eighteen
A sigh of relief escapes me while scrubbing the last bit of grime off the final table amidst closing the restaurant tonight. Naturally, Kevin thought it best for Trevor and I to close again—spewing nonsense about how he never had to worry about the place not being up to par in the morning with us working the closing shifts. Whatever his intentions were for holding the both of us for closing Hinkhouse didn't matter much after mentioning he'd be giving me a two dollar raise for my stellar performance. Which was in part had everything to due with the constant affirmations Trevor instilled in me.
I latch my palm around the bucket of once crystal clear water and head to the supply closet to dump it. That's when I caught of glimpse of Trevor lingering in the lounge struggling to untie the knot he made to keep his apron tightly secured around his figure. The bucket steals my focus momentarily until there's nothing but the residue of bubbles and the smell of lemon escaping into the atmosphere from the scent of freshness we used to clean with. By the time I make it to the lounge, he's still struggling to remove the knot.
"Here," A delicate whisper falls from my lips despite it only being the two of us left in the building. "Let me help you."
He doesn't object. Instead he shoots me a steady nod and turns his back towards me to allow it. It takes seconds for me to relieve him of the knot constraining him to his uniform and once I manage to, he turns to me, cheeks crimson and flustered before issuing a thank you.
We both part away from each other to shuffle in our bins for our personal items. The sound of his keys clanking together is the only noise filling in the lack of communication happening to between us until it stops abruptly and the sound of his weight against the floor increases as he closes in on me again.
I could almost feel the warmth of his being burning the side of my body the closer he got. The dryness and growing lump in my throat felt as sandpaper while attempting to swallow away the creeping nervousness growing within me. He stops in his place, eager for my attention to find him and once I've finally mustard up enough courage to return his look of engagement, my eyes pull to his lips.
His tongue glides effortlessly across his bottom lip, bringing them back to life in color and moisture until he take the remaining steps between us. The smell of his cologne burn my nostrils as I inhale the depths of his scent.
"I don't know how much longer I can pretend being alone with you doesn't drive me insane," he growls in a whisper. His lips graze the point of my ear in a swift breeze sending electricity coursing through every nerve in me. The weight of my body almost completely collapsing at the mere thought of his hands against my skin. I surprise myself with my next response.
"So don't."
His hands navigate my body until finding the small of my back and pulling me into his chest. Our gaze find one another for a moment and something about the dusty shade of ash in his eyes take hold of my last shred of restraint and our lips find each other effortlessly. He drops his satchel and chain of keys from his hands and we find ourselves gravitating towards the table in the middle of the room, lips moving against each other one hundred miles a minute, only stopping to gasp for quick breaths until finding each other once more.
I'm weightless when his hands travel down to my bum. Adrenaline exploding inside me as he grips ahold of it to hoist me around his waist and place me on top of the table before us.
"The things I want to do to you," he says, nearly breathless due to the intensity of our lip lock. "Tell me to stop and I won't continue." But nothing—not even the thought of objection crosses my mind. Nothing but the growing stiffness against my groin providing me with the clear indication that I indeed did not want him to stop. Suddenly the thought of our bodies never being this close again, steals my subtleness. I never want to go another moment without the rush his body is sending me. "Let me make you feel good, baby," he says, breaking the synchronization between our kisses.
His eyes teeter between mines until I give him a nod. He shrinks a few inches in front of me the presses the palm of his larger hand against my belly, pushing me flat on my back on top of the table. He runs his hands freely against my body, quickly finding the hem of my legging before pulling them along with my underwear down in one tug.
Before he's even found my sweet spot, my hands tangle themselves in his hair trying to grasp on to something to relieve me from the anticipation of his lips once they discover my sacredness. I wasn't a virgin, haven't been since Keenan Abernathy swooned me into his sheets on the night of my junior prom. But Keenan Abernathy never incited a sensation like this out of me. Breathing almost becoming a foreign concept to my autonomic system. That's when the rush of bliss hitch my breath and nothing else alleviates me from it except a yelp coming from my mouth when his tongue swipes across the delicate button responsible for my pleasure.
Trevor doesn't stop moving his tongue in a brisk circular motion against the sensitive nerve bundle between my thighs. Not even once the silence we were struggling to fill moments ago becomes laced with gasps of profanity and his name. He uses one hand to crawl the side of my skin until it catches hold of my breast. My mind forgetting the fact that even under layers of clothing disrupting his grasp, my nipples harden.
His free and rest against my tight as he allows the swiftness of his tongue to do most of the work until his thumb circles my clit delicately. I nearly explode under his touch, my shaking legs making it pleasantly noticeable that he's growing closer to accomplishing his mission. Once his tongue finds my sweet spot again, he runs his fingers along my entrance, gathering every bit of moisture quickly collecting around it and slides two fingers inside in a curvature moment—pumping them slowly up and down.
Quiet no longer exists between us. His grunts of pleasure and sweet nothings against my clit only intensify to the growing sensation his fingers have supplied.
"I'm going to make you feel better than you've ever felt before," he says against my skin. "You can't fight it anymore, okay." Trevor finishes, his eyes locking on me momentarily before he touches his lips to mines. For a second I want nothing more than to feel his tongue against my sweet spot against, but the lock of our gazes ironically bring pleasure towards me much more than his tongue had. His fingers pump inside me increasingly quicker than before. "Convince me that I you deserve this feeling," he says, breaking our kiss again, but nothing comes from my lips except soft moans of his name until he stops. Once he notices the furrow between my brows, a grin spreads his mouth while his eyes stare daggers into my soul. "I said, convince me."
I nod, finally letting myself fully surrender to the feel of his touch and that's when he continues to move inside me, fast than before. My toes begging to break free of restraint that my shoes have trap them in, curly around on another. My whispers of profanity have now become pleads of desperation for the feeling ready to wrap me in bliss and once he grows close enough to achieve the best of me, a buzzer steals my sensation.
9:30 am. Time to start the day, my alarm reminds me.
Even returning to reality from my dreamland, Trevor's name falls from my mouth in a moan that wasn't meant to escape my subconscious. Immediately my eyes find the other side of the room in search of the girl who considered him a brother. The only thing present in the spot she would've been thirty minutes prior was a perfectly made bed.
Holy shit.
Time really does go by fast when you've got a hundred and one tasks occupying your mind. During my walk to retrieve another bike, I'd managed to recall the fact that midterms were starting in three days. Between school, work, home, drama, sex dreams about my professor and trying to maintain any shred of a social life I was creating for myself out here, I completely glazed over it.
Nonetheless, my considerably reasonable nervousness creeping in in regards to midterms were the least of my concern. How was I supposed to endure work knowing I'd run into Professor Thornton? That's what I decided I'd call him from here on out. Calling him Trevor seemed dirty, almost forbidden after my morning awakening of me moaning out his name.
The entire ride to work I pleaded with the universe hoping Trev—Professor Thornton decided not to show and oddly enough, my wish came to pass. Realistically, he's probably been returning his daughter to her mother so he could prepare for class this evening. Whatever the case was, it bought me an eight hour shift to strategically plan how I was going to endure tonight's class with him.
Work flew by, which would normally grant cause of celebration but the only thing that meant was my two hour lecture with him later was approaching quicker than I could plan on how to react to it. Why was I think about him that way? Surely there were better more relevant tasks that could've occupied my mind while I was asleep. Possibly a natural disaster completely relieving me of having to take midterms or maybe finally getting that second kiss with Wyatt I was so desperate for at the party a few night ago. Anything apart from having sex dreams that consisted of receiving pleasure from my teacher.
My plans for avoiding Professor T was riding on the sheer enjoyment of talking to Terrance on and off to keep my mind from replaying the awful yet best possible dream I've ever been able to recall after waking. Sadly, my distraction thought it best today of all days not to show. Luckily after an hour and thirty minutes of dodging his questions and refusing to raise my hand, he let us work in groups to refresh all the material for our next lecture which we'd take our midterms. Once class concluded, it was my intentions to disappear immediately after but as if I should've expected it, he called for me to stay after class.
It unloaded fairly quickly, something that rarely happened. Suddenly the same dry itch in the back of my throat that felt so tangible in my dream rested in my mouth as I itched down the steps to approach his desk. He kept quiet until the last student walked from the room, instructing me into the seat directly in front of the huge table he kept stacks of ungraded papers until he took them home. He trailed me with those same piercing eyes and shifted his weight against the table.
"Forgive me for intervening but I received word from a fellow student of yours that racial slurs against you were used in the heat of a dispute between you and another student. Our policy for bullying is palpable and quite frankly necessary for this very reason. If you were considering taking these concerns to someone in charge, I will back you," he says, shoving his hands into the front pockets of his dress pants accentuating the curvature of his body. My mind had even began corrupting to image of him in the purest form.
Suddenly I was back in his car the night he picked me up from the party. Eyes swollen with evidence they'd been burning with tears moments before. The car was silent and in the midst of that silence I had somehow felt more comfort than any words he could've said to me in that moment. As much as I wanted to projectile vomit the queasiness churning in my stomach from Rachel's words to me, I didn't. Maybe because I thought I wouldn't be able to understand the way her words truly made me feel or because... because apart of me assumed he wouldn't care.
I mean, why would he? Because It was me? Or because his ex-sister in law thought it genuinely necessary to take to a higher authority? I shake all speculation from my mind and bring myself present to the conversation taking place before me. Still trying to force a smooth swallow down my sandpaper ridden throat, completely unsure of what response he was looking from for me.
"By fellow student, are you talking about Taylor? Because if so, she had no right bringing that you without my permission."
He sighs deeply, moving from his rested position against the table to the empty seat beside me. Professor rests his hands on top of the desk, swirling a bulky silver ring around around his middle finger before focusing his attention back on my face with an expression unmistakable for anything other than pure authenticity. It only increased my need to be anywhere but here.
"Alexandrea, this is something I wish you would have brought to me yourself. I mean considering I assumed our relationship extended enough for you to confide in me about personal issues. Especially when they take place on this campus. These accusations aren't anything to be lenient about. In general and from a sorority head expected and trusted to guide underclass females in the right direction."
"Your reasoning alone should fully explain why I decided keeping the issue to myself," I snap, standing from the chair. I don't know why that word stuck a nerve with me, but it did. "This isn't something new to me, Professor T. I've grown complacent making white people comfortable with my silence so why should this be any different? Because maybe the dean will give her detention or a pink slip? Who's gonna believe the black girl who cried wolf over the straight A white girl that's head of a sorority?" I finish, making my way to the door to leave.
Professor follows behind me, reaching for my hand before I could make my way out of the class room.
"I would," he says simply, hand still locked securely in between mine. I shift around to him, expecting him to break the grip from my palms, but he doesn't which in theory dictates my next move and suddenly I no longer have to imagine the feeling of his lips against mines. For what feel like forever, our lips fit and glides together ten times better than they did during my kiss with Wyatt and the urge for a second one dissipated almost immediately—even once he pushes me away from the synchronization between us. "Alex—I"
The realization of my actions hit me like a ton of bricks. His eyes once soft and genuine now filled with what appeared to be horror and confusion. I hardly remember the moment his hand no longer rested in mines. The only thought on mind was the quickest way to flee the room without hearing how inappropriate what I had just done was.
Shame couldn't compete with the humiliation shunning me all on its own even without his words doing it for him.
"I—I have to go." Was all I said before racing out of the lecture hall without allowing him another word.
How could I?