Passionate History (6 page)

But he’d contemplate that later. Now he rushed, not letting her come down from her orgasmic high, but widening her legs farther. He paused for a moment to don a condom he fished out from his bedside table. With an arm on either side of her, he anchored himself to the bed then pushed into her to the hilt. Her passage, drenched with desire, stretched as he entered her. She clenched around him, and shockwaves of pure elation pounded through him. He stroked in and out firmly, until they had a tempo going. When his mind cleared a little bit from the heaven of his cock sliding against her gorgeous wet pussy, he kissed her with all the fervency of a monk worshiping his god.

She matched him with her kiss and her touch against his back, his chest, his hair. Everywhere she touched left him burning, made him want to thrust into her as fast and as hard as he could until their bodies fused like two silver pieces soldered together in perpetual bliss.

He was almost too lost in the moment to remember what he’d said about wanting to see her face when she came, but he knew, when her eyes closed and her lips parted, she was nearing the edge. He had to go with her over the cliff. He pumped himself dry inside her, feeling her clench around him, watching her mouth move, realizing belatedly the sound she was making was his name, like a benediction, and he was crying out, too, her name over and over, a mantra of need, of hope, of joy, of lust.

Then he collapsed on top of her and the only sound was their breath, ragged and heavy, and the rain hitting the windowpane.

When the dust had settled, she’d finally removed her now very damp and sticky skirt, and Aidan had emptied half a box of tissues tidying them both up, Bree allowed herself a moment of panic. She was naked, in sheets that smelled like Aidan, her body limp with exhaustion, her pussy swollen in the best way possible from two consecutive champion orgasms. Their heart-to-heart and sexual tension had led to the most intense erotic experience of her life. Going into the day, she hadn’t exactly expected that.

The man in whose bed she lay was a cipher. He acted so reserved and buttoned-up in the real world and then turned out to be the most sensual, intuitive, passionate lover she’d ever known. She feared he’d be the best she’d ever know. And where did that leave her? He’d be fine; he only had to find another lucky girl who would worship the ground he walked on once she discovered he was a sex god disguised as a stuffy professor. But Bree would always be looking for someone else who could make her feel supremely feminine and supremely powerful and supremely satisfied all at the same time.

You could stay with him
, a tiny but persistent voice in her head told her. She could apply for the graduate program and, in the meantime, get a job, maybe at Weston, maybe substitute teaching in the village. There was an outdoor school not far away. She could probably get work there in a minute if she tried.

But why? Because of Aidan? To be near a man? Following a guy was the one thing she’d never done in all her years of exploration and traveling. She always went someplace because she wanted to go there, stayed because it suited her needs.

If she needed Aidan more than she needed freedom, what did that mean? Who was she, then?

Difficult to think critically when one was jet lagged and in a post-sex stupor. Aidan had disappeared, but when he came back, she really ought to dress and leave, no matter it was the middle of the night, or she had no car, or the rain hadn’t fully stopped. The cold, dark campus outside couldn’t break her heart. And she was afraid she was falling in love with her art history professor. If she didn’t leave now, she might never be able to summon the strength needed to walk away from the most sublime lover, the most magnificent man, she’d ever known.

She was half in, half out of the bed, reaching for her clothes, when Aidan appeared in the doorway. He was dressed solely in a pair of running shorts, and she stared for a long moment at the smooth plane of his chest and his powerful legs. She always thought of him in conservative Oxford shirts and chinos. The man wore loafers, for goodness’ sake. But he clearly did more physical activity than just hiking. He wasn’t brawny but smoothly muscled, without an ounce of fat on his frame. His waist tapered sensually, and reddish-blond hair dusted his arms and chest. She was so caught up in her perusal she forgot she was trying to make her escape.

“Going somewhere?” he asked lightly, coming into the room and offering her a glass of water. She shook her head and settled back into the bed.

“No, I was…no.”

“It’s still raining,” he said, sliding under the sheets next to her. “And I’m reasonably confident if I rehydrate….” He wrapped an arm around her waist and hugged her to him, kissing the side of her neck to indicate where the rest of that sentence was heading.

“Really?” Her voice came out breathy rather than flippant. How did he make her so needy and vulnerable?

“I don’t want to let you go,” he said into her hair.

“You don’t?” What did he mean?

“The last time I did I didn’t see you for five years. I don’t want you to disappear on me again.”

“That was bad manners. I’m sorry.”

He laughed. “You’ve been driving me crazy since I met you, whether or not you were near me. I like my chances better when I can keep my eye on you.”

Bree’s heart clenched. She liked him so much. She was unable to keep her head around him. Being wrapped in his arms, in his bed, on a rainy summer night, was the most marvelous feeling in the world. But how did she know being with him wasn’t another one of her spontaneous decisions, fun for a while until something else caught her eye?

She rolled over so they were face to face. “I feel like we’ve done this all inside out. We’ve never even been on a date, but we’ve had the most incredible…and I feel like I know you because we spent so much time in class together, but I don’t know anything about you, really. Can we talk a little?” Then she laughed because she sounded like the stereotypical woman, wanting her sex with a side of conversation.

“What do you want to know?” He didn’t seem fazed in the least.

“Oh, um.” She brushed an eyelash off his cheek. “Sorry. I got distracted. What’s your family like? Why did you move to Massachusetts? What’s your favorite work of art? Do you have any diseases I should be aware of? Though I realize it’s a bit late to be asking about the last one.”

He laughed and kissed her nose. The casual intimacy caught her right in the gut.

“Those are pretty big questions. Let’s see. My parents are divorced. My mother lives in Perth. My father is a professor at the University of Edinburgh. Poetry. I’m an only child, but my cousins and I are close. I moved to Massachusetts because teaching at a college like Weston is all I’ve wanted to do since I first sat down in Art History 101. I like the liberal arts community. Tight knit, great conversation, decent food, tolerable weather.

“I’m healthy as a horse, and my favorite work of art…that’s a tough one. You’ve got to narrow it down to a continent or time period or something.”

“All right, I’ll go easy on you. Your favorite Italian Renaissance painting.”

He sighed. “Oh, yeah, dead easy. Probably something by Raphael. Maybe he’s an obvious choice, but he had the ability to capture transcendence in a simple way. Not to mention the colors. They’re just…holy.”

“I know what you mean. There’s a reason he’s considered a master. I love Raphael.”

“I’ve been planning a trip to Florence for late summer. It can be crowded then, but I know about this splendid apartment a friend of a friend owns and you would love.…” Aidan let his voice die out, and Bree sighed to cover up his obvious discomfort at the realization he’d been about to get ahead of himself.

“It sounds lovely. It’s been ages since I’ve been to Florence.”

“Bree….”

“Yes?”

“Never mind.”

He sounded suddenly serious, and Bree didn’t want this magical interlude to be over.

“It’s your turn. To ask me questions, I mean. It’s only fair.”

“All right. I’m not feeling particularly creative. Back at you.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m from Connecticut. My parents live there—they’re both lawyers. My sister’s in law school. I’m the black sheep of the family.” She smiled. “Not really. My parents are super supportive of me, always have been. They want me to be happy. Which is great, unless you don’t know what will make you happy. But I’m working on it.

“I actually came to Weston for the film department, but I took an art history class second semester freshman year and I was hooked. I’m allergic to penicillin, and I’ve broken both my arms, but that’s the extent of my medical history. And my favorite work of art…hmm, that is a tough one. Sorry.”

“I had to answer. Don’t chicken out.”

“Let me think about it.” She leaned over to press a kiss to his lips. “I might need some time….” She planted one on the corner of his mouth, and another on his lightly stubbled chin. “So, in the meantime….”

He laughed, and pulled her underneath him. “You’re stalling.”

She thrust her chest up, so her nipples grazed his pectorals. He lowered his gaze to her naked breasts, then back up to her face, eyes glowing with admiration and lust.

“So, help me stall.”

Aidan wasn’t much of a morning person, but this morning seemed particularly harsh. He was in bed with beautiful, stunning, naked Bree, and leaving was the last thing he wanted to do. But he was expected on the green at ten sharp, and he needed all the brownie points with the tenure committee he could muster. He was a little surprised she had stayed with him all night, even though he’d done his best to wear her out. At moments, she’d seemed like a nervous rabbit that might bolt at any second. After more mind-blowing sex, they’d stayed up talking for hours. Which might be another reason why the prospect of heaving up out of bed and sitting through yet another epic commencement ceremony wasn’t very appealing.

Lucky he’d woken up with…he squinted at the clock by his bed…an hour to spare. Time enough to shower and eat something. He felt like he could eat a house. Coffee was a must if he was going to make it through the speeches without nodding off. Falling asleep in front of the entire art history department and the president of the university wouldn’t do much to further the seemingly endless tenure process.

Of course, to keep awake, he could always think about Bree. About what they’d gotten up to last night, about all the things he still wanted to do to her, with her. He could think about her smile and her laugh and her quick mind and luscious body. He was more than halfway in love with her. He didn’t think it would take much to make it a full hundred percent. She was more incredible than any fantasy woman he’d ever imagined. He’d declare himself to her right then, but he didn’t know if he could scrape up enough pieces of his pride if she turned him down.

She was still asleep, looking young and sensual, tangled in his sheets. He couldn’t leave her here, carless. He didn’t even know what time she was leaving, or if her plane was today or tomorrow. He didn’t want her to leave at all, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to tell her without scaring her off.

“Bree.” He shook her shoulder. She mumbled and turned away from him. He smiled. She was as overtired as he, and he was more than a bit satisfied with his part in making her so. “Bree, I have to go.”

“Don’t go,” she said sleepily. “I want you.” She turned toward him, and the glow in his heart at her throaty words dimmed a little when he saw she was basically asleep. He shook her a bit harder, and her eyes opened a crack. They flew all the way open when she saw his face.

“Oh,” she said, sounding surprised. “I was…I’m sorry…I was asleep, I guess.”

“Yes, you were.” He smiled. “It’s okay. I wanted to let you sleep, but I have to be at the commencement ceremony, and I didn’t want to leave you stranded.”

“I’ll get up.”

“You’re welcome to take a shower, stay as long as you like,” he said, not totally sure about the etiquette in situations like these. “I’m going to make a quick breakfast before I have to go.”

“Thanks.”

“Do you want to borrow something to wear?” She’d come in last night with little more than a handbag.

“No, all my stuff’s in my car. My clothes….” She indicated the pile of colorful girly items on the floor. “They’ll be fine for now.”

“And what about your car?” He was concerned.

“I’m sure now that it’s light I’ll be able to find it. Silly of me to lose it in the first place.”

“Most people wouldn’t misplace an entire car,” he agreed.

She smiled, but didn’t laugh. “So I’ll be fine.”

He waited, uncertain how to proceed. “Are you, I mean, when’s your…what are your plans for the rest of the day?”

“Oh. My flight’s not until tomorrow morning. I was going to hook up with some friends before they head back home. Maybe go visit my old dorm room. That kind of stuff.”

“Well, maybe we can meet up later?” Why did he sound so unsure of himself? He was thirty-three years old, for God’s sake. “We could go for a hike. Maybe around the pond.” Weston Pond was a nearby spot known equally well for late-night skinny-dipping sessions as its easy hiking trails.

“Oh, uh, sure. I’d like that.”

“Okay.” Maybe the magic of the night was over, or maybe he’d done something wrong without realizing it, but Bree seemed reserved today, and he hated feeling like this ideal woman was slipping away from him.

He knew she responded to him physically. He could have the last word by leaning in, stroking his hand down the back of her hair, kissing her until her toes curled. He wanted a little morning kiss. But if he wanted her permanently, they couldn’t build this relationship on the physical alone.

He had scrambled eggs and toast on the table when she came down, smelling of his soap and wearing the same summery ensemble she’d had on the night before. She hadn’t washed her hair, just put it up in a knot on the top of her head. Strands curled around her face and the nape of her elegant neck. She wore no makeup and looked impossibly fresh-faced and young. Was he deluding himself into thinking she’d want him at all?