LANDON
by Scarlett Edwards writing as E.A. Knight
Coming October 23, 2015
PART ONE
Foreword
1.
I’m Celeste. I’m not exactly innocent, but I’m not entirely a slut, either.
Though some would have you believe otherwise.
I have a few rules that I developed in college:
The first is, never sleep with the same man twice.
That came after my heartbreak with Brad.
The second is that if you must sleep with the same man twice, never spend the night.
That came after my heartbreak with Brad.
The third is that if you must spend the night, never, ever (God forbid) develop feelings.
That—you guessed—came after my heartbreak with Brad.
And you know what? I was doing pretty good abiding by those rules.
That is, of course… until he came along.
PART TWO
Seduction
1.
“I’ve been watching you all night.”
The voice is soft as a breeze rustling through the leaves of an orchard. It’s cool and unhurried, a marked contrast to the wild hollering of the party outside.
I turn around, searching the dark for the man.
I don’t see him.
My fingers tighten around the edge of the counter. I’d come in here to get a breather. I told Summer I was way too tired after my nine-hour flight to hit a party the same day.
She insisted I come anyway.
She promised we’d have fun, that we’d drink and dance and flirt with the guys just like we had back in high school. Then she’d poked me in the ribs in that dismissive way of hers and commented, “You need to live while you’re still young. Clock’s ticking, you know.”
She had no idea how closely that comment had cut.
I agreed, if only to prove her wrong, and she promised to keep me safe.
But I haven’t seen her since she locked eyes with a tall, preppy blonde less than five minutes in, out on the deck.
How she scored us both invitations to a yacht party, I’ll never know.
“Over here,” the man continues. “To your left.”
I follow the sound of his voice. I see his dim outline against a corner chaise. He’s lounging on it, one arm draped over the back.
I wish I could see his face, but I cannot. He sounds sober, unlike the scores of men who’ve been sloppily hitting on me outside.
I, on the other hand, am definitely feeling a little tipsy. I told Summer this isn’t my scene now, but it used to be. I’m no angel. I’ve had my share of sordid hookups and raucous partying and crazy nights that would make the loosest groupie blush.
But I promised myself I would leave all that behind come grad school, especially since I’d be living with my old best friend. After five years apart from each other, I wanted to focus more on our friendship than on random hookups with guys.
Summer, however, seems to have arrived with the opposite mindset.
“Do I know you?” I ask, swinging my head to clear the hair from my eyes.
He swirls the scotch glass in his hand. “No,” he says. “Not yet. And that is what makes you so tantalizing.”
In a single, fluid motion, he stands. His eyes reflect the light. For a split-second, I am spellbound by a brilliant green. “You will soon.”
I cross my arms, deciding the standoffish approach might cut right through his bullshit. So many men I’ve encountered have been the same. They talk a big game, but when push comes to shove, they scamper off like mice.
“Did you follow me inside?” I ask, perking an eyebrow to show I’m not amused.
He strolls across the room, taking the slowest path toward me. He’s not drunk, just… serene. Measured.
My eyes dart behind him of their own accord. He’s also blocking the only exit from the inner cabin.
He laughs. “No,” he says. “But I’ve been waiting for you… to come to me.”
He stops at my side, definitely too close for a simple stranger. But I’m out to show that I won’t be intimidated by him.
I don’t budge.
He puts his glass on the bar. He’s facing it. I’m facing away. If I turn my shoulder slightly, I won’t even see him.
But my hands are right back on the edge and gripping tight.
His hand comes down to the bar, and he places it a hair’s breadth away from my own. I wait for him to speak, unwilling to initiate anything. But I have to admit: the growing silence is making me uncomfortable.
“Where’s your friend?” he finally asks. He lifts his pinky finger and moves it in a short line along my wrist.
His touch immediately gives me shivers. I pull away, too fast, too abruptly, too readily. He notices. I curse myself.
He leans into the bar, then turns and looks at me directly, for the first time. And—I shit you not—butterflies actually come to life in my stomach.
He’s handsome. No, that’s too generic. Too ordinary. This man, whoever he is, is more than just handsome. He is… magnificent.
His eyes are the clearest green I’ve ever seen. Dark lashes frame them. So dark, in fact, that for a second, I think he might be wearing a touch of mascara.
His jaw has the lightest grazing of scruff. His cheeks are smooth, soft, almost feminine. He has a nose that I immediately want to lick—Weird, I know!—and his hair is cut short on the sides and long on the top.
Maybe magnificent was too reactionary. But stunning?
Oh yes, this man is most definitely stunning.
“So?” he asks, his hand coming up to trace the outside of my arm.
I stare at him. I blink. Once, then twice, then over and over in a succession of rapid flutters.
Damn him! He’s turned my brain to mush!
“I’m sorry?” I say, struck dumb by his presence and no less appalled at my reaction.
“Your friend,” he reminds me softly. His hand stops at my elbow. He puts his fingers on either side and tightens his grip, a tiny squeeze, and steers me closer. “I want to know…” His seductive voice is almost enough to make me moan, “… whether she’ll be bothering us tonight.”
And boom! My defenses are right back up.
I twist out of his grip. “There is no us,” I say.
I step back. I glance at the party going on out on the deck. It’s winding down now.
Then, I look back at this mysterious, alluring, albeit very-full-of-himself stranger. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really should go.”
I expect him to protest, or at least try to deny me. He does no such thing. With a surreal grace, he simply pivots on his back foot and offers me an open lane to the door.
“Thank you,” I mutter, grabbing my purse and starting out.
“Of course,” he says. “A gentleman should always respect the wishes of a lady.”
Inwardly, I scoff. I’m no lady. Not by anyone’s standards.
But just as I pass him, he adds, in a casual sort of way, almost a whisper, “Before you leave, however, you should really know whom you’re turning down.”
I stop. He’s baiting me.
I swallow whole, but not in the way he’d expect.
Really, he’s going to pull the fame card on me?
I roll my eyes and make sure he sees it. “Look, you could be the quarterback for the Chicago Bears, and I wouldn’t give two shits. I’m not that type of girl.”
“Good.” He smiles, revealing a perfect row of white teeth. “I’m not that type of guy.”
“Then why mention it?” I ask. “Are you trying to impress me?”
He gives a deep, throaty chuckle. “My dear,” he says, “you are already impressed.”
“Whatever,” I mumble, and turn away.
He catches my arm by the door. “Kiss me,” he says.
My eyes widen. “What?”
“Kiss me,” he whispers. His eyes clash with mine. “And then make up your mind about where you want to be.”
I look away. I can’t let him know it. But it is a tempting offer. I mean, hell, Summer’s off with blow-up Ken doll doing God-knows-what already.
What harm is there in a kiss?
I turn toward him. “Just one,” I start to say, but before the words have a chance to leave my mouth, he’s gripped my face with both hands and sealed his lips to mine.
Wow, I think.
He kisses me with the thunderous strength of a predator. With the complete abandon only affected by the most virile of men. I expected desire, but not… not like this.
It’s a kiss full of passion and lust and life. It invigorates me. It makes me feel whole. It’s exotic and erotic and damn frightening in its intensity.
In short--holy hell does this man know how to kiss.
We break apart. I’m breathing hard. Blood is pounding in my ears. My hands are shaking with need, and my whole body is abuzz.
He’s affected, too. “So,” he starts to say, in a voice less steady than before. “Are you—”
“I want more,” I cut in over him, running on a hormonal high. I grab the front of his shirt and pull him to me. Our bodies crash together. We kiss again.
He pins me to the exit door. We’re locked there in a frenzy of passion. I moan as his hands move up and down the sides of my torso. Mine go in his hair, tugging him closer, and then drop down to his shoulders, to his back. My hands are greedy, clawing into every delightfully sexy slab of muscle beneath his shoulder blades. He spins us around, his hands on my waist. One of them drops away for a second. I hear a distinct click.
He’s locked the door.
I don’t have time to dwell on that as he guides me back, our mouths still glued together. Both our bodies are on fire. I feel the back of my calves hit something soft. It’s unexpected, so I almost fall, but this mysterious, seductive stranger catches me by the small of my back and doesn’t let me go.
The chaise.
His hands move over my breasts, the heated, erotic touch sparking a rush of pleasure through me. He takes the straps of my dress and slips both down my shoulders.
I catch his hands. “Wait,” I say, my head spinning. “This is all going so fast.”
His clear, green eyes sparkle even in the dark. “Do you want this?” he asks. He emphasizes the question by pinching one of my nipples.
“Yes!” I gasp at the jolt of ecstasy that rushes through me. “But—”
“No ‘buts,’” he whispers. “One ‘yes’ is good enough.”
And then he’s lowering me into the chaise lounge where I first spotted him. He makes me sit up. He drops to his knees between my legs. He tugs my dress even lower, so that both my shoulders are completely exposed. The only thing keeping it up is the swell of my breasts.
“No bra,” he murmurs.
“It’s too hot for a bra,” I say, meaning it as a double-entendre.
He smiles and lets the dress fall to my waist.
His mouth latches onto my left breast. I drop my head back and moan. Unbridled pleasure takes me. These breasts were yearning for his touch.
He kisses his way to the other. “These are magnificent,” he says, breathless.
Funny, I think. I had the same thought about you.
He licks a finger and then touches it to my lips. A seductive light shines in his eyes as he trails it down, over my chin, lower, down my neck, lower. He stops it right between my breasts.
“Lie back,” he whispers, and gives me a gentle shove.
I fall into the chair, my back and head supported by the comfortable incline. Cool air rushes over my hard nipples. They’re sensitized by the thin film of moisture his mouth left.
He trails his hands up and down over my body. They move through the gap of my breasts, along the soft skin of my stomach. His touch is electric.
I’ve fully succumbed.
He parts those hands at my waist and draws them over the outside of my hips. My dress is short, oh-so-short, and though I yearn for him to slip his hands beneath the hem, he does not. Instead, he traces them down both my legs, ending at the cute black sandals on my feet.
“I’m going to takes these off,” he says. “Slowly.”
Need is pooling in my core. Every extra second he takes makes it so much worse. I need release.
“Please,” I say. “Don’t.”
My voice comes out high and thin. It’s an extension of the absolute puddle he’s reduced me to.
His eyes meet mine. A devious glimmer dances there. He gives the tiniest tug on my foot. I edge forward.
The movement brings my whole body closer to him. It brings the throbbing spot between my legs closer to his glorious mouth, those full, luscious lips.
“Don’t what?” he asks, teasing me with his words. He takes hold of my leg and curls his fingers around the underside of my calf. He pulls back, caressing me with all the tenderness of a long-time lover, of a violinist drawing back his bow.
His touch elicits an unexpected shiver out of me.
“Don’t… take these off?” He runs one finger over the exposed arch of my foot. Goosebumps immediately. “Or—” he props my leg up on his shoulder and turns his head to rub his cheek against the side, “—don’t go slow?”
“Don’t go slow!” I gasp. I’m burning up. Taking the initiative, I plop my other foot on his other shoulder, giving him direct access to where I need him most.
“Mmm.” He turns and looks at me. The look is smoldering hot. The desire in his eyes makes me all the more turned on. His gaze trails up my legs, between my legs—He bites his lip and swallows down his lust when he sees my blue lace panties—then up my body, over my breasts, and finally to my face. “Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to touch me!”
“Touch you?” he muses. “Where?” His hands start rubbing back and forth on the spot just below my knee. “Here?”
“Higher!” I gasp.
“Hmm.” He scooches forward. His head is right between my knees. His hands are caressing the smooth skin of my thighs. “Here?”
“Higher!” I plead, reckless, all inhibitions forgotten.
“Oh, I know.” He moves even farther up. Tenderly, he lifts the hem of my dress up. Now all the cloth is bunched up around my naval. “You want me to touch you…” He brings his face right next to my pussy, licks his fingers, and presses those fingers against the moist fabric, “…here.”
“Good God, yes!” I exclaim.
He takes a deep breath. “You smell divine,” he murmurs. Then he curls two fingers into the lace waistband. “You want me to take these off?”
I give a muffled moan, and eagerly bob my head.
“Say it,” he hisses, his voice threaded with lust. “Tell me what you want me to do. I need to hear it. So there’s no confusion.”
“I want you to take my panties off, goddammit!” I all but scream, consumed by an absolute torrent of need.
He rips them down and latches his mouth onto my pussy. His tongue darts out to flick my clit. I drop my head back and emit a wordless cry. He sucks and kisses and laps me. Every single one of his motions sends lashes of pleasure whipping through my body.
Holy Christ, he’s good with his mouth!
Then he breaks off and ducks closer to me. I writhe in pleasure. He hears my moans, feels what I like, notices what I don’t, and focuses his attention on the things that make me crazy.
I lift my head for a second to see him and am struck by the sheer erotic force of the image.
This man with the wonderful, green eyes. This complete, handsome, male paragon of a stranger, bowed to his knees between my legs, boxed in by my smooth, tanned thighs and the little blue ribbon of my panties behind his neck. Focused solely on me. Dedicated entirely… to me.
Then his tongue hits a particularly sensitive nerve ending, and all thought is lost as pleasure takes hold.
He brings his fingers into it. He spreads my lips and licks up and down my folds. I buck my hips upward, forward, into him, rolling with the sinful sensation.
His fingers plunge deeper. I gasp. Two becomes three. I screw my eyes shut and squeeze my legs around him. Those fingers pulse into me, in and out, in and out, in perfect rhythm with the tongue that continues lapping at my clit.
I can’t… Oh God! I can’t hold off anymore. I feel the climax coming. My hands tangle in his hair, and I start to gasp. “Yes. Oh yes. Fuck yes. Faster. Faster!”
Just before the wave crashes into me, I’m struck by a stunning realization:
He’s made me come, and he’s still fully clothed.
Then the orgasm takes me and extinguishes all conscious thought. I ride it out on his fingers and his movements and his tongue. The wet sounds the combination of the three makes beneath me is exhilarating and thrilling and oh-so-hot. So damn naughty. Somehow… almost forbidden.
And when I rise from the depth of the climax, I open my eyes to find him—this beautiful stranger without a name—hovering right above me.
“That was number one,” he whispers softly, his mouth so close to mine I can feel his breath on my lips. I can smell my pussy juices on his lips. “You stay the night, and it’ll be the first of many, many, that I’m willing to give you.”
I smile at him in a crooked, languid sort of way. Some of the alcohol’s gone to my head, I’m sure. Nevertheless I’m certain of what I want.
“I’ll stay,” I tell him, fingering the buttons on his shirt. “But only—” I tug on the V-shaped neckline, “—if we get you naked stat.”
2.
I wake up the next morning more content and happy than I’ve felt in ages. I stretch my hands out to either side. I just had the most wonderful dream of hot, steamy sex…
But when my hand brushes against the living, breathing body beside me, my eyes shoot open. I’m presented with a room I have absolutely no recollection of entering.
I look over to my side. There’s the man from my dreams. Slumbering blissfully away, half his upper body exposed by the cover tugged down his chest.
Cautiously, I reach out and poke his shoulder once. He doesn’t stir. He’s out cold.
So, not a dream, then, but reality.
I smile.
The bed sways. The motion is so unexpected I nearly topple over. What’s the bed doing swaying?
And then I realize: We’re still on the yacht. And the unfamiliarity of the room flows away as the memory of last night reveals itself to me. He pulled me up here after the party wound down. Holy hell, and we had spectacular sex. He made me come, again and again, and again…
And I wasn’t so bad feeding him his desires, I think with a mischievous, devious grin.
I look around the room-that’s-not-a-room. It’s the epitome of luxury, with white leather and polished, lacquered wood everywhere. This is the captain’s quarters. Which means that—holy shit, it means I slept with the yacht’s owner!
But who is he? I rack my brain for a name. None comes up. When I think of last night, all I remember is our bodies, clashing with each other, consumed by each other, hot and ready for each other…
I look over at him. He’s sleeping with his mouth open. A snorer. Damn, but he looks good naked. I want to lean over and run my tongue along the contrasting hard and soft contours of his face.
I poke him again. Hard.
He doesn’t give any indication of having felt it.
Well, then I’m safe to make my escape. The worst thing is when you try to sneak out and the guy wakes up while you’re fishing for your clothes on the floor. “Awkward” doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Trust me. I’ve had plenty of experience in college.
Well, I think on a sour note as I get up and look for my dress, so much for acting the good girl.
That was part of the promise I made myself when moving in with Summer. The wild spirited girl I had been has no place in grad school—not if I want to have a chance of developing a serious career.
Maybe my true reformation will start when the semester begins. I’ve still got a few weeks to go before then.
Besides, what’s one more sinful night when compared to the memories of so many others?
“Good-bye, beautiful stranger,” I whisper from the doorstep, blowing him a kiss.
I ease the handle open and step out on the deck into the glorious, late-summer Chicago sun.
3.
Two weeks later, I grudgingly conclude that “one more sinful night” was not just “one more sinful night.”
Every time I’ve closed my eyes since then, visions from the yacht have filled my mind. Memories of seduction in the dark. Remembrances of the stranger’s sure, strong hands on me. Flashes of the moans he conjured out of me. Glimpses of his green eyes, hints his pleasure in the dark. Ecstasy…
“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”
“What?” My eyes pop open. “Who? And no, I’m not.”
Summer gives a knowing smirk. “Your mysterious seducer the night of the party,” she says, elongating each word with a teasing twang. “Your knight in shining armor. The man you’ve been pining for ever since.”
“I am not—pining!” I tell her. I grab the iced mocha from her hands and take a long, greedy pull on the straw before she can wrestle it back.
“Great,” she mutters, shaking the half empty cup at me and trying to guilt me with her eyes. “I blew eight bucks on that! You owe me four.”
I laugh and nod at the exit door. “Should we get going? First day as grad students, we don’t want to be late.”
“Cheers to that,” Summer acknowledges, raising her cup in salute. She puts it down on the table and starts for the exit.
“Wait,” I call out, glancing at her drink. “All that, and you’re not even going to finish your drink?”
“Nah,” she says with a wink. “I was just trying to make you feel bad.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” I say sarcastically, making a big show of rolling my eyes at her.
This time, she laughs and pulls me up by my elbow to follow her.
***
“Ugh,” Summer announces, plopping down on the couch in our two-bedroom apartment. “What a fucking day, huh?”
I collapse next to her. I kick off my sandals and rub the backs of my feet. “Whose grand idea was it not to rent a car? ‘We’ll walk everywhere together,’ you said.”
She glances at me. “Well, it’s not exactly like I let you down,” she says. “I share in your misery.”
“I know. I know,” I mumble. I take a deep breath and wiggle into the fat cushions of the couch. “How far do you think we walked today? Ten, fifteen miles?”
“Try fifty,” she groans. She rubs her hands over her eyes. “I need a comfy bed where I could sleep for days.”
“Mmm,” I say. “That sounds nice. I need a hot bath, a cold drink, and…”
“…a fucking orgasm,” we finish together, right on cue.
We look at each other and laugh.
She stands up. “But really,” she says. “I need to pop some Advil or something. My head’s killing me after all that walking.”
“And they say fresh air is good for you,” I scoff. “Fucking liars.”
She eyes me sideways. “You curse like a sailor.”
I show her all my teeth in a vicious grin. “Who do you think I picked it up from?” I ask.
“Oh no! Don’t blame me,” she warns. “Your cussing’s just as bad as mine, if not worse.”
“You just give me freedom to explore my true potential,” I quote, relishing that bullshit line from our high school graduation six years ago.
She snorts a laugh. “You remember that?”
“How could I not?” I ask. “I’m the idiot who gave the damn speech.”
“Yeah, but who wrote it for you?” she reminds me, taking a bite out of a fresh green apple. The juices squirt down her chin.
“You did,” I admit. “Well, in truth, we wrote it together. We thought we were such hot shit back then, didn’t we?”
“All the boys seemed to think so,” she says longingly, twirling a finger through her golden hair.
I wish my hair were as pretty as that, I think in a vapid, self-indulgent moment. Mine’s all black and stiff and frizzy. No matter what products I use or how many stylists I try, nothing’s been able to transform it to look like Summer’s luscious curls.
“Ah, but it was all an illusion, or don’t your recall?” I remind her. “We made ourselves seem invincible. Untouchable. We could have had any guy in our class.”
“I know,” she says. Her eyes twinkle. “Did you ever take advantage?”
“Well, I went out on a lot of dates, remember? We both did. We had dinners paid for, movie tickets bought…”
“I mean, did you ever sleep with one of them?”
I almost burst out laughing. “In high school? God, no! But I more than made up for it in college.”
She gives a sly smile. “I know. That’s why we’re going to have such a good time together, reunited after all these years. Can you believe how long it’s been? Or that here we are, living together?”
“I told you we’d make it work,” I say. “What astounds me is we’re two literature students, for crying out loud! Shouldn’t we be talking about, I don’t know, the social repercussions of Nabokov’s Lolita?”
She scoffs a laugh. “Yeah, right. You try pulling that shit on me again I’m kicking your ass out faster than you can say, ‘hyena.’”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “What?”
“Hyena,” she quotes. “A doglike, nocturnal mammal of Africa that chiefly subsists on carrion.”
I look at her for a long moment… and burst out laughing. “Where’d you get that, the dictionary?”
She pretends to be affronted. “I took a zoology course at Berkeley. While you were off in la-la land earning your liberal arts degree, I was actually learning.”
Then she sighs. “God. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking man who could make me come on demand.”
“You think such a mythical creature exists?” I ask. I think back on all my sex-capades in college… all the experiences which have given evidence to the contrary.
Except for one stranger on the yacht, I think. I wish I hadn’t been in such a hurry to disappear. Then again, if I had stayed… I doubt he would have wanted anything to do with me. That’s why I left. It was a one-night stand. One sinful night. Nothing less. Nothing more.
Besides, I have my rules.
“Anyway,” I continue, brushing the memories aside. “You’d have better luck reaching into your Kindle and plucking out a hero from one of those mommy porn books you so adore.”
“Hey!” She scowls. “Don’t knock Sylvia. She writes hot shit!”
“I heard,” I tell her in a conspiratory voice, “that your favorite author is actually a guy masquerading as a woman. I heard, that he’s actually past fifty, balding, and overweight. I heard he plays StarCraft all night while munching on Cheetos and that the crumbs give him one of those, you know, bright orange mustaches.” I stick a finger above my upper lip and bring my eyebrows up. “I heard he gets a kick out of having legions of female fans, and when he’s lonely, gets off by jerking off to the profile pics they all have accompanying their reviews!”
“Umm, gag,” she says, sticking a finger down her throat and making the appropriate noise. “That’s disgusting. Don’t ruin Sylvia for me!”
“Well, why else do you think she never shows up to conventions?” I tease.
Summer claps both hands over her ears. “La la la la la, I can’t hear you!”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “You’re so juvenile.”
“And you, Celeste Adams, are a damn cynic. What, you don’t believe in happily-ever-afters?”
“Not in this world,” I say.
“Anyway,” she tells me. “I’m getting some hot water running and spending the rest of the night in the tub.” She gives a crooked smile. “You’re free to join me, if you like.”
“Hmm, let me think about that. How about no?” I laugh. “You know I prefer penises to pussy.”
“Oh, trust me babe, so do I.” She winks. “But in the absence of one, I’m not entirely opposed to the other.”
I reach under the couch and pull out our secret, little, stainless steel box. “There doesn’t have to be an absence of one…” I remind her.
“I prefer my penises attached to male bodies,” she smirks. “Not motorized.” She turns away. “But if you say you’ve got company tonight, I’m not going to interrupt!”
“Hmm.” I caress the lid of the box as I watch her go.
Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad to retreat to the fantasy of the yacht, locked away in my little room.
I wake up the next morning more content and happy than I’ve felt in ages. I stretch my hands out to either side. I just had the most wonderful dream of hot, steamy sex…
But when my hand brushes against the living, breathing body beside me, my eyes shoot open. I’m presented with a room I have absolutely no recollection of entering.
I look over to my side. There’s the man from my dreams. Slumbering blissfully away, half his upper body exposed by the cover tugged down his chest.
Cautiously, I reach out and poke his shoulder once. He doesn’t stir. He’s out cold.
So, not a dream, then, but reality.
I smile.
The bed sways. The motion is so unexpected I nearly topple over. What’s the bed doing swaying?
And then I realize: We’re still on the yacht. And the unfamiliarity of the room flows away as the memory of last night reveals itself to me. He pulled me up here after the party wound down. Holy hell, and we had spectacular sex. He made me come, again and again, and again…
And I wasn’t so bad feeding him his desires, I think with a mischievous, devious grin.
I look around the room-that’s-not-a-room. It’s the epitome of luxury, with white leather and polished, lacquered wood everywhere. This is the captain’s quarters. Which means that—holy shit, it means I slept with the yacht’s owner!
But who is he? I rack my brain for a name. None comes up. When I think of last night, all I remember is our bodies, clashing with each other, consumed by each other, hot and ready for each other…
I look over at him. He’s sleeping with his mouth open. A snorer. Damn, but he looks good naked. I want to lean over and run my tongue along the contrasting hard and soft contours of his face.
I poke him again. Hard.
He doesn’t give any indication of having felt it.
Well, then I’m safe to make my escape. The worst thing is when you try to sneak out and the guy wakes up while you’re fishing for your clothes on the floor. “Awkward” doesn’t even begin to describe it.
Trust me. I’ve had plenty of experience in college.
Well, I think on a sour note as I get up and look for my dress, so much for acting the good girl.
That was part of the promise I made myself when moving in with Summer. The wild spirited girl I had been has no place in grad school—not if I want to have a chance of developing a serious career.
Maybe my true reformation will start when the semester begins. I’ve still got a few weeks to go before then.
Besides, what’s one more sinful night when compared to the memories of so many others?
“Good-bye, beautiful stranger,” I whisper from the doorstep, blowing him a kiss.
I ease the handle open and step out on the deck into the glorious, late-summer Chicago sun.
3.
Two weeks later, I grudgingly conclude that “one more sinful night” was not just “one more sinful night.”
Every time I’ve closed my eyes since then, visions from the yacht have filled my mind. Memories of seduction in the dark. Remembrances of the stranger’s sure, strong hands on me. Flashes of the moans he conjured out of me. Glimpses of his green eyes, hints his pleasure in the dark. Ecstasy…
“You’re thinking of him, aren’t you?”
“What?” My eyes pop open. “Who? And no, I’m not.”
Summer gives a knowing smirk. “Your mysterious seducer the night of the party,” she says, elongating each word with a teasing twang. “Your knight in shining armor. The man you’ve been pining for ever since.”
“I am not—pining!” I tell her. I grab the iced mocha from her hands and take a long, greedy pull on the straw before she can wrestle it back.
“Great,” she mutters, shaking the half empty cup at me and trying to guilt me with her eyes. “I blew eight bucks on that! You owe me four.”
I laugh and nod at the exit door. “Should we get going? First day as grad students, we don’t want to be late.”
“Cheers to that,” Summer acknowledges, raising her cup in salute. She puts it down on the table and starts for the exit.
“Wait,” I call out, glancing at her drink. “All that, and you’re not even going to finish your drink?”
“Nah,” she says with a wink. “I was just trying to make you feel bad.”
“Well, mission accomplished,” I say sarcastically, making a big show of rolling my eyes at her.
This time, she laughs and pulls me up by my elbow to follow her.
***
“Ugh,” Summer announces, plopping down on the couch in our two-bedroom apartment. “What a fucking day, huh?”
I collapse next to her. I kick off my sandals and rub the backs of my feet. “Whose grand idea was it not to rent a car? ‘We’ll walk everywhere together,’ you said.”
She glances at me. “Well, it’s not exactly like I let you down,” she says. “I share in your misery.”
“I know. I know,” I mumble. I take a deep breath and wiggle into the fat cushions of the couch. “How far do you think we walked today? Ten, fifteen miles?”
“Try fifty,” she groans. She rubs her hands over her eyes. “I need a comfy bed where I could sleep for days.”
“Mmm,” I say. “That sounds nice. I need a hot bath, a cold drink, and…”
“…a fucking orgasm,” we finish together, right on cue.
We look at each other and laugh.
She stands up. “But really,” she says. “I need to pop some Advil or something. My head’s killing me after all that walking.”
“And they say fresh air is good for you,” I scoff. “Fucking liars.”
She eyes me sideways. “You curse like a sailor.”
I show her all my teeth in a vicious grin. “Who do you think I picked it up from?” I ask.
“Oh no! Don’t blame me,” she warns. “Your cussing’s just as bad as mine, if not worse.”
“You just give me freedom to explore my true potential,” I quote, relishing that bullshit line from our high school graduation six years ago.
She snorts a laugh. “You remember that?”
“How could I not?” I ask. “I’m the idiot who gave the damn speech.”
“Yeah, but who wrote it for you?” she reminds me, taking a bite out of a fresh green apple. The juices squirt down her chin.
“You did,” I admit. “Well, in truth, we wrote it together. We thought we were such hot shit back then, didn’t we?”
“All the boys seemed to think so,” she says longingly, twirling a finger through her golden hair.
I wish my hair were as pretty as that, I think in a vapid, self-indulgent moment. Mine’s all black and stiff and frizzy. No matter what products I use or how many stylists I try, nothing’s been able to transform it to look like Summer’s luscious curls.
“Ah, but it was all an illusion, or don’t your recall?” I remind her. “We made ourselves seem invincible. Untouchable. We could have had any guy in our class.”
“I know,” she says. Her eyes twinkle. “Did you ever take advantage?”
“Well, I went out on a lot of dates, remember? We both did. We had dinners paid for, movie tickets bought…”
“I mean, did you ever sleep with one of them?”
I almost burst out laughing. “In high school? God, no! But I more than made up for it in college.”
She gives a sly smile. “I know. That’s why we’re going to have such a good time together, reunited after all these years. Can you believe how long it’s been? Or that here we are, living together?”
“I told you we’d make it work,” I say. “What astounds me is we’re two literature students, for crying out loud! Shouldn’t we be talking about, I don’t know, the social repercussions of Nabokov’s Lolita?”
She scoffs a laugh. “Yeah, right. You try pulling that shit on me again I’m kicking your ass out faster than you can say, ‘hyena.’”
I wrinkle my nose at her. “What?”
“Hyena,” she quotes. “A doglike, nocturnal mammal of Africa that chiefly subsists on carrion.”
I look at her for a long moment… and burst out laughing. “Where’d you get that, the dictionary?”
She pretends to be affronted. “I took a zoology course at Berkeley. While you were off in la-la land earning your liberal arts degree, I was actually learning.”
Then she sighs. “God. What I wouldn’t give for a fucking man who could make me come on demand.”
“You think such a mythical creature exists?” I ask. I think back on all my sex-capades in college… all the experiences which have given evidence to the contrary.
Except for one stranger on the yacht, I think. I wish I hadn’t been in such a hurry to disappear. Then again, if I had stayed… I doubt he would have wanted anything to do with me. That’s why I left. It was a one-night stand. One sinful night. Nothing less. Nothing more.
Besides, I have my rules.
“Anyway,” I continue, brushing the memories aside. “You’d have better luck reaching into your Kindle and plucking out a hero from one of those mommy porn books you so adore.”
“Hey!” She scowls. “Don’t knock Sylvia. She writes hot shit!”
“I heard,” I tell her in a conspiratory voice, “that your favorite author is actually a guy masquerading as a woman. I heard, that he’s actually past fifty, balding, and overweight. I heard he plays StarCraft all night while munching on Cheetos and that the crumbs give him one of those, you know, bright orange mustaches.” I stick a finger above my upper lip and bring my eyebrows up. “I heard he gets a kick out of having legions of female fans, and when he’s lonely, gets off by jerking off to the profile pics they all have accompanying their reviews!”
“Umm, gag,” she says, sticking a finger down her throat and making the appropriate noise. “That’s disgusting. Don’t ruin Sylvia for me!”
“Well, why else do you think she never shows up to conventions?” I tease.
Summer claps both hands over her ears. “La la la la la, I can’t hear you!”
I laugh and roll my eyes. “You’re so juvenile.”
“And you, Celeste Adams, are a damn cynic. What, you don’t believe in happily-ever-afters?”
“Not in this world,” I say.
“Anyway,” she tells me. “I’m getting some hot water running and spending the rest of the night in the tub.” She gives a crooked smile. “You’re free to join me, if you like.”
“Hmm, let me think about that. How about no?” I laugh. “You know I prefer penises to pussy.”
“Oh, trust me babe, so do I.” She winks. “But in the absence of one, I’m not entirely opposed to the other.”
I reach under the couch and pull out our secret, little, stainless steel box. “There doesn’t have to be an absence of one…” I remind her.
“I prefer my penises attached to male bodies,” she smirks. “Not motorized.” She turns away. “But if you say you’ve got company tonight, I’m not going to interrupt!”
“Hmm.” I caress the lid of the box as I watch her go.
Maybe it wouldn’t be all that bad to retreat to the fantasy of the yacht, locked away in my little room.
4.
Two days later, at breakfast, Summer is buzzing.
“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” she says. “Do you know what day it is?”
“Um, the third day of classes?” I ask, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
“No, dumb-dumb. Today is the day we get to meet Professor Landon. He’s our first lecturer.”
“Landon? Who’s that?”
Summer’s jaw drops. “‘Who’s that?’ Are you kidding me?”
I eye her bowl of cereal and give a little sigh. I wish I had the metabolism for sugary crap each morning.
For now, I’m stuck with grapefruit and egg whites.
“No. Why? Should I?”
“Celeste, he’s not just any professor! He’s absolutely brilliant. He’s the sole reason I applied to grad school here.”
“Gee whiz, thanks for the confidence boost,” I quip. “And I thought you were here because of me.”
She gives me a dry look. “That too. But Professor Landon? Gawd!” Her eyes go all dreamy. “He’s unbelievable. He wrote a series of books in his twenties--Little House by the Sea? You’ve never heard of them?”
“No,” I say.
“Well you’ve been living under a rock in that case,” she declares. “I’ve been reading his stuff for more than half a decade! My God! Have you really never heard of him? Not even in passing?”
“Not once,” I say.
She smiles. “Celeste, you’ve got to read him. He’s ridiculously smart. The stuff he writes is just… it’s so…” she trails off, and brings both hands to her chest to give a swoony sigh. “It just speaks to you, you know? It speaks to your very soul.”
I offer a sideways smile. “Your soul, or my soul? Whose soul? Everybody’s soul?”
She fixes me with a pointed look. “Don’t tease. He’s also extraordinarily handsome. Like, on some Henry Cavill level shit.”
I give an impressed whistle. “So, he’s hot?”
“Oh, he’s more than hot,” she chuckles. “He’s like, panty-dropping, fuck-me-right-now level of hot.”
“Wait, but I’m confused.” I pick at my eggs and tilt my head sideways. “Do you like him because of his mind, or his looks?”
“Both!” she exclaims. “Check this out.” She reaches into her purse and pulls out a brand new book. I see the name Landon on the spine. “I bought it last night! I want him to sign it for me. Do you think he’d do it?”
“Oh, I have no doubt,” I tell her.
“I also heard he’s teaching an undergrad course this year. Do you know what that means?”
“That… you’ll be competing for his attention with all the younger girls?” I tease.
“No, Celeste. That he’s going to need TA’s to help him out! And guess where he’ll be choosing them from?”
“Names from a hat?” I quip.
“No, dammit! From us. From his graduate students.” She puffs up her hair and readjusts her bra. “I’m going to apply.”
“See, now I’m trying to figure out whether you want to fuck him or work with him.” I smile.
She narrows her eyes at me. “To work. Come on, Celeste, get your mind out of the gutter. Although…” she adds after a lengthy pause, “…if he so decides to seduce me, I won’t be entirely opposed.”
I laugh and push my half-eaten breakfast away. “Come on, then. We should get going if we want to grab good seats for his lecture.”
5.
We’re among the first students to walk into the auditorium for Professor Landon’s morning class. But those who are there have already bunched up together in the front. And they’re all definitely female.
Summer pulls me into the second row of seats, front and center, as close as we can get to the podium without kicking one of the earlier arrivals out. She’s teetering with excitement.
I look around. This is a pretty big auditorium for a graduate class. Stained glass windows let in the sun, coloring it in hues of green, blue, red, and yellow. Combined with the cedar and oak polished interior, this place almost feels like a church.
“So how long before this guy shows up?” I ask.
“He should be here in about forty-five minutes,” Summer says.
“Forty-five minutes? You told me it started at eight-fifteen!” I glance at my watch. “It’s eight-ten!”
She shrugs and gives a “Who me?” smile. “Oops,” she says.
“You mean you got me out of bed almost an hour early so we would wait here for him?”
“I wanted good seats,” she says coolly. “If I’d known those bitches in the front would be here, I would’ve awakened you two hours early.”
One of the girls hears the comment and glances back.
“She doesn’t mean that!” I say quickly.
The girl scoffs and wriggles higher in her seat, trying to cut off our view.
“Entitled, trust-fund brats,” Summer mutters under her breath.
I shoot her a cautionary look. “Play nice!”
“I will,” she says. “For now. But I swear to God, if one of these bitches tries to take my spot as a TA, the claws are coming out.”
The girl in front of us coughs, quite loudly, clearly having heard the remark.
“She thinks I won’t do it,” Summer says. “You tell her, Celeste. I’m no mincemeat.”
“I’m sure there are going to be enough positions available for everyone,” I say softly, trying to diffuse the situation. I place a hand on Summer’s arm.
“Whatever,” she says. “When he sees me, he’ll clearly know I’m the best.”
“Clearly,” I repeat.
She shoots me a scandalized look. “Was that sarcasm?”
“Oh no,” I say. “This is sarcasm.”
Summer rolls her eyes.
“So why don’t you tell me more about these books of his that you so adore?” I ask, steering the conversation to calmer waters.
“What’s there to tell?” Summer asks. She sticks her hand in her bag, takes out his book, and plants it in my lap. “Here,” she says. “You’ve got forty-five minutes. You can find out for yourself. Then you’ll see why I’m not completely crazy lusting after him.”
***
I’m wholly consumed by the book as soon as I hit the second page. I don’t even notice the auditorium fill up around me.
Suddenly, I feel a poke in my side. I look over and see Summer, as excited as a tick at a coon convention.
“He’s coming. He’s coming. He’s coming!” she exclaims. “Look sharp!”
I tear my eyes away from the pages regretfully. I look around me. Every single seat is taken. Even the aisles are crowded.
Wow, I really missed the boat on this guy.
I’m turned back to the stage, taking in the size of the crowd, when a voice comes over the intercom.
“Thank you, everyone, for coming.”
I freeze.
That voice. That calm, controlled, silky smooth, dangerously low voice. I would recognize it again in a heartbeat.
It’s him.
Summer tugs on my sleeve. “Celeste, ohmigod! Look! Look! There he is!”
I turn the remainder of the way forward…
And see my lover from the yacht.
“Oh my God,” I murmur.
I sink down in my seat.
“I know, right?” Summer whispers, mistaking the cause of my disbelief. “Isn’t he fucking gorgeous?”
“That’s putting it mildly,” I mumble.
I bring a hand over my face and try to look as inconspicuous as possible. Jesus! The man’s no more than half a decade older than me, maybe less, and he’s already a professor?
“How old is he?” I whisper.
“What?” Summer gives me a strange look. “I don’t know. Thirty-something? Why does it matter? He’s smoking hot!”
“Excuse me,” he interrupts. He stops and looks right at us. “You two. Is there something you’d like to contribute?”
“Oh, no, no,” Summer titters. “We’re very sorry.”
“I don’t like interruptions in my class.” I can feel his eyes on us, but mostly on Summer. I don’t think he’s noticed me yet. I try to scoot even lower, hiding my face…
“Yes sir, I understand. Sorry, Professor. It won’t happen again.”
I watch, peeking out from under the hand shadowing my eyes, as he gives a tight nod. “Make sure it doesn’t,” he says, and steps back to continue his introduction.
Disaster averted, I think.
“Although…” he begins, turning back to us…
His eyes meet mine before I can hide or look away. Momentary surprise flickers across his features. And then comes a slight, sexy, mischievous, self-satisfied smile.
He turns away and continues the lecture.
“What the hell was that all about?” Summer hisses in my ear.
“No idea,” I lie, feeling my ears burn red.
