Chapter 14

Chapter Fourteen

I scaled the stairs as quietly as possible, coming before my dorm room door and slipping the small, bronze key inside the lock without so much as a squeak of the stairs.

Sam's door opened, her hair wound around a heatless curler and she leaned against the threshold with nothing but curiosity sketched into her delicate features.

I stilled, refusing to make eye contact.

What could I say? Excuses spun a million miles an hour in my head but my mouth merely hung open.

My hair was a mess, I was dressed in clothes from yesterday, and I knew I smelled like cigarettes.

Like Ambrose.

Sam cleared her throat, the sound breaking the heavy silence of our floor. "Well? Let's hear it."

"Are you my mother?" I accused, opening the door and hurrying inside. Sam grabbed it before I could shut and lock her out, inching herself in to join me. I grumbled, tossing my shoes and coat in front of the armoire to dig around for fresh clothes.

"What happened last night, Vivian? I stayed up until nearly four AM to make sure you got home okay, and this guy came around looking for you at like, one! What's going on? Did you guys fuck?"

"Who came looking for me?" I asked, avoiding her last question while I pulled the freshly laundered skirt from inside a laundry bag.

"I don't know, some jock, didn't say who he was. Just said he was looking for you . In the middle of the night, might I add." Sam's mouth was bracketed and I felt the smallest twinge of guilt. It could have been Walt. I should have texted him, made sure he was okay.

"I'm sorry you were up so late because of me but I promise everything is okay. We were up a while working on the paper and I ended up falling asleep on his couch." I made for the bathroom to shower.

"Is that so?" Sam's voice didn't adjust in volume as we entered the communal bathroom. "Is that why you look like you've been thoroughly fucked, Vivian?"

"Sam!" I hissed, spinning on the cold tile floor. "Stop it. Stop. We didn't do anything like that."

"You're lying. Why are you lying, Viv? Dr. Wilder? Seriously?" Her hands slapped against her thighs to emphasize her words.

I turned on the water of the shower to let the splatters fill the space around us and stepped in close to her, eyes locked. "Alright. Fine. Yes, we slept together. Okay? It…I don't know if it's going to happen again, so please. I'm begging you, Sam, as my friend can you keep it to yourself?"

"As your friend? You couldn't even tell me the truth about what you two were up to. I see the way you look at each other—everyone does. It doesn't take a genius to figure out that he's fucking you."

"The way we look at each other?" I massaged the returning headache on my temples again. "I don't know what to do."

"I can see that…" She softened slightly. "I just hope you realize what position this puts you in. It's not like he's some random instructor. He's the president's son. Interesting choice for your first time. Was he good?"

The president. His father…their conversation came rushing back to my mind about White Dove and a society.

"What is it?" Sam asked. "You've got this look on your face like something's clicked."

"You know Oakwood is rumored to have secret societies, right?" I intoned. My nails picked at one another nervously.

"I feel like a lot of these hoity toity universities have them." She crossed her arms over her chest.

"I overheard a conversation between Ambrose and his father?—"

"We're on first name basis now?" Sam cracked a smile. "He must be good."

"Shh, listen." I waved her off. "He mentioned something about a society, about a white dove."

"And?"

"And I think…I think that's the secret society. Except, when I tried to research it, I couldn't find anything." I didn't know if I was making any sense as my hands spun in the air like a crazy person.

"Of course, you wouldn't. If the society was real, they wouldn't want any traces of it laying around, would they? I think your best bet is to ask Ambrose. "

I gave her an unenthused look. "This is serious. It's spooky. Who knows what sort of things they do."

"Of course, it is." Another student came in, a young man I couldn't remember his name. He greeted us with a head nod before disappearing into a stall .

"Look, I appreciate you, Sam. But I need you to help me out. If you hear anything?—"

"I know." Sam pulled me into a hug. "I worry. As hot as Dr. Wilder is—and oh my god is he hot—it seems sort of…reckless…what with who he is connected to and all."

I yanked her tighter still into me, settling into the embrace as tears stung my eyes. She was right, it was reckless. A new low for me to disappoint my parents—their dejected daughter fraternizing with an esteemed instructor. Son of the president.

I swallowed the thick knot of shame. "Thank you."

After my shower, I left earlier than one might normally but I wanted to swing by Ambrose's office and tell him about Sam.

And ask him about whatever White Dove was.

The fog was clearing in fine, golden rays of morning light by the time the English Department came into view. I slunk inside the building as quietly as possible, taking the stairs two at a time despite the ache in my core.

When I reached his classroom, both doors were open. I entered on the balls of my feet, coming to peer around the corner into space of his small office.

He stood, exasperated at his desk with spidery hands splayed over a mess of papers. An older gentlemen in a navy suit towered opposite him, muttering sharp words with rigid shoulders.

But as Ambrose's eyes widened and his reply faltered at my appearance, the older gentleman turned. He bore the same steel gray eyes as Ambrose—only more cutting, deadlier. Even behind his well-groomed beard of white the striking resemblance between the two of them was obvious .

The elder Dr. Wilder's stare incited fear, ominous and asserting.

"I'm so sorry for interrupting," I sputtered. "I'll be going."

"Oh no, I was just on my way out, dear…?" the elder Dr. Wilder drawled, extending his hand toward me.

"That is Vivian Blackfield," Ambrose answered through clenched teeth, his spine straightening.

"Ah, Miss Blackfield. Delighted to finally make your acquaintance. Your father has spoken so highly of you." His father joined me in the classroom, offering me his hand which bore a similar ruby pinky ring, much like Ambrose's.

He kissed the top of my own and I gave him the smallest dip of a curtsy in hope it carried the same well-trained demeanor my mother tried to drill into me all these years. It's about respect, Vivian, she said in my mind.

"It's lovely to meet you, Dr. Wilder," I forced a smile, knowing just how much his son detested his presence. Rage practically rolled off of him.

"And how are you liking your time at Oakwood?"

"Very well, thank you, sir."

"I'm pleased to hear. From what I understand, your grades have greatly improved since NYU. It warms my heart to know that our curriculum suits you."

I found Ambrose behind his father, his face red and knuckles strained white.

"It does, very much." More than he deserved to know.

"Yes, well, do keep the younger Dr. Wilder on his toes in class, he could stand to be reminded of his place, couldn't he?" Something knowing shown in those wide, gray eyes that had my weight shifting uneasily from foot to foot.

"Of course, sir." I shrunk down with an acrid feeling similar to one my mother might offer in belittling me.

"If you don't mind, I have a student to attend." Ambrose came beside me, arms crossed tightly.

Dr. Wilder nodded, "I'll call you. Have a wonderful day, Miss Blackfield." His shiny leather shoes clicked all the way out and down the hallway until the sound disappeared. Only then did Ambrose let out a breath and march into his office to smack the bottom of his cigarette pack furiously.

"Are you alright?" I asked, playing with the leather strap of my bag.

"No. You're wearing one of your skirts today." His eyes flashed toward where my thighs met, as if he could see through the fabric itself.

"I am."

"Without any tights?" he quirked an eyebrow, puffing on his smoke.

"Yes," I hedged, heat crawling up my neck and spreading between my thighs. "No tights and no…"

"No what?" Ambrose pressed, nostrils flaring.

"Well, I don't know. It isn't ladylike to share," I teased. "I wanted to come and let you know that?—"

As I spoke, he brushed past me, slammed and locked his classroom door before meeting me in front of his desk.

"Are you listening?" I asked, hands on my hips.

"Join me in my office," Ambrose instructed, motioning toward the small room.

I gave my lip a sharp gnaw, entering the space which had been filled with an entirely different tension moments ago. He took my coat and bag, tossing them in the chair with little regard for them at all.

And then his shut his office door with more force than I anticipated.

"Am I in trouble, Professor?"

"You most certainly are trouble." Long fingers dug into my hips which he used to hoist me up onto his desk, parting my thighs so he could see that I had indeed not worn anything under my skirt. "Fuck, Vivian," he growled, fingers gliding through the arousal there.

The way he said my name was like a hit of a drug, I needed to hear it over and over again.

"Yes, sir?" I was panting already, hands slipping with the paper on the desk behind me. Ambrose fell to his knees, wide gray eyes peering up from beneath my skirt, which he'd hiked up my thighs.

"You are a goddess among men and I am unworthy to be on my knees before you." His tongue struck out, diving into me with reckless abandon. "God, you taste like me," he groaned, dragging his slick, wet mouth up to my clit.

He brought me to a tremble. My nerves were entirely too sensitive and I was hyper aware of every touch, every stroke of his tongue, the way his palms brushed against the soft skin of my inner thighs. He knew exactly what he was doing, his mouth an expert of pleasure.

A knock came from the door in the classroom, but he ignored it, burying his face between my thighs and tossing a leg over his shoulder as he feasted . Every lick sent bolts of fiery gratification up my spine. And the knocking only brought my orgasm closer, only heightened the thrill of what was happening as I threw my head back in moaning pleasure.

I almost wanted them to know.

Ambrose nipped my clit, sucking it into his mouth as he slipped a finger inside me, curling it up toward that very sensitive spot that had me crying out.

"Shhhhh, my darling. Can you keep quiet for me?" he murmured against my pussy, flattening his tongue with delirious pressure. My hips bucked, practically coming alive under his mouth. They had developed a greedy mind of their own .

"I can't," I moaned, a thin sheen of sweat began to coat every inch of my skin. I was so close to coming, if he'd just?—

The door opened outside and another knock came on the very one leading into his office.

I froze, but Ambrose—the bastard he was—smirked, and sucked my clit once more, sending my teeth sharp against my lip to keep from shouting as I began to squirm in desperation.

"Dr. Wilder?" a feminine voice called. "Are you in?"

"I am!" Ambrose answered, slipping a second finger inside. My shoulders melted from my ears as my body welcomed him in.

"You have students lined up down the hall." She tried the knob, but it was locked. "Dr. Wilder?"

I knew my panting was too loud, but I couldn't quiet it. Not while he slowed his tongue to some tortured pace, sending me so far toward the edge I knew I wasn't going to last much longer.

"I'm on the phone, let them know I'll be a moment," he said, moving in for the kill.

"Oh…okay? Um…yes." Her steps receded but not before Ambrose's fingers and tongue worked harmoniously to tip me over the edge, sending an intense orgasm through my body. The desk jerked against the floor as I unwound, crying out once and grinding against his mouth. The release was blinding, tight and hot, and there was no way to control it.

"Ambrose?" The woman called again. God, suspicion colored her tone and I had to be sick to get off on it.

"I said I'd be out in a moment! I'm on an important call!" He came to his feet, wrapped a hand around the back of my neck as my breathing slowed, and brought my mouth to his. He tasted like us, heady and divine sex.

The head of his cock brushed my sensitive entrance and I shivered.

"On my desk, remember?" he breathed against my mouth .

"I do." He ignited my fire once more despite post-orgasmic weak limbs.

There was no warning as he thrust into me. Gone was the tenderness of the night before and my pussy clenched at the searing intrusion. Ambrose hissed between his teeth and the desk legs scraped against the floor beneath us. I tried to moan, tried to scream my mixture of pain and ecstasy, but he took my mouth and swallowed all attempts until the ache subsided and I was awash with molten heat.

I didn't care if there was another teacher behind the door listening to our bodies come together, I didn't care that he had an entire class waiting for him. The only thing that mattered to me in that moment was the way he filled me so perfectly, and the way he brought me to finish so expertly.

My release sent me rigid, pulsing waves of pleasure filled my muscles until I couldn't move anymore. Ambrose's hand never left the back of my neck as he teased my tongue, palmed my breast beneath my shirt, and continued to fuck me so absolutely senseless I was lost in the action itself. His grunts were glorious, burned into my heart for all eternity.

With just this, he ruined me for all other men.

"One more," he growled, thumb coming to my swollen clit. It took him no time at all, the pad of his thumb pressed and swirled, spun me around his finger with precision as his cock slammed into my slick need, filling and stretching.

"God," I moaned, wrapping my arms around his neck and locking into his hair. The orgasm began to coil low in my belly and sent my hips into a rhythm of their own.

"No," Ambrose snarled, the hand around my neck suddenly gripped my jaw. "There's no god here. Only me. Say my name as you come, Vivian."

I was so close, his aggressiveness only exacerbated the tightly wound pressure of desire and so I did. I cried his name into his mouth with yet another climax. And he couldn't hold himself together any longer—at some point between my blinding release and aching end he spilled into me with pulsing throbs. His desk screeched, shifting underneath.

He fell into me and gripped the desk as he reoriented to the room. I kissed his shoulder, covered by his sweater vest, and my hands ran down his lean sides.

"Are you feeling better?" I asked. After his admission of guilt this morning I wasn't sure we were ever going to be in this position.

Ambrose chuckled, pulling his cock from me and I gasped at the absence of him. "I suppose I am. The sight of your bare thighs had me starved." He ran his palms down those very thighs, snagging my breath.

"I didn't come to test your resilience," I murmured adjusting my skirt. He shoved himself back into his trousers and fixed his own garments.

"No? What did you come for then?"

One last light tap came on the door and we froze in unison.

"Dr. Wilder? We've been waiting fifteen minutes, are we good to go?" It had to be a student who asked.

"Shit, stay here. Help yourself to anything," Ambrose muttered with gloriously red cheeks.

I nodded, chewing on the inside of my cheek. This meant I'd miss my humanities class and unease blossomed low in my gut. I came to unsteady feet and almost immediately come began to trail down the inside of my thigh—warm and sticky.

"Oh my god," I laughed. "Do you have a napkin or something?"

Ambrose's eyes zeroed in and a sort of primal longing blazed with the track of our sex. He bent, taking his long fingers and running them up the skin of my thigh, scooping the come onto them .

"Ambrose—" I started, only for him to stand straight once more, a sinister crooked smile on his lovely mouth.

"Open for me," he ordered. I did as he instructed and Ambrose spread himself onto my tongue, a salty mixture of our sex, weakening my knees. "Good girl. Now, stay put. I'll email your humanities professor and let them know you were working on a project for me. Okay?"

"Yes, sir."

"Fuck, I love it when you say that." He ran a hand through his hair, adjusted his trousers and belt, and snuck through the door. "Where do you all think you're going? Sit down and let's begin."

I sat in his leather chair with damp thighs and a pounding headache with every intention of starting on some homework but I was wholly distracted by the way he flew right into teaching, as if my own come wasn't all over his face and cock. As if he hadn't just poured himself into me so savagely that he'd left me limp and heavy.

The tapping of his chalk against the board echoed, and the lulling of his voice seeped into the space around me, stealing the anxiety of what we'd done and every notion of what I'd originally come here to do. At some point—whether due to the lack of sleep last night, or the orgasms this morning—I fell asleep.