin.

"I've never slept with a student. That is not something you ever need to worry about. You are the first student I've ever contemplated pursuing any sort of relationship with outside of the classroom." Ambrose's fingers tucked a lock of hair behind my ear and I hated to admit to myself the relief. "The women I have been with have never been anything more than a casual fling, I simply don't allow myself to get too close."

"Why?" I mouthed. Emotion built behind my eyes in relief. I had expected him to have slept with someone before, but another student? The very idea made me feel…unclean.

"That's a conversation for a different time…" Ambrose exhaled deeply, gathering the dishes for the tray.

My hand came over his and butterflies danced in my stomach at the contact of his warm skin. "You can open up to me, you know."

It was true. I wanted him to allow himself to be free enough to quote Shakespeare in bed over chocolate cake, to tell me all his troubles, his victories, the random philosophical quandaries that popped up in the middle of the night. I wanted him to lean on me when he needed and allow me to give him comfort in my arms. I wanted him to know that he was safe enough to let me see him. Truly see him.

My chest ached behind my ribs, a deep and yearning hurt to pull him into a kiss and keep him here in our little bubble…and that scared me. I couldn't put a name to it, this powerful sensation that had me wishing I never had to leave Oakwood House.

"I feel as though that isn't new information," he said, his smile small and nowhere close to touching his eyes. "I'll be back with a toothbrush for you and we can get some rest. I'll have to have you back at Roosevelt House in the morning."

"I'm staying the night?" I asked, excitement edging behind the strange feeling I couldn't name.

"Of course, you're trapped now, and I'm not ready to let you go quite yet."

He was quick in his errand, returning our dessert for dinner downstairs and bringing back a brand-new toothbrush. We readied for bed together in comfortable silence before crawling into his sheets, side by side.

I hadn't slept with a man like this before, even as a friend, and when his arm curled around my waist and hauled me into his chest I could have positively burst into a series of sparks. His breathing was slow, relaxed, and his legs fit just perfectly in the crook of my own. All was still, a silent haven for only us outside of all the implications of what our relationship would mean when we left these walls.

I laid awake for some time, long after Ambrose's breathing had deepened and his muscles had fully unlocked. It was too late, I knew, but I couldn't miss it. I couldn't let this moment slip away, curled in his arms after what we did. I listened to him breathe, felt the rise and fell against my back, and brushed my fingers over the ink in his skin. My chest was warm and fuzzy, like being drunk but sober and sure at the same time .

At some point, I did fall asleep. It felt for only a moment that I blinked and Ambrose was up, dressed, and shaking me gently.

"Time to get you back home, Vivian," he murmured, a steaming mug in his hands. A black one, like the first day we quite literally ran into one another.

I smiled groggily but winced. My brain pounded against my skull from lack of sleep and my whole pelvis ached. "Come to spill your coffee on me again?" I croaked through a cracking throat.

"Oh yes, I find it to be part of a new mating ritual. Ensnares the loveliest women," he joked with an angelic smile. I laughed as I sat up, scrubbing the sleep from my eyes. "It's actually for you, I already had a cup. Couldn't bring myself to wake you until absolutely necessary."

His kindness touched that throbbing part of my chest and I brushed the sensation away, taking his mug with gratitude. "Thank you," I muttered, cheeks warming. Even before I sipped the coffee I knew it was sweet, the color was significantly lighter than what I normally drank, and when I did finally brave a taste it was almost like dessert. "How many sugars do you put in your coffee?"

"Enough to enjoy it." He grabbed a cigarette, lighting it between his teeth. "I prefer sweet coffee, probably influenced by my mother. She'd buy those dessert flavored creamers and completely drown her morning coffee in them. But beyond that, I have come to believe that life is too short for shitty coffee and shitty food. We are but a fleeting blip in the grand scheme of life and I want to enjoy everything I can. Even if that means I use four sugars in my coffee."

"It never ceases to amaze me how much of a poet you are." I gulped more of it, eager for its caffeine to kick in and ease my headache.

He chuckled, rising on his long legs. "Get yourself dressed and let's partake in this walk of shame before anyone spots us."

Ambrose walked me back to Roosevelt House in the gray mist of an Autumn morning after feeding me toast and eggs. There had been a shift, a tangible one, in a direction I didn't quite comprehend. He kept his hands to himself on the way home, which cut deep into my heart. I wanted him to touch me. I wanted to know he didn't harbor any shame for what we'd done.

Instead, he walked beside me, talking of his childhood here on the grounds and how he was constantly hiding in the woods from his parents.

And my soul ached to see him like that—carefree and happy, a part of the university so much as the buildings themselves.

When we finally reached Roosevelt House, the first trickle of morning light began to filter through the fog.

"I suppose I will see you later this evening," he said, fists plunged into the pockets of his wool coat. "At the library."

My heart sank to think that I had a full day ahead of me without him. "Thank you. For everything—last night and this morning. It…means a lot to me."

Chilled fingertips came over my cheek, under my chin as he tipped my head up, pressing a tender kiss to my lips. "I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't regret last night," he susurrated.

"What?" I balked, pulling away. A new icy rush leached under my skin, sharp and jagged.

"I feel…guilty in a way, Vivian. You are my student and not only did I sleep with you, I took your virginity . What does that say about us, about me?" He ran a hand through his hair, pulling his cigarettes out for a smoke. "I just…feel like I made a mistake taking that moment away from you, soiling it in the way I have?—"

My hand clasped over his mouth in a panicked frenzy. "Stop it. You didn't soil anything. I made that decision as much as you did and I don't regret it. Not for a minute. You said so yourself last night, I was in control. Not you, me ."

"You're so young," he muttered beneath my palm, eyes pained with his regret. "It should have been someone your own age. A lacrosse boy or someone with a billion dollar trust fund."

"I am young but that doesn't mean I'm incapable of understanding the consequences of my actions. Have you forgotten the opportunities I have had to sleep with someone, probably with a sizeable trust fund and on some stupid sports team, but I chose you ?" I released his mouth. "We had sex last night because we both wanted to." I chewed my lip, suddenly unsure. "Right?"

"If you're asking if I wanted to fuck you, you already know the answer to that." He puffed on his smoke, misty eyes scanning the grounds.

My shoulders slaked with the weight that lifted. "Then there is nothing to regret. I had the time of my life last night, Ambrose. I would do it again, every time."

He flicked his half-smoked cigarette, sighing heavily. "Alright." Although he acquiesced, I could tell it still bothered him, the turmoil raged behind the wide rim of his glasses. "You won't forget about me then?" A teasing smile unfurled over his mouth.

"How could I?" My lashes fanned my cheeks and my heart exploded into a gallop.

You are everything, I thought.

"‘O, teach me how I should forget to think.' "

I kissed him again, splaying my hands on that broad chest to give a soft nudge. "Get out of here before someone sees you."

Ambrose laughed, taking my hand and giving a dramatic bow. "My lady, till morrow." And he left, disappearing into the mists that surrounded the desolate Roosevelt House.