Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

I 'd lost track of time while in the library, buried under my books and notes and completely oblivious to the fact that the sun had begun to dive behind the horizon, smearing the library in a hazy orange from the windows above.

In my studying stupor, I forgot all about Dr. Wilder's summoning. With a headache and ink-stained fingers, I blitzed over campus, past students wrapped in warm hoodies and coats on their way to dinner. Faculty buildings lost their cozy lights, one by one.

I cursed myself for forgetting. The afternoon brought with it a stride and little else existed outside of the analysis I crafted on Tennyson. My shoes pounded the brick walk as I ran, chest tightening with the exertion and legs straining to fully extend against the tight fabric of my skirt. Would he be angry with me or would that gentle remorse linger from this morning?

I hoped the latter.

The doors to the English department clanged under my weight as I crashed through them, soles slipping on the tiles while I skidded toward the stairs which I took two at a time. A silent prayer escaped my lips that he might still remain in his room, and I knocked on the door with desperate gasps for air before my hands fell to my knees.

Dr. Wilder tugged the worn, dark wood door open, chuckling quietly as he leaned into the threshold.

"I believe I asked for you to stop by before dinner."

"I'm sorry," I panted, an aching stitch in my side sent my hands flying to apply pressure and ease it away. It did little good. "I lost track of time. Technically, it is before dinner though. I haven't eaten yet."

"I'll take your argument. Come in." He led the way to the door on the other side of the classroom, which opened to a small office situated with another desk almost identical to the one I'd fantasized him doing terrible things to me on.

Two windows framed the wall to the left, bathing the room in the dusky glow of evening. Bookshelves, photographs of London, and diplomas lined every inch of the walls. The room smelled so much like him, tobacco and coffee, ink and parchment.

It was a haven of Dr. Wilder, his desk scattered with various papers and novels, three empty cups of forgotten coffee and tea stood over it all as a mournful headstone of work completed and tired eyes. I realized he had a small bar cart stocked with baskets of coffee grounds and tea bags, and a minifridge beside it I would wager housed milk and cream inside.

Dr. Wilder extended his hand to the leather chair in front of the desk almost as a command to take it, cracking one of the windows. A rush of cool, fresh breeze cleared some of the surrealism of his space and I was immediately grateful for the grounding effect it lent by clearing my mind. My coat slid down the back of my arms as I dropped my bag beside the chair. He took it without a word, hanging it on a small coatrack beside the door.

Reluctantly, I sat. Dr. Wilder did so at his desk and the only light in the room radiated from the faint glow of an Edison style floor lamp behind him. With almost obsessive fascination, I watched as he pulled a pack of cigarettes from a desk drawer and smacked the bottom against the heel of his hand.

"Do you mind?" he inquired, pulling a stick from within and popping it in between his incredible lips. With the end of the cigarette in his mouth, it looked even more tantalizing than usual.

"Not at all." I shifted in his chair, crossing my legs as I tugged my skirt down to hopefully cover anything indecent.

Dr. Wilder lit the end of his smoke, puffing generously. The scent of tobacco intensified until it was thick and heavy in the air and pale swirls encircled the space between us.

It was dreamlike. My lip rolled between my teeth.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Wilder?" I asked after a moment of silence. My heart was scarcely able to slow to a more comfortable rhythm. Not with us tucked into this small room together, the air warm and thick of him. Not when I had only imagined him last night slipping his fingers inside me…whispering heinous and filthy words.

I could have kicked myself for the thought, tearing my eyes away from him as he rolled his sleeves up his forearms, the ink there exposed once more. There was a sort of magnetism--drawing me in, pulling me closer--just under my skin. It hummed nosily, distractingly. Did he feel it, too? Or was I the crazy one?

"Too hot in here?" Dr. Wilder stood, smoke in his mouth, to open the window wider still. It screeched against the wood of its frame.

"It is a touch." Nails bit into the flesh of my palms from how tightly balled my fists were. What the hell was happening? Outside of this stupid school I didn't get so flustered by someone attractive. But Dr. Wilder was different…

A black hole of lust, ripping and shredding me as it yanked me in.

Dangerous.

There lurked there something forbidden, something sinister that watched from the shadows. It would take me and then, it would ruin me.

And I would let it.

"I can make you a tea…?"

"No, thank you. I'm about to head to dinner, I'll get something there."

A pause. "I wanted to express my concern, Vivian. Over your grades."

I leaned back, spine snapping straight at his words. "My grades? I've been acing all my classes thus far, yours included." My grades were the best they'd been in years!

"Yes, you are quite something, aren't you?" He smirked, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth. "I meant your GPA, darling. It's lower than any student I've ever seen admitted to this school in…" His hands flourished through the air and he took the smoke from his mouth to tap its ashes into one of his coffee cups. "Forgive me. I haven't seen a GPA this low in my entire career at this university."

Nausea swirled, wrecking my gut. What was once warm and cozy was now desolate and empty. Ice rushed through my veins at the mention of my GPA, the embarrassment acrid on my tongue. I couldn't move, couldn't force the muscles of my mouth to open and say something. I could only stare in defeat.

My GPA wasn't something I was proud of, but rather a survival tactic I used during my time at NYU.

But Dr. Wilder didn't need to know that. He didn't need to know anything other than the fact that I was here, succeeding, putting in the effort?—

I couldn't breathe and tears burned behind my eyes.

"Vivian? Are you alright? Jesus, you've gone white as a ghost." Dr. Wilder dropped his cigarette and went to the kettle on his bar cart, flicking it on and fetching one of the forgotten mugs from his desk which he tossed the contents of out the window.

He threw a tea bag into the cup as the kettle bubbled to life, tearing open three sugar packets and adding them in. The kettle clicked its finish and he poured the steaming water over top, adding a splash of milk from his minifridge.

It was an intricate ritual, one that felt ancient in this room, well-practiced and…intimate. He set the piping hot mug in front of me.

And all the while I chewed my lip into oblivion, begging the knot to release in my throat.

"Drink," he instructed from beside me. I craned my neck to look at him, but he motioned to the cup. "Come on, Vivian. Don't waste my good tea. Drink."

I did as he bade, scalding my tongue though the rich, coppery taste of English Breakfast was welcome. I hadn't had much to eat or drink today and the tea made that glaringly obvious.

"Good girl. Now." He sat against on his desk near me, one leg propped up. "Your GPA. How'd you get into the program?"

I took another tentative sip to steady myself. "How do you think? My father's a renowned alumnus, he made an exceptional donation and here I am."

"I thought as much." Dr. Wilder ran a hand through his dark hair. "Son of a bitch lied to me."

"Who exactly lied to you?"

"My father. You know the one, the ever-beloved president of the university."

"The Dr. Wilder I assumed would be teaching me Shakespeare," I said with a small laugh. I knew of his father only because of my own. They had been fairly close at one point apparently and Dad still kept up with his old Oakwood group throughout the years—more so since Walt had started attending.

"Lucky for you it was me instead, hm?" He smirked. "I noticed there was an incredible donation by a most generous Mr. Blackfield and did not fancy it was for his son's lacrosse season. When I went through your records, saw your credits from NYU, I suspected it may have been your ‘admission fee.'" Those gray eyes rolled in distaste. "Scandalous. If the media ever found out?—"

"Oakwood is too good to get caught by the media." I spat with abhorrence. Oakwood wasn't squeaky clean, none of these elite colleges were.

"More than you realize."

"I'm not a reflection of my GPA, Professor. I did what I had to do to escape the certain ring of hell I was in." I set his mug back on the desk, immediately missing its warmth against my numb fingers.

"And what ring was that?" He ensnared me again, eyes of deep rainy skies and…something else I couldn't put my finger on.

"The ring where my family demands a level of obedience and control over my life," I snapped. His features remained fixed.

"Ah, so the ninth. I understand and I commend you for your bravery then, Vivian. I know what it means to make choices like that, where the consequences are not only worth it, but necessary for survival." He leaned down, his arm resting on his bent leg. He was so close, every inch of my body came alive with glorious molten heat. Maybe Walt was right. Maybe there was something in the way that he looked at me.

"Is that all, Professor?" My eyes fell to his lips, the slope of his cupid's bow.

I couldn't be making this up, right? Yes, I was a lonely virgin inexplicably attracted to her professor…imagining terrible, naughty, immoral things. But was this normal? For him to look at me like this?

His lips tugged up at the corners. "Not quite. I've also been made aware of a very concerning financial situation."

I cooled immediately, falling back in the chair, not having realized the way he'd sucked me in. I crossed my arms over my chest with a huff. "I cannot imagine what you've heard."

"You've been cut off and your family won't intercede when it comes to your well-being." His eyes snagged lower than my face and for a moment, the heat returned. I knew exactly what he was looking at. I had never been prouder of my curves than in that moment when his gaze caught on my breasts. "Is it true?"

"Mrs. Cocoran, I presume?" My voice was huskier than I intended and his attention returned instantly.

"You'd be correct."

"I'm fine, Professor, really. Walt is helping me out and?—"

"That as it may." He stood, pulling something from the drawer of his desk--a university bookstore bag wrapped around a long, thin object. "It eats at my conscience when you come into class with sopping hair. Last thing you need is to catch a chill, especially as you're devoting yourself so studiously to your work."

"I refuse to accept anything from you, Dr. Wilder." I didn't make to take it, concerned more for the implications—if any—of accepting some sort of token from him.

If not for what others thought, than for myself. I knew myself enough to realize my imagination would run rampant if I accepted it.

"Vivian. Be sensible. The weekend is supposed to be clear, but Monday calls for the torrents of rain again. I've taken the liberty of purchasing the umbrella for you. "

I shifted in my seat. "Don't worry about it. Walt gave me some cash and I'd like to look into working?—"

"Pay me back, then. I don't care. Only, allow me this kindness, please. Put my mind at ease, let me know you'll take it and you won't come to class drenched on Monday."

"Fine." I sighed, bringing the umbrella to my chest. The warmth of gratitude blossomed beneath it. It was a small gesture but one that spoke volumes. "Thank you."

"You're most welcome." His fingers came under my chin, startling me as he tilted my head up to look at him. "Work for me."

"Professor?" I sputtered, his voice had taken on a smokey texture, steering my mind toward utterly indecent thoughts once more.

"Work for me. I'll pay you."

He couldn't have been asking me that. No, I must have misheard him.

"Work for you?" I repeated.

"Yes, darling. You've no money and you seem rather stubborn about taking help, so I'm offering you employment. You can work after classes, a few hours a day, nothing serious. I'll pay you a very competitive wage."

"How?"

He chuckled, "Right. I'm the head of the library department as well as the English department. Mrs. Cocoran came to me with her concerns which we've discussed, and we both believe it could do you, and us, some good."

Something sharp and bright burst through the cold, hollow cavern of my chest. Something like hope, inflating as I came to stand, hands over my mouth. "You're serious?"

Wilder's answering smile was blinding, genuine. "Of course. I don't want to interfere with your homework so?—"

"Yes! Christ, a thousand times yes! "

"Good. I'm pleased you've agreed. If you'd like to start this weekend, you can meet me in the library tomorrow at noon."

"Yes, sir. Thank you so much, I don't know how I can thank you." For the first time in a month, my shoulders fell with relief and it felt as though I could finally take a full breath. Not only was I going to be able to afford what I needed, I was going to do it on my own terms.

Without relying on anyone else but me .

And the freedom of that was bliss.

"Fetch your coat, I believe we may have missed dinner at this rate."

I nodded, walking on cloud nine as I snatched up my bag and made to grab my coat from the rack. As my hand curled over the fabric, Dr. Wilder's own fingers smoothed over mine, tight and unyielding.

"One more thing," he breathed against the shell of my ear. I shivered, enveloped in his scent and tumbling down a very dark chute of desire. My mouth watered at the feel of him against my back. It took everything in me not to press the curve of my ass between his hips. "Do you want me to stop?"

"No." My breath was ragged and uneven.

"You should. You should tell me to let go and run out of this room without looking back."

"Is that what you wanted to tell me, sir?" He was insane if he thought I was going to do that. Not when my body was so magnetically addicted to his.

"No. I was going to say, don't let me hear about you staying out late again. Do you understand?"

I twisted in his hold, coming face to face with his very intense, very stunning features. All right angles and knife-edge lines. Carved delicately, obsessively. A god of knowledge, of desire. Of something earthy and sensual.

Sex .

"Why?"

He angled his head just so and for a moment, I wondered if he'd kiss me. I couldn't be the only one feeling the arcing desire that crackled so sharply between us. Every move his body made, mine begged to follow. To push farther, to bring closer.

"The faculty has…gotten reports of some rather unsavory rumors. Get home early, or I'll ensure you do." His words were a velvety threat, caressing down my front like a lover's kiss.

"Perhaps I'll try my luck," I murmured, tongue coming over my lip.

"Vivian," he warned, the pads of his fingers slid over the length my wrist. Could he feel my thrumming pulse? What did he make of it? We were stood, nearly chest to chest, the air around us morphing into something delightfully suffocating, heightening every touch, every sensation.

"Yes? Professor?" The taunt was barely a breath. Dr. Wilder's eyes dilated, and I wanted so desperately to know if he was as hard as I was suddenly fucking wet.

"Get your coat on. You need to get to dinner." His hand traveled down my arm and side, stopping on my waist and leaving me incoherent as I convulsed. His palm was heavy and hot, even through my sweater.

Finally, I managed to bring the coat from its place on the rack.

He helped me pull it over my shoulders, tying the sash around my waist which seemed colder, emptier without his touch.

"Thank you for everything," I said as he led us out into the classroom where he locked the office.

"Don't thank me, I'm merely doing my job."

Right. His job.

My spirits fell until he escorted us down the hallway and out into the night, which had finally fully fallen over campus in a blanket of rich navy.

"May I ask you one last favor, Vivian?" Dr. Wilder's hands shoved deep into the pockets of his own coat.

"I have a feeling you will regardless of if I say no." A chilled breeze sent my skin scattering in goosebumps.

Dr. Wilder paused, staring me square in my face.

"Stop wearing those damn skirts."