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English 2352 {DearestDarling & Dane Stalling}

As soon as Rosalie had reached the first floor, she slipped her phone out from her pocket and quickly texted Jessica. 'The game's back on. Details later.' She kept her friend on mute, dreading the tidal wave of texts that would certainly overtake her phone once she accepted them again. There was so much to tell that waiting until tonight, when she saw her in person, would likely be better.

She found the knight, thanked the librarian at the desk and apologized for Luke dropping it, and cradled it in her hand as she turned towards the stairs again. She had no game plan. Like chess, she wanted to see what happened-- if she pushed this button, what would it do?

There was a part of her that feared what may happen if he decided to talk to the dean about... Whatever this strange engagement could be considered. But to implicate her was to implicate himself, and that made her feel safe. He wouldn't want to admit to stalking her, to inviting her back to the greasy spoon.... To licking her lip, as he had. She pressed her lips together, as she had maybe hundreds of times in the past couple of days, remembering the surprise, the delicious sensation of his tongue swiping her skin. She wanted him to do it again, and again, and again. He had told her to be good, and she had been anything but.

As she ascended the stairs, she caught her professor watching her from the balcony, and she winked at him. He was hooked on her, anyone could see it, and he made little effort to hide it.... This was better than berating him for using her picture in the slideshow, much more effective. She could see Josh talking animatedly to him, and he looked pissed; why?

"For fuck's sake, stop staring at her. Get a grip. If she hasn't quit your class already, get her out. Don't see her again. I'm telling you, if this goes any further than it already has, you're going to regret it." How far had it already gone? He didn't like the look in Luke's eyes.

She was grinning as she reached them, taking Luke's hand, dropping the knight that was warm from her touch, and folded his fingers over it. For an unacceptably long moment, her own hand fell onto his, and even as she tried to keep her cool demeanor, she couldn't ignore the electricity. Her heart was pounding.

"I should get back to my studying," she said, letting him go and bending down to pick up her backpack, where she'd tossed it. She could practically feel his gaze burning into her. "But I'm glad I could return your tie to you." She turned to Josh, smiling warmly. "And so nice to meet you, Professor Harmon. Enjoy your chess game." She was certainly enjoying hers. "Bye."

***​

She waited until his office hours on Thursday to talk to him again. Even if she had properly rattled him in front of his friend, it was only right to give him the chance to apologize for being such an ass, using her picture the way he had. She had beat him there and finding the door unlocked, she made herself at home, opting for his cushy chair behind the desk instead of the one she was meant to sit in. She had borrowed a sundress from Jessica to wear, light pink with eyelets, and her thick hair was pulled back with a dainty barrette. She looked every bit an angel, and she was wearing the lipgloss he liked.
 
Luke played the rest of the chess game badly. Rosalie's hands on his, lingering, kept distracting him and he couldn't see Josh's strategies until it was too late. He spent the rest of the day in a vague state of arousal, and when he got home, Isobel picked up on it and straddled him on the bed, fully clothed.

"Come on," she said, "Remind me why I married you."

She had his pants half off and her shirt over her head. Luke had her jeans unbuttoned and her bra half off. He rolled her over.

"It was for my money," he said, and tugged at her jeans.

"I thought you were going to publish that novel and get rich," she said, grabbing his cock.

"You never read that novel."

He felt the cold begin.

"What's wrong? Don't you want to?" She squeezed him a couple of times experimentally.

"Of course... I just..." He just felt like she liked the fact that he had written something, but she didn't care about what it was, about whether it was any good or not. She didn't care who he was.

"Shit," she said, "I actually wanted to this time."

Luke stared at the ceiling. This was the beginning of the script that had run over and over throughout the seven years of their marriage. Tonight, though, he didn't have the energy to engage with the veiled insult. He dressed again and they ate dinner, awkwardly silent. They watched the news, each from their own chairs and made the same comments they always made. Luke frustrated with the vapid story choice, Isobel angry that the bias was strongly pro-management. This script, at least, had no screaming in it.

----

Luke stopped just inside his office door, Rosalie leveling an amused gaze over his desk. The girl had to push every authority button in the book. Evil, but she looked good enough to eat. He picked up the strawberry in the room.

"What, no lollipop?" he said, grinning as he sat on the love seat by the wall. He dropped his bag next to him and put his feet up on the chair in front of his desk. It was his favorite place in the room. He didn't feel the stress he did when he was in his "real" chair. The office was tiny, covered on three walls with bookshelves. The movers had had to wedge the furniture in. Luke wished there was more space for books, but he could read electronically if he had to. It didn't smell as nice though.

He put his hands over his head and sighed. "Hey, I'm sorry about the stupid Power Point. That was completely out of bounds."

She looked good behind a desk, actually. There was something familiar about that dress. He walked around the desk, walked around Rosalie.

"I've seen this dress," he said, "on a blue haired girl in 19th Century British Lit. Tuesdays and Thursdays. Kind of hard to miss."

He touched an eyelet on the right shoulder with a tiny loose thread. This was the dress.

He crouched down next to Rosalie, leaned over and kissed her full on the mouth. He put his hand on her knee and let it slide up.

"Blue haired girl- she took the picture, yes?"

His hand slid higher.

"Do you tell her everything?"
 
Rosalie liked his office. It was cosy, if a bit cramped, and it made the perfect base of operations for her as she formulated each sentence she would say, each inflection and nuance she would use, and how he would predictably respond to it. She flipped through papers on the desk in disinterest, waiting for him to be done with whatever class he had, tapping her fingernails on top of an old and particularly boring-looking book; there was no free space on the desk.

He seemed to take in stride that she was in his office, behind his desk, in his chair-- in fact, he seemed to be glad for it. Before she could threaten to drop his class if he didn't apologize... He apologized. She smiled, but it wasn't her usual confident flash of pearly whites. He wasn't doing what he was supposed to, and she wasn't sure if she liked that. Not at all.

He crossed behind the desk, her eyes never leaving his until he walked behind the chair. "The blue haired girl is your biggest fan, she'd give anything to be where I am right now." But where was she, exactly? He was supposed to be tangled in her web right about now, but he had turned it on her, somehow.

He crouched down in front of her and she could smell his cologne, a scent she didn't recognize, something with notes of bergamot and vanilla. Mm. She felt hyperaware of the space between them, the rule he was about to break, but instead of pushing him away, she took hold of collar and helped him close those vibrating inches.

This wasn't where the meeting was supposed to go; she had plotted a course and he had torn up the map. The rule... Not that professors probably shouldn't lock lips with their students, but her self-imposed no-kissing policy that had gone unbroken for nearly eleven months. Fucking was easy and fun, a means to an end. Guys could usually understand that. Kissing made things tricky and complicated...

Fuck. He had screwed everything up, and she was letting him.

She gripped his collar hard as she tasted him, coffee and mints, as their lips moved together in a way that seemed familiar and perfect and it made her want more. His hand was on her knee, at the hem of the dress, and he slid his warm palm over her skin, no pretense necessary. They both wanted it.

He pulled away and she released him, fully expecting for him to ask her to leave and beg her not to speak of what had happened... But he didn't.

"She took the picture, yes. She took lots of pictures. All of them with your tie on, and... Lots of them with this off." She slid out her bra from its hiding place, beside her in the chair, and tossed it onto his desk. It was clear from the way her nipples pebbled against the soft, pink fabric of her dress that it had been the one she was wearing, that she had taken it off here, in his office. "Too bad you didn't treat the first picture very responsibly. There was so much more I wanted to show you."

She pushed his hand away from where it was sneaking, rising from the chair and looking at him for a long moment. She had thought she had him figured out... But now she wasn't sure. She reached out, almost tentatively, to touch his tie. The one that she had wrapped around her wrists in the dark of her bedroom, imagining that he was.

"I don't tell her everything. Give me something that I can't tell her." She fisted the tie and pulled him to her as though it were a leash, backing up so that she was sitting on the edge of his desk, nearly level to him. With a sharp jerk, she filled that space again, her lips finding his and hungrily taking what she wanted, sucking on his lips like candy. She had forgotten how fucking nice it felt to kiss, and she wanted to make up for lost time. One hand still held his tie, the other ruffling his hair, properly mussing it.
 
Rosalie's bra tumbled onto his desk, and Luke watched, surprised, then it all fell into place. He felt a smile spread across his face. This girl could get so deep into his head. She pushed him away, stood, pulled him to her again. She pulled him in for the kiss this time.

Rosalie had Luke's tie in a fist, but she didn't need to. He leaned into her, leaned over her, and lost himself in her lips. His hands found her hips, his right hand snaked around her waist as his left hand pressed over her breast, her nipple against his palm.

What other pictures, he wondered, what positions, what looks in her eyes? "I want to see them all," he said, "the blue haired girl's pictures. I want to see the ones that are fuzzy, the ones that are too dark, I want to see the one you didn't want her to take, the one you want to delete as soon as you get out of this room. I want to see them all."

He backed off a little and looked into her eyes, this dangerous angel, and he wanted her. He could taste his desire, his thirst for her. She was within his reach, all he had to do was take her. Maybe that was what she expected of him. Then something turned in his mind. Fuck what she expected. He was tired of having his puppet strings yanked every time she raised her hand or swung her butt or tossed her bra on his desk.

"Yes, I was irresponsible with that picture," he said, smiling, tugging her dress up. "I'll give you a guarantee that anything else you show me will stay with me only."

He pulled, felt the fabric slide up between their bodies. He wondered if she had stashed her panties somewhere, waiting to tease him with them. It didn't matter. He pulled, felt the edge of the dress pull free between them. He slid his hand up her back inside the dress, across the silk of her skin. Her panties matched the bra, pink, innocent, irresistible.

"Turn around," he said, and turned her, almost like he was leading in a dance, with his palm on her back. He pressed, and she bent over the desk. A stack of books slid off and clattered to the floor. He pressed himself against her bottom, so she could feel his hardness through his pants. "Hold still."

Luke reached for a black pen, fine felt tip, uncapped it with his teeth. He found a place in the center of her back and touched it with the tip of the pen. All that expanse of perfect skin, his mouth watered with the idea of it, and he began to write like he had when he was still studying, when he would let his mind go and the words flowed effortlessly and perfect onto the page. The words flowed onto Rosalie's skin, seven lines, and he realized when he was done that it was a poem. Her guarantee. He put his initials at the bottom, then leaned over her, blew on the ink to dry it and to raise her skin. Then he kissed her spine and backed away, reluctantly.

"There's something you won't show your friend," he said as she stood again, "and your guarantee, and your torment." It would be very difficult for her to see what he had written, if she was able at all.

He loosened his tie, slipped it off and tied it in a loose knot around her wrist. Then he leaned in for another kiss.
 
Rosalie dropped his tie as soon as it became evident that he didn't need to be led to her, in fact, she had to prop herself up, palms flat against the books and papers of his desk as he nearly fell on top of her, kissing her as though she were a feast and he was a starving man. His hands closed over her hips and she spread her legs slightly so that he could stand between them, smiling into his mouth as he cupped her breast. She had him. Did he think that she wouldn't tell Jessica about this? Did he think she was some blushing schoolgirl, that she wouldn't kiss and tell? He was cute, she could give him that, but so incredibly naive.

He pulled away and told her how he wanted to see the pictures, and her smile faltered a little. How had known that there were pictures, the ones Jessica insisted on, that she would never have sent him, even if he was on his best behavior? "Sorry, you screwed that up for yourself. There's no way I could send them to you, you might put the next one on a billboard..." And some of them showed her face. Most of them did, actually, especially the ones that Jessica had insisted on taking, just to 'see what they look like'. The ones that she would delete, just to be safe, the moment she walked out of this office.

He backed away, and for a moment she thought he would ask her to leave, but he didn't. They beheld each other, two halves of the same desperate coin, and she took in his ruffled hair, his rumpled collar, the twitch of his lips as he seemed to consider something. He was judging her, and she wanted to know the verdict. Frustrating him would be just as satisfying as pleasing him. Maybe more so. He was amusing when he was flustered at her.

She did nothing to stop him as he took the hem of her dress, easing it up higher, and higher, his warm hands smoothing over her back. Was he going to strip her? Did he even lock the door? She didn't care much if someone were to walk in; she was far from ashamed over her body, but it would probably be mortifying for Luke to be seen fucking one of his students. Career-ruining. She was only looking to have fun, not to get him fired. Not unless he really pissed her off.

That was what they were doing, right? Were they going to fuck? She turned as he asked, bending over the desk, her back arching as she settled into the familiar and delightful position. "If you think I'm not telling Jessica about this, you're dreaming. This is like, her biggest fantasy. I'd be cruel not to..." There he was, pressed behind her, hard and ready... She waited for the sound of him unbuckling his belt... Maybe he would even spank her.

"Hold still." And then she heard a noise that was familiar, but she couldn't quite place it... What the fuck was he doing?

Then she felt the pen press into her skin, digging slightly, but it wasn't painful. He was writing on her. Her thighs rubbed together briefly as she tried not to squirm, muffling a moan with the back of her hand. Why was that so fucking hot? He took his time, each stroke measured and careful, and she closed her eyes to focus on the delicious sensation. Better than fucking. So much better. Jessica would've been sorely disappointed... But Rosalie was delighted.

She shivered as his cool breath swept over her skin, every pleasurable nerve on fire. When she thought he was done, she smoothed her dress back down, watching as he slipped off his tie and knotted it around her wrist. His inhibitions.

They kissed, and she trailed her lips to his neck, her breath warm and sweet against his skin. "You don't want to torment me," she murmured, taking his hands and wrapping them around her waist. "That means I would have to torment you back, and we both know I'm better at it." Was she? He had her in a trap; she couldn't read the words without someone's help, and without knowing what it said, she couldn't ask Jessica for help.

"Why don't you tell me what you wrote? Then I'll send you those pictures... Every last one of them." She was lying, grinning as she pressed another searing kiss to his neck. There was no way she was sending him any more pictures, especially those ones that Jessica had 'directed'. The one she had sent, the one he had used in that damned PowerPoint, was practically modest in comparison.

But it wasn't even that. She wanted to see his face when he realized she had pulled one over on him. That she had won yet again.... That would almost be sweeter than knowing what he had written on her skin. She pulled away slightly, her gaze intent as she waited to hear what he had branded her with.
 
Rosalie's lips on Luke's neck made his mind go fuzzy. He was raging hard already, and she took on a faintly pleading tone, asking what he had written. The words burned in his memory. He could see every stroke of the pen on her skin as clearly as if he still had her bent over his desk. His first instinct was to do anything, say anything she asked of him. And it was all wrong. Rosalie didn't plead. At all. Ever.

Puppet strings. "You don't want to torment me," she had said, and as the words came out of her mouth, he knew that was precisely what he wanted to do.

"I wrote something that will change my life if you ever show it to anyone," he said, and he brushed his hand up the inside of her thigh. He bit her earlobe and covered her pussy with his hand. He pulsed his middle finger against her panties, slowly. He kissed her lips again, leaned down and bit one of her nipples through the fabric of the dress. "It's written with a non-permanent marker." He worried her breast with the tip of his nose and slipped her panties aside. He smoothed a finger slowly between her moist lips. "Water soluble. So when you have something to give me, I'll have something to give you." He kissed her chin, then her lips, enjoying the ever-present strawberry. "Until then, try not to sweat."
 
Her heart skipped a beat as he began to speak, and she thought that he was telling her what he had written. Whatever it was, it was powerful, and he had made himself vulnerable by writing it on her. Even if it was non-permanent, washable... She could take the risk and tell him to fuck off, that she would read it at home where she might be able to see it in a mirror or using her phone, but what if it smeared? Then she would never know what it said... And already she felt frustrated that he hadn't immediately given in to her request, especially since she had asked so nicely.

Nice had never worked on him...

He played her body like a fiddle; she was biting her lips to keep from giving him the satisfaction of hearing her moan, as his hands and lips went to work on her. She tried to pull his hand away as he cupped her hot, slick sex, but it was half-hearted at best... She wanted him to touch her. But if he touched her, she couldn't think, and if she couldn't think...

She pried his hand away, forcing him down into his chair, free of those hands that made it impossible for her to scheme against him. She looked down at him, her usual smirk wiped from her lips, her cheeks flushed, eyes dark and cloudy. She could still feel his teeth at her ear, her nipple... She wanted more... Everything she could take from him. He had the control, and it worried her.

"Tell me what you want." She had offered the pictures, it was a lie, but she had offered them... Did he want more? How much more was she willing to give him? She had to ask, even if it meant walking away without knowing what he had written on her back. "You want me to read it. You want me to know what it says... So tell me what it'll take for you to let me in on this big secret." She perched herself on his desk, swinging her bare legs in effort to release the nervous energy that coursed through her. He had put her on edge.
 
Luke let Rosalie push him away, into his own chair. She was halfhearted and confused though, she had just put him into the position of authority she had tried to steal from him earlier.

He scooted forward and looked up at her face, flushed, and smiled at her. "I want the pictures before I tell you what I wrote on your skin. You're a proud woman, Rosalie," he said. He spread her legs and kissed the inside of her left knee, "You should be proud, but you love to win." He kissed her thigh. "I don't love to win," he said, running his hands up her calves, "but I hate to lose." He pulled her to the edge of the desk. He kept his eyes on hers and touched his nose to her pussy, gently. Her scent filled his senses, and he closed his eyes to appreciate it for a moment. He touched his chin to her then, and spoke, rocking his head gently, keeping pressure on her body.

"It's a poem, seven lines and my signature. Every three pictures gets a line. The worst pictures get the worst line. The one you are itching to delete, the one that makes you feel vulnerable, that one by itself gets the last two lines." He pressed his lips over her pussy and breathed, hot through her panties. "I'll know which one it is."

"This playing, though, this is for free, beautiful, because I love to see your face enjoying what I want to give you." He pulled her panties aside and tasted her, his tongue wide and soft against her fragrant flesh.

He pulled away after a moment. "So, do we have a deal?"
 
She had thought to shock him by showing up unannounced in his office, grinning as he sputtered out an apology for using her picture in his class. Then she was going to make him beg her to stay in his class. It was going to be so sweet; she might've teased him a bit, just to see him sweat, but then she intended to leave, so that he was aching for more of her. That was the plan. It had been laid out so clearly in her mind, step by step in black and white. She was going to laugh about it later with Jessica. She was going to say something snarky in class that made other students give him nervous looks. That had been the extent of her intentions.

Now she was on his desk, leaning back on her palms as he spread her legs, giving no objection. She watched, partially in disbelief as he kissed her knee, her thigh, slowly moving up as he spoke, and she finally remembered that he was speaking, and she should be listening... How could she listen as he spoke against her skin, his lips vibrating deliciously against her quivering flesh? She inhaled sharply as he pressed his nose against her intimately; was the door locked? She wanted to turn, to look, but he held her there with his magnetic gaze. She tried to replay what he said: he wanted sixteen pictures of her. She wouldn't get to be selective; that was nearly all that there was.

Just as she was about to ask what this would cost her, his head nestled between her thighs, he answered her. Free. He wanted to.

"Professor..." The word she had rarely used to address him slipped out as he flattened his tongue against her already wet skin, and a shuddering breath escaped her parted lips, the lipgloss smeared from kissing him. "Luke, please..." What was she asking for? She wanted more, she wanted him to stop.

"So, do we have a deal?"

She closed her eyes for a moment, needing to recover, to think... Fuck it. "Yes," she breathed, stroking his hair from his face. "It better be a damn good poem." For all the trouble he was putting her through, she expected nothing less.
 
Professor? Luke grinned and let the tip of his tongue play with her little pearl for a while. He let the whole game rest. For now, he wanted focus, for both of them. He wanted to be all she could think about just at this moment.

He had always loved this, this tasting, the forwardness of it, the way it led to a cascade of surrenders.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. Isobel. He didn't answer right away. He pulled it out, though, touched a rounded corner next to Rosalie's pink pearl. He let it ring a few more times, buzzing against Rosalie's flesh. Then he answered.

"Hey," he said, "What's up?"

He grinned up at Rosalie and slipped the tip of his finger into her pussy, rocked it back and forth lazily, caressing.

"Are you on the way home yet?" Isobel always launched into the conversation without preliminaries. "I need six gallons of ginger ale and two gallons of raspberry sherbet for Sharisse's lingerie shower on Saturday. Get vodka too, just in case. She says no alcohol, but we're going to need it. She invited friends who sell Tupperware."

"I'm still in my office," he said, "trying to convince a student not to drop my class."

"Offer to give him a blowjob," she said, "That always works. But hurry. I need that sherbet now."

"I'll come as fast as I can," he said, and hung up.

Luke put his phone on the desk and sighed. He kissed Rosalie's pussy, almost sadly, and pulled her panties back into place.

"Sixteen. It will be worth it. And if it's not, well, you can take it out on me any way you want."

The phone buzzed with a text message.

2 gal rasp, 6 gal ginger, 2 qt vodka. Don't forget.

Luke glanced down at it and shrugged. "Can you type 'okay' for me? I have books to clean up."
 
Luke seemed to be satisfied by her simple answer, and his tongue returned to her throbbing clit. She watched him until her eyes couldn't focus, until she was lost in daze of pleasure and conflict. There was a part of her that wanted to shove him off of her, to leave his office, to maybe drop his class because she was terrified of what he was doing to her. Fooling around was nothing-- sex was nothing, but this... Her thighs trembled as he brought her closer and closer to release, and her head lolled to the side, her hair brushing the books that remained on his desk. The part that cautioned to leave was greatly outweighed by her desire to stay.

She opened her eyes at the faint buzzing sound she heard, sitting up slightly as she thought that he might release her, that their playtime might be over... But he surprised her by pressing his phone where his tongue had been, and gasped. "You're fucking crazy." It was the only thought she could formulate, but succinct enough for the moment. Then he took his phone away, answered, and right away she realized that he was talking to his wife. Isobel. He had used his wife's phone call to pleasure her. It was hot... It was insane.

As he took the call, she didn't bother holding back the soft noises that escaped her throat as he teased her with a finger; if he wanted to take the risk of her being heard, that was his prerogative. She caught snippets of the conversation-- something about lingerie and vodka... Maybe Luke wasn't as straight-laced as she had thought.

He hung up and she sighed in frustration as he bent to kiss her aching flesh one last time; he had brought her close, but close didn't count. She was left to collect herself on the desk, quirking her eyebrow as he asked her to text his wife back-- did he have any idea what he was doing...?

She smoothed her dress back down and picked up the phone, opening his inbox. He had deleted the picture she had sent him before, and the text, but she knew he had it on his computer. Was he afraid his wife would see? Did she read his texts?

She glanced over at Luke, picking up the books and papers that had scattered across the floor, then back to the blinking cursor on the screen.

'Okay.'

She went to his Maps app, and from the history she quickly found his home address. Useful. She copied it, texted it to herself, then realized she was already saved in his contacts. 'The Band'.

No, that wouldn't do. She edited the name to 'Rose', waited for Luke to be too preoccupied with his tidying up to see what she was doing, then quickly lifted her dress and took a picture, her panties sticking to her wet sex. There, the perfect contact picture.

She didn't bother to cover her tracks. He would see that 'he' had sent her his address. Setting the phone back on the desk, next to the bra she had discarded, she walked around the desk and bent beside Luke, stealing a searing kiss from him. He tasted like her, and she liked that. Her head was much clearer, now that his head wasn't between her thighs.

"It's been fun, Luke. See you tomorrow?"

***​

His tie was on top of her dresser as Rosalie dressed for class, Jessica lounging on the bed behind her, sprawled out and practically throwing a tantrum.

"You really aren't going to tell me what happened?! You know I'm dying right, literally dying? What the fuck did y'all do, did you fuck him Rosalie? He came into our class looking like he'd been fucked-- and I know he was wearing that tie in the morning because I saw him getting coffee-- now you have it. You have it, Rose."

"He took it off and gave it to me." And now it was hers, she guessed. She was straightening her hair and smirking as Jessica writhed on the bed and groaned.

"Okay, so what happened before that?! And after? His hair was messy, he looked actually happy to be there..."

Rosalie fingered the tie, smiling a little. "Really, nothing happened." It was an obvious lie.

"Whatever. I let you borrow my dress for what, then?"

"He likes pink." Or maybe just me. "By the way, can I borrow that top you have, the wispy, peachy-colored one?"

"What do I get out of it?" Jessica propped herself up on her elbows, watching her. Rosalie sighed.

"Okay. Something did happen. But I can't tell you everything, not yet. So just... Let me find out what this... thing is. Then I'll tell you what I can." She had tried to read what he had written on her the day before, but the heat of early fall had melted the words away before she could get home.

Jessica groaned. "Fine! But it better be good..."

***​

Rosalie came into class that afternoon, greeting Luke politely, without the customary, slightly disrespectful, familiarity she used with him. She called him Professor. Her smile was sweet, not smirky. She took a seat and only took what she needed from her bag, setting up her notes and texts neatly. She let him lecture and didn't interrupt once, though it killed her. She had to be good. She had to catch him off-guard.

Watching the time, she let him go on for nearly twenty minutes before she pulled her phone into her lap. Opening her photos, she scrolled until she found the ones she wanted. The ones he had wanted.

The first three she sent were much like the one he had already seen, with her on the bed, the Christmas lights behind her, his tie in her hands. Her hair was pulled back, so that her face was visible, and looking closely, her smile could be seen. She was letting go of her anonymity.... But these weren't the one that he really wanted. There were slight variations-- she had moved, and the picture was blurry. In one, the tie was around her neck, and she pulled the ends taut in front of her.

She sent those, and then she waited.
 
Rosalie kissed him before she left, down on the floor in front of his desk, a stack of old books he had just stacked between them, but he burned with it, and the kiss stayed with him throughout his Thursday British Lit. class.

She had left her bra and he wasn't sure what to do with it, put it in his pocket? In his bag? Finally, he decided to "file" it next to a copy of The Name of the Rose on one of his shelves. He picked up his phone, slipped it into his pocket, and left for his Lit class. He noticed he had left the door unlocked the whole time Rosalie had been there. He shook his head at himself, but he couldn't feel all that concerned.

He kept breaking into a grin during his lit lecture, and it wasn't until halfway through the class that he thought to run his fingers through his hair to unmuss it a little. He could still taste Rosalie, and he kept slipping his tongue over his lips for a reminder. The blue-haired girl, Jessica alternately stared at him with startling attention and texted furiously on her phone. This might have alarmed him any other day, but today it was just amusing.

----

After class he got in the car and pulled his phone to check the shopping list from Isobel. The strange activity caught his eye right away- the text to Rose? He hadn't put her name in his phone. He tapped the name and a photograph of her panties, damp in the center filled the screen.

"Holy shit," he muttered, then laughed. He would have to get rid of that, but not just yet. That girl could so get into his head.

Everything he needed was at the big grocery store. He picked up a couple of canvas shopping bags that didn't have the chain name on them so Isobel wouldn't bitch about the strike. He couldn't handle that tonight. He got an extra quart of vodka. Those ladies' parties were insufferable. He was relegated to the garage, pretty much unless he wanted to hear either overly sincere homeschooling enthusiasts or boozy stories about controlling mothers-in-law.

----

Luke felt a little concerned about Friday's class. Rosalie could make things very awkward for him. She seemed to have deciphered the poem by herself, since he hadn't received any pictures from her. He assumed the worst.

She wore a translucent top that probably would have been indecent with the sun behind her, but inside the classroom it was just suggestive. She was playing some game, pretending to be a prim, goody two-shoes, and Luke wondered what tricks she had up her translucent sleeves.

He was just getting to the morality crisis of Native Son when he felt his phone buzz. He pulled it out of his pocket absently, as he usually did, just to find out who was trying to get in touch with him. It said "Rose" and the picture of her spread legs and damp panties filled the little screen. He almost dropped it. He glanced at Rosalie and saw that she had her phone in her lap. She wasn't looking at him, but he thought he saw a smirk on her face.

The students were looking at him oddly, and he realized that he had stopped speaking. He walked over behind the podium. He needed to.

"Um, hey, I want you to discuss the moral justifications for Bigger's actions in groups of twos and threes. I'll give you ten minutes, then we'll discuss whether you believe he was justified or not."

It was a little unusual, but he needed to see what Rosalie had sent immediately. He sat behind the table and tapped his screen. The first picture was much like the one he already had, one was blurry, one was better- Rosalie's face smiling a genuine, unironic smile, and she was pulling on the tie. These were the throwaways. The last one was still pretty hot though. She had a sexual magnetism that was magnified by her innocent look and her challenging manner. The way she held the tie, though, he wondered if she wanted to play other kinds of games with it.

He caught her eye across the classroom and smiled, closed his eyes and held the corner of his phone to his nose to remind her. Then he keyed in a message:

5. I leave with you, on what I

It wasn't much, but it would be intriguing.
 
5. I leave with you, on what I

She read the message over and over again, turning it over in her mind, knowing that without the other six lines, it was little more than gibberish. She could discern two possible meanings-- he was leaving something with her, or he was leaving with her, and the last thought alarmed her a bit. But it was poetry... Who knew if it was literal or figurative?

So this is what duplicates would get her. She pressed her tongue between her lips, ignoring the assignment, the chatter around her, everything but Luke, how he smiled as he pressed his phone to his nose. The place that he had teased her with.

She opened her photos again, aware of the time restraint, scrolling through as though she were rearranging a hand of cards. She didn't want the last two lines, not yet. Something held her back, though she struggled the urge to just send him the pictures-- all of them-- and receive the poem in full. She glanced at her instructor, studying him, then selected three more pictures.

She was laying supine on the bed now, her long, smooth legs crossed and propped against the wall. Her hair spilled out behind her, dark waves against the cream bedspread. Her hands were blurred slightly, in motion as they caressed her belly, one reaching up to cup a breast.

In the next, both of her hands were at her breasts, squeezing, the soft flesh giving way to her touch. She was smiling, her lips parted in delight. It was impossible to discern, in the soft light of the photo, her expression was mocking or of actual pleasure.

In the last, she was reaching for the clasp in the front of her bra, just beginning to unhook it.

She sent those, then typed out a message.

'I want to negotiate our deal, now that I'm free from your... coercions. I keep that picture, the one you want so badly. I'll give you something better... What are you doing, this weekend? I want to work something else out.'
 
Luke watched the class, but the only one he saw was Rosalie, glowing at the periphery of his vision. Several animated conversations were going on, none at the level of actual arguments, but the subject matter tended to bring out some pretty ingrained passions.

His phone buzzed again, Rosalie's panties. He wasn't ever going to erase that image. She showed him her arousal every time she pinged his phone.

This time the images were much more provocative, caressing, her hands over her breasts, about to take off her bra. If these were the worst remaining images, the rest of them must have been absolutely stunning. Her body was incredible- smooth, long, sleek. What drew Luke's attention the most was the look of ecstasy on her face. He couldn't tell if the ecstasy was sex or power, but he knew it wasn't faked.

He shifted in his seat. He wanted her in his office. Anywhere. Here on the desk in front of his class. He wanted to see that look on her face again.

He typed:

1. I keep plain secrets behind my gaze,

Something better? Better for you or better for me?
Isobel has a bunch of women over for a party Saturday night. The rest of the weekend isn't busy, but hard to get out of the house.

I reserve the right to claim the picture until you come through.

He sent the message, then sent another one.

Everything I eat tastes like you now.
 
Buzz.

Rosalie opened the text nearly as fast as she received it, the first line of the poem, the response to the offer she dangled in front of him. A lingerie party? Like, for a bachelorette? Weren't men usually not permitted to attend those, anyway? Maybe he was just some lecher... A hot, slightly charming, strangely desperate lecher... Obsessed with sex. Obsessed with her... Was that his secret?

Then she received the next text, and her cheeks started to burn. Quickly she shifted so that her hair shielded her from his gaze, a glossy black curtain, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing how his words affected her. She crossed her legs, shifting slightly in her seat. He was trying to get the best of her, but she wouldn't give it freely.

'Short leash?'

She sent a picture of herself looking into her vanity mirror, his tie around her neck, knotted tightly at her throat. She was tugging on it, smirking into the glass. Her panties did nothing to cover her pert bottom, arched out slightly, tantalizingly. It was taken before the bra had come off.

'That's too bad. We could've had so much fun... These are just pictures, Luke. You can't touch them... You can't taste them.'

Another picture. All that was visible was her silhouette, facing away from the camera. She was on her knees on the bed, her bra dangling from her fingertips, held out to the side.

'But if you would rather have a tease than an indulgence... Enjoy that party. By the way, haven't you hidden behind that desk long enough? Am I making it... hard, for you to continue the lesson?'

One more. Still on the bed, still silhouetted. She was on her knees, but her legs were spread, golden light peeking from between her thighs, drawing attention to the barely-there lace she wore. Her hands were in her hair, back arched.

She exhaled, her heart racing.
 
Luke snorted into his coffee cup. Short leash indeed.

You know it.

Then the first picture came in, classic cheesecake in front of a mirror, but she had been thinking of him when she took it... had it taken. Her eyes were looking back at him from the mirror. He was going to have to spend the rest of the class behind the table. She teased him in the text. Squandered opportunity. Why did he have to be such an asshole whenever he felt like she was taking control? Because he hated to lose. He started typing a response when her next image came in, the bra dangling.

He had never seen her breasts, for all the leaning over and teasing she had done, he hadn't seen them, and she was teasing him with it. She knew exactly what she was doing, and now she was goading him about being behind the damn desk. This was why he hadn't heard from her yesterday. She wanted to make him squirm in public, and it was working. Hell, he was loving it.

Rock hard. You're changing my mind.

It was time to bring the class back together for the last fifteen minutes discussion. He could hear that the class conversations had more a social tone than the academic tone they had before. He was going to lose the class's attention. Oh well. The last picture had her topless but silhouetted against the light. He still couldn't see her breasts. He had had his hand over her breast just yesterday. He remembered the feel of her, the soft and hard through the innocent pink dress. Her bra had still been warm with the heat of her body when he hid it in his office, but he hadn't seen her skin, the crinkle and swell of her nipples. He bit his tongue hard. He had to stop thinking like this.

I haven't had an orgasm in thirteen days. So cool it unless you want me to have to change my clothes.

He sent the message and typed another one, ignoring the rising laughter and chatter in the classroom.

You win. Keep the picture, but I'm begging you, don't delete it. You don't have to show me. Just let me know that it exists.

And then he pictured the poem on the skin of her back as he had pressed himself into her. and typed one more message.

3. the one that can kill me, leave me
 
'That explains a lot. Know when my last one was? Fifteen minutes after I left your office yesterday.'

She sent that, and tucked her hair back from her face so that he could see her grin. He didn't know what he wanted, and that made him vulnerable... It was so fun to mess with him.

'I couldn't help myself, I guess... You had me so worked up. So wet. Maybe I should come to your office hours again.'

She glanced at him for a moment, studying him. He looked amused, he looked tense. On edge. She wanted to push him further and further towards that edge, to see what he did as he toppled over it.

She sent the next three pictures. She had turned in front of the light, her hands cupped beneath her breasts, his tie falling between them. In the next, she had taken a nipple in her fingers and tugged on it gently, her lips parted, curled slightly in a smile. In the next photo, she was pulling on both, the smile was gone and her eyes had closed.

'I still owe you three... Well, three and something extra, don't I? I'll give you details on that later. I think I've tortured you enough for one day.

She raised her hand, smirking, as chatter of weekend plans drifted around her. As if they hadn't been speaking the entire time. "Luke, it's been way longer than ten minutes. Can we get back to the lesson? Some of us have places to be, after class."
 
Luke felt his knuckles go white on the edge of the table. Rosalie was going to try to push him over the edge. He wasn't going to let that happen. Fifteen minutes? He wondered where she had done it. Images flashed through his mind- the English Department bathroom? Her car? Had she come back to his office after he had gone? The image of her sitting in his chair with her feet splayed on his desk, fingers between... She'd never let him live it down if she made him come in his pants. And then Maybe I should come to your office hours again. He felt the hair rise on the back of his neck.

He was afraid to look at her, and when he did, she was grinning at him. He ran his fingers through his hair, and pulled, hard, trying to hold on to control. He stood, moving quickly behind the podium. He hoped the change in position would help. Then the pictures started coming. Soft light on softer skin, Rosalie's breasts both offered and kept to herself, teased and teasing. Her gaze looked right out of the phone, as if she was actually looking right at him as she caressed herself, then her eyes closed. He remembered that look, and the taste that went with it.

Luke breathed hard, the invitation of the images themselves merged with the curiosity about where Rosalie had been yesterday when she...

"Luke, it's been way longer than ten minutes. Can we get back to the lesson? Some of us have places to be after class."

She had her hand in the air, legs crossed, looking perfectly innocent, then it happened. It was impossible, she was too far away, but he smelled the faintest touch of strawberry. The orgasm started deep, sweet, he knew there was no stopping it. He grabbed the podium with both hands and almost knocked it over. Then the full force of his climax hit him. He shook, his abdomen tight and he squirted his spunk inside his pants.

"Fuck. Fuck." he hissed, curled over and shaking.

"Are you okay, Professor? What's wrong?"

He didn't know who was asking. "I'm fine. Just... I have... a cramp." He limped to the chair behind the table and dropped into it as quickly as he could. His insides were glowing. His coffee cup slopped a little when he sat down. He looked over at Rosalie, and she looked back at him with that infuriatingly smug smile. He took a deep breath, looked her in the eye, and spilled his coffee into his lap.

"Professor Campbell!"

Luke waved concerned students away. "I'm fine. I just need to sit for a while. You can leave early today."

He leaned on the table. Darlene, a gangly girl with a dark brown bowl cut stood in front of him. She plunked a bottle of pills on the desk. "Highly absorbing magnesium, Professor Campbell. That will fix your cramps. And make sure you stay hydrated."

"Thank you, Darlene. I'll... do that. Thank you."

He reached for his phone, took a deep breath, and sent a message:

2. between my temples, but the sweetest one,
 
Rosalie could only imagine what her professor's strange episode looked like to the other students, the ones that were ignorant of the little tête-à-tête that had been going on, all the while. She had cupped her hand over her mouth, masking her laughter as he clung to the podium for dear life, convulsing, his expression contorted by delicious agony. To think she had done that to him just by sending him a few photos. He was so tightly-wound...

Her gaze followed him as he stumbled to his desk, and while other students had cried out, offered him assistance, she quietly collected her things, tucking her books and her notepad back into her bag, casual as ever. She lingered until even the last student had finally left Luke alone, as he protested and insisted that he was fine. Then she stood, crossing to his desk, her bag slung over her bare shoulder.

"Luke... I mean, where to begin?"

She stopped in front of his desk, cocking her head to the side as she looked him over. He was a hot mess, literally. Laughing softly to herself, she stepped behind him, smoothing her hands over his shoulders, then rubbing them gently.

"I didn't think you really would. Thirteen days? That's not healthy. Even if you have to take care of it yourself... You shouldn't go without so long."

She leaned down, her lips just touching his ear as she spoke, her hands sliding down his shoulders. "Your face is so cute when you come. It gives me all kinds of ideas for this weekend... Thanks for the renegotiations. You won't regret it." She took his earlobe between her teeth, nipped it tenderly, then released him, favoring his neck instead. She pressed a few kisses against his warm throat, smiled and pulled away.

"Enough with the books about men taking out their frustrations on women. I'm starting to think you have a complex or something... Well, another complex." She said this over her shoulder, leaving him in his coffee-soaked seat.

***​

She waited until six o'clock sharp to send the last three photos. She couldn't be certain, but she had the impression that his wife kept him on a strict schedule, and wasn't that when all good and perfect couples ate a wholesome meal together? In the first, she was back at the mirror, topless now, her hands thick into her glossy black hair, tossing it. In the next, she had hooked her fingers into her panties, slowly tugging them down the swell of her hips. In the last, they were completely gone and she was leaning against the vanity, bent over as she had been in his office, her thighs rubbing together.

'Have a great evening, Professor.'
 
Rosalie's teeth on his ear, lips on his neck. He almost didn't care that she was mocking him. His thoughts were simple endorphin puddles. Her hands on his shoulders, soothing, then the promise for the weekend, and he didn't know how or when.


"Native Son is about race, not gender," he said, but it was too late, too quiet. Her perfect bottom swung out of the classroom, putting on a sultry show just for him.

----

Dinner was fish fingers and tartar sauce. The TV in the living room burbled the news and Isobel talked back to the anchor like she was across the table.

"You didn't ask about the retirement benefits, bitch. What a waste of reporting. Who cares what kind of motorcycle he'll buy when he wins the lottery? Nobody cares. Shit. When did the media sell out completely to the multi-nationals?" Cute. Another singing poodle, dyed pink this time, though. Since when does NBC carry the news for Candy Land?"

Luke spun a fish stick on his plate and said "Hm" every time it sounded like Isobel had asked a question.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. It was probably his insurance company sending another message about using hands-free devices while driving. It buzzed two more times and he pulled it out of his pocked just in time to see Rosalie's damp panties dimming and disappearing off his screen. He flipped his phone over quickly, but Isobel was pointing at the TV screen. "Woo. Give that weatherman a raise. Sun all weekend."

Luke tipped the screen away from her and opened the first image. Rosalie had a post-sex look, intimate, open, comfortable. He was hard before the second picture even started loading. The next showed the flat smooth of her stomach, an invitation to touch her. The last was a position he remembered vividly and he found he was rubbing himself through his pants.

"What are you doing?" Isobel was looking at him, irritated. "You keep bumping the table."

"Sorry," he said, "got an itch."

He typed into the message app.

4. soulless, damned, ecstatic, that secret

He hit "send" then wrote another:

Next time there won't be a pen.
 
Rosalie was ready with her notepad as she received the text back from him; she hadn't quite expected him to answer back so quickly, but it told her more than he probably meant to. He was eager, hanging on every word she said, or picture she sent. She smirked, then copied down the missing line onto the paper, until she had the first five lines assembled in order.

Of course. The secret, the entire point of the poem, was contained in the last two lines, the ones she didn't have. Of course... She clicked the pen a few times, agitated. There was no option of leaving him hanging, of taking what he had already given her and laughing in his face... She needed those lines. She sighed, tossing the pen somewhere into the chaos of her room.

Her phone glowed from where she had thrown it onto the bed, buzzing again. She picked it up, read the last text, and smirked.

'That's a shame. You writing on me was maybe the hottest thing I've ever experienced.'

It wasn't a tease, for once. Her heart had raced as he branded her with his words, and already she felt hungry for more ink.

'I have to get ready for a show, now. We're playing at Emo's tonight at eleven. Too bad you're somebody else's dog... If you were mine, I'd take you on walks, at least.'

She stood, leaving the phone on the duvet for the moment and stripping out of the peachy top, the jeans that hugged her body tightly but were otherwise modest. In the black hole of her closet, she found the dress she wanted, short, black, with a bodice like a corset. She dressed, pinned her hair up and off of her slender neck, the multiple studs in her ears revealed for once, and glimmering.

As she waited for Jessica to pick her up, her bass packed up and ready for the night, she pulled her phone from her purse and sent Luke one last text.

'You should come, if you can... I want you to.'

Whether he was there while she played or not didn't really matter to her; she wanted to test his obedience, what lengths he would go through to please her.
 
Luke smiled.

I like writing on you. Make sure you keep a pen handy. I'm forgetful.

It wasn't true. He would never forget how it had felt, how she had curved and squirmed under the words as they formed on her skin, how she had bitten her finger to keep from moaning.

"Hey. Help me make punch tonight," Isobel said, and Luke startled out of a dreamy memory. "I need all of that sherbet scooped into one inch balls. Use a melon baller. I'm going to look up games for the party tomorrow night."

"Um..."

Rosalie's invitation to her concert came in- an insult and an invitation. He felt strings being pulled. Isobel's strings, the board's strings, Rosalie's strings. One day he'd cut them all. This, though, was not that day.

"Yeah. Okay."

When Isobel asked him to "help" her with something, she meant that he would do it alone. And if he had known how long it would take to turn two gallons of hard frozen sherbet into balls, he would have said hell no, and gone out to a pub, or maybe even to see Rosalie play. The dull physics of sherbet dominated the evening, though. Once balled, they took more space than they did in their original containers. A lot more space, so he had to dig up every tupperware storage box and bowl they had and stack it all in the deep freeze in the garage. The tedium of it just about drove him out of his mind.

"Okay look. You're in the garage tomorrow," Isobel said, "I don't want to see your lecherous ass in the house at all. Watch one of your art films or read a dead writer or something, but it's girls only in the house. You have to pee? Go in a coffee can."

"I'd rather get out, get a beer with Josh or something."

"Well, at least with him, you won't get screwed by some crushy student. He could suck the horniness out of any room."

Luke frowned. "Hm," he said. She was right though.

It was hard to go to sleep. He kept seeing Rosalie sitting in her chair in his class, legs crossed, arm in the air. She had a question for him, but he wouldn't call on her.

----

The women started showing up early, so Luke ended up in the garage, organizing spray paint cans fifteen minutes earlier than he expected. There was a magazine article somewhere. Isobel would know. Organize by color, then by application? Or was it the other way around.

"Fuck it," he said, and swept all the cans into a cardboard box and kicked it under a shelf.

He had a corner of the garage to himself by the water heater. A beat up leather recliner and a couple hundred books in a bookcase bolted to the wall. His prison for the evening. It wasn't bad as prisons went, the lighting was good, there was a little fridge with a few beers. He should have picked a book, but he sat in the recliner instead and fished out his phone. He paged through the pictures Rosalie had sent, startling each time the women in the house screeched with laughter. They were getting louder, looser.

Rosalie stared at him from his phone, cupping her breasts, pinching her nipples, thrusting her ass at him, teasing.

The garage door opened and closed quickly. Juniper Shandling stood on the step wearing a black babydoll and holding a plastic cup of the infamous raspberry punch in her hand. She teetered a little on high heels.

"So," she said, "this is where Isobel hides her man candy."
 
Rose waited all night, until the bar had nearly closed, but he never showed. She checked her phone at every break, before she played, and after, but there was no message from him. She was almost tempted to text him again, to prompt him over whether or not he planned on coming, but her pride wouldn't allow her to. Who did he think he was, treating her the same way that she might treat him...?

She felt deflated when she returned to the apartment, sitting on the edge of her bed, the notepad in her hands again. Fuck it... He wanted to tell her the last two lines, and collect whatever prize she gave him. She read the lines over again, already having committed them to memory, but for the thousandth time they yielded nothing new, no hidden meaning that had been under her nose the entire time. She ripped out the page and tore it into tiny pieces, sweeping them into the waste bin like discarded confetti. There would have to be some kind of consequence for not coming when she called him, but what?

The worst thing she could do would be to leave him hanging, but right away she realized she didn't like that option. His lips were too fresh on her skin, and like his words, she wanted more... He had gotten inside her head. The game wasn't fun anymore, not when she was losing... She checked her phone again, just in case he had said something, but there wasn't even an apology waiting for her, just his last text.

She opened her laptop, wondering if maybe his Facebook page held some kind of clue as to what her professor had been doing all night. Nothing. He didn't seem to keep up with the page much, probably just used it for his stalking... She scrolled through the pictures, nothing of interest except the snapshots of him and his wife. Isobel? She was pretty, but not in a way that made Rosalie feel threatened. Was this what he liked? She searched for Isobel, not really knowing why, and the first post was a reminder for the lingerie shower, Saturday night. Hm.

The details were listed out on the event page, no address but Rose already had it. It started at six o'clock, in the north part of town, where older couples and people with money typically lived. The wheels were turning. She wouldn't be so easily ignored again.

***​

Rose was running late; her study group for Greek history had gone on too long, and he drive to the north side was no joke. Traffic had given her the much needed time to set everything up. When she was ten minutes away from his house, she texted him.

Details. I'm minutes away from your house, and I'm giving you two options.

She sent a picture of herself in the car, from her smiling lips, down. She wore a light pink babydoll, sheer except at her breasts, charcoal lace obscuring the view. It was just possible to see where the matching stockings stopped at her soft thighs, matching lace peeking into the picture.

'Did you know if you mention a party in front of someone, it's only polite to invite them? So option one, I'm going to show up at your door, wearing this.'

She paused, then she sent another text.

'Option two-- I want to go out with you, tonight. So play nice and come outside to the car. If I don't hear from you, I'll come to the door and get you myself. This is the option that you'll like better. But I'm leaving the choice to you.'
 
Luke almost dropped his phone, but he managed to push the lock button before he set the phone down on the table next to his recliner.

"Oh, hey Juniper. I'm, actually..." she teetered towards him, tipsy and grinning. He wasn't keeping his eyes on her eyes. "I'm actually more Isobel's man-broccoli." He backed up a step. "Healthy, rich in iron, and mildly interesting in salads with raisins and Italian dressing." He took another step back and bumped into his bookcase.

"This 'lingerie' party is lame. Pyramid scheme for panties. I was all ready to have a sexy time and they're talking about recruiting sales drones. You want to fuck?

Luke's phone buzzed, and he could just see Rosalie's panties on the screen behind Juniper on the little table. Shit.

"Well cowboy?" Juniper moved in close, pressed her bust against his chest and put a finger under his chin. He smelled raspberry sherbet on her breath and winced. "I want a little ride, and you want to get ridden, don't you?" She slipped a hand over his zipper. His body was betraying him. Damn. His phone buzzed again. Rosalie's pink panties.

"I knew you did," she said, spilled a little punch and she leaned in for a kiss.

Luke slipped sideways and snatched his phone off the table.

"Juniper, look, you're very... photogenic. Can I just..."

He opened Rosalie's first text. Pink, black, her perfect skin. Three minutes had already passed. She could show up any second.

"Are you going to take pictures to jack off to, Luke?" Juniper slipped a strap off her shoulder and took a sip of punch, and pulled the black lace of the babydoll off of her right breast. "Because, hell, how hot is that?"

Luke held up the phone with both hands and hoped he looked like he was taking a picture. Rosalie's next message came on to the screen. Play nice. He wanted desperately to play nice. He would be the nicest player she had ever seen, he just needed time and some way to keep Juniper from smashing herself against him again.

"Ass," he said, "I love ass. Touching, caressing, poking, you have the ass of the century, Juniper."

"Yeah?" She looked down at herself, "I guess I do. Tell me what you want to do to my ass, Luke."

"I want video. You, walking away from me, through that door, down the hall. At the end of the hall, bend over like you're picking something up from the floor. You'll make me so..." Rosalie would be here any second. She might be outside the house right now, getting out of her car, walking up to the door, "...so grateful. And aroused. Gratefully aroused."

Juniper narrowed her eyes at him flirtatiously, but she did it. She swung her ass, peeking over her shoulder to make sure the phone was pointed at her. Then she worked it as well as she could, given her buzz and the high heels. She opened the door and strutted down the hallway. Luke followed as far as the door, and as soon as she was safely through it, he hit the garage door button and the big door started to roll up with its rumbling growl. Juniper bent over at the end of the hall and lost her balance. He closed the door, but not before he heard a minor uproar.

"Juniper! Are you okay? Where have you been?"

He hit the garage door button again and the door started to close. He jogged the few steps to the driveway, ducked under the closing door, and out of his comfortable prison.

A truck turned on to his street and he hoped he would be three blocks away before anyone knew he was gone.
 
Rosalie was just coming around the corner when she saw Luke stumbling from the garage and shutting it quickly behind him. She allowed herself to grin; he looked flustered, exactly how she liked him, and he had come running when she called. His misstep was nearly forgivable... Nearly. It depended how the rest of the night went.

She pulled up to the curb, leaning across the console open the passenger door for him. She wasn't wearing the lingerie, though her tank top and skirt were almost as revealing, a charm necklace gleaming at her throat, the thigh high stockings sheathing her long legs. She was grinning as he climbed into the car, waiting until they were safely down the street before she spoke.

"Gee, I thought you'd dress a little nicer for our first date," she teased, turning down the radio a bit so that she could be heard, Joan Jett's voice growling from the speakers. She ran a hand through her hair, shaking it out a bit before she glanced over at her professor. "Here's what I was thinking: dinner, dancing, maybe a swim? There's this beach on the lake that no one knows about. We would be all alone..." No chance of being walked in on, interrupted, recognized or caught. She considered him for a moment, then reached for his hand and placed it on her thigh, her skin tingling at the contact. She craved it... Did he?

She focused for a time on reentering city traffic, letting him think her plans over. "Speaking of going out, though... why didn't you come and hear me play, last night?" She tried to keep her tone light, but there was an edge of irritation to her words. "It was a big deal for us to play at Emo's."
 
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