Collection

ch 2 jan 6 2019

Collection

Chapter 2

Being Thalia

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom &  @devikafernando

AU FICTION

It’s TRUE! @devikafernando and @avenger-nerd-mom are posting a SEQUEL for Educating Thalia, involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans! In Being Thalia, the two rivals are still vying for their right to claim the lovely Thalia Bareo. The sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago is all grown up now, holding down a job, continuing her studies and freelancing as a consultant for museums around the world. Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Warning: As a whole, this work contains adult content. If you proceed you have agreed that you are willing to see such content. Each chapter will not be coded with individual warnings. The overall story contains no hidden triggers.

Summary: Settling into a new, permanent role at the University, Thalia makes new friends and discovers her office comes with a nice view.

Word count: 2382

If you are new to the series and characters, click here to the beginning of Educating Thalia.

If you are looking for other stories in the sequel, click here for the beginning of Being Thalia

Images found on Pinterest

Previous Chapter

“Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons:

They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.”

Whitney Otto- How to Make an American Quilt

2018, Fall Semester

With the announcement after Fall mid-terms that Lin-Hu would not be returning from her maternity leave, the University offered Thalia a teaching position for the Spring semester, with classes in languages and history. She was given the former teacher’s office, larger than the closet sized cubicle she had been sharing with two grad students. Elated to have a permanent space in the history department to call home, she was having fun buying furniture and decorating, and getting ready to go home for the holidays.

“Stacey, if I’m gonna get outta here at a decent hour tonight, I need to get off the phone, and get more of these boxes unpacked,” she says, pushing up from where she had been sitting on the floor, sorting through a stack of books.

“Ok, mija, just let us know when you finalize your flight plans,” the quiet, motherly voice says over the phone. “You’re father is so excited, he’s already planning to pick you up at the airport and take you straight to Portillo’s.”

She laughs. “Papá does realize I won’t be home for, like, another six weeks, right? I can’t make it home for Thanksgiving and Christmas.”

“I know, I keep telling him,” her voice drops. “Will you be joining Chris and his daughter for Thanksgiving?”

Thalia pinches her lips to hold in the sigh threatening to burst out. “Probably not. I think I’ll join some of the foreign exchange students and help them serve dinner at the shelter.”

Stacey is silent for a moment. “Thalia, are you okay, sweetheart?”

Tears sting at her eyes and she blinks them away just as quickly. “I will be. I’m getting there.” Thalia chuckles looking at the messy room and boxes still waiting to be unpacked. “I really gotta go. If I’m not home by dark, my landlord will start to wonder why I even bother paying rent if I’m never home.”

“You are never home! Isn’t that why you keep all your favorite things in your work space?”

“You know me too well, Mamá,” she replies.

She and her step-mother exchange goodbyes. Turning the radio up, she steps back and visualizes the plan for the empty shelves. A student stops by with questions about an essay assignment, and before she knows it, it’s almost time to call it a day. “One more shelf,” she says to nobody but herself.

Bent over an open box, Thalia reaches in, pulling out a few more things to add to the balance of travel knickknacks and books on the wooden shelving. She chuckles at the low whistle she hears, and the whispered, “Nice ass.” She licks her lip but pays no mind to the man across the hall. Still got it, she thinks to herself.

Humming along to the Latin music she plays, she tries not to dance to the beat, knowing he’s still watching her. He probably doesn’t even know he said it out loud, she muses, having seen him already slam his hand in the desk drawer accidentally and forever jamming up the copy machine. The pretty boy from Aussie is a bit flaky, a bit too blond for her tastes.

hems nice ass

Reaching up on the shelf, she wobbles on her heels and huffs in frustration.

“I can help with that?” he asks, much closer now.

Sure enough, he’s standing in her doorway, his arm stretched up, resting on the moulding above the door frame. She does her best not to respond on animal instinct, her mouth involuntarily watering at the sight of him. Taking in the sculpted abs under the tight sweater and the tat on his inner arm, she feels her cheeks flame, hoping her blush isn’t visible. It would have been almost comical if his shirt had lifted to show what she was sure to be a very happy treasure trail. She shakes her head, and laughs him off.

“Hemsworth, right? No thanks. I know how professors like you work.” She snags her toe around the leg of a small footstool and pulls it closer. “Stretching up to reach things on high bookshelves, or door jams,” she rolls her eyes, puckering her lips in accusation when he drops his arm, “to ‘innocently’ catch a girl’s eye? Not interested.”

Sirens buzz in her head, telling her to stay away and keep focused. Sneering at him when he plops down in her new leather chair, she steps up on the higher plateau, arranging the books as she envisioned. “Hand me those photos,” she says to him. “If I can’t get rid of you, you might as well be useful.”

“I can be useful in a lot of ways,” he pronounces slowly, winking at her. Shuffling through the frames on her desk, he comments. “Nice collection. Paris. London. New York. Disney? Quite well traveled…” He hands up the photos, smiling. “So are the rumors true?”

Thalia tilts her head, looking down on him. Her tongue runs over her teeth, and she makes a clucking sound. “Is that why you keep sniffing around?”

They’ve chatted before, occasionally sharing a lunch in the staff workroom, but she’s kept herself distant and guarded. No actions that could be viewed as anything more than professional courtesies.

“No, actually.” He leans forward, looking at the stack of papers on her desk, reaching for another photo frame. “Your parents?” She nods, giving no indication she wants to talk. “Nice family… You’re always such a nice woman,” he shrugs. “You have an easy laughter, you always smell like flowers, and the lunches you heat up every day always make my mouth water.” He stretches out in her chair, digging his heel into the rug and spinning slowly from left to right. “We’re neighbors now. I simply wanna get to know you.” He crosses his arms over his tight belly and twiddles his thumbs, the silver rings on his fingers drawing her eyes to the slight movement. “I don’t care whether or not you fucked your science professor as an undergrad.”

“Hmm,” she hums,, lingering over his words and turning back to arrange the photos. She’d heard all the stories, none of them actually hinting at the truth. “I can assure you, I did not have sex with my science professor.”

He quietly assesses her. “I’d like to spend time with you, figure out what that amazing scent is that you always carry. Can I take you to dinner?”

prof hems tat

Holy hell. He is hitting on me. “What? Why me?”

“I miss home.” He reaches for a pencil, tapping it against the edge of the desk. She looks down at him, skepticism written all over her face. “I’m tired of all the skinny, plastic girls, the ones that only want to talk makeup and reality TV stars. I like a woman with a little more…” His eyes stroke over her figure, undressing her in a way she hasn’t felt in ages. A small butterfly flaps its wings deep in her belly. “Charm and intelligence.”

“What a flattering way to word that,” she chuckles, running her hand over her hip and slapping her thigh.

His laughter explodes, warm and infectious. “Someone to throw over my shoulder,” He says, rising from the chair to aid her as she steps down.

“Nice shoulders,” she compliments, giving his strapping deltoid a tight squeeze. “Too blond for me, pal.” She laughs and winks. Spinning on the step stool to properly stand down, her feet tangle and she topples from the height. With quick reflexes, the handsome professor catches her in a basket hold and her arm grips around his shoulder. She gasps, the wind sucked out of her. “Nice shoulders,” she repeats as he gently sets her to the ground, holding her as close as he can without being too forward. His eyes dart down quickly for a peek at what her tight t-shirt reveals before taking a step back, gallantly blushing.

“Too blond, huh?” He laughs, running his hands through his hair. “Sure I can’t change your mind?”

His Aussie accent jumbles her brain, slightly drawled, very relaxed. Accents are my kink. She tries to hide her blush at the thought, shaking her head. “Chris, that’s really sweet, but I’m still getting over a relationship. I’m really not…not myself just yet. It wouldn’t be fair to anyone,” she explains, letting him down easy and ushering him to the hall. Her heart thumps against her chest as a familiar plaid shirt rounds the corner at the end of the hallway, disappearing from view.

Hemsworth squeezes her forearm. “Sorry to hear that, darl. But I am somewhat lonely for company.” He tilts his head and his bright white smile beams down at her- “Jesus, you’re tall!” she mutters and he chuckles softly. “I promise I won’t bite, so the offer for dinner still stands, any time.”

“Thanks, I appreciate that,” she mumbles stepping back into her office. Placing her hand on the door, she laughs. “I know you’re still gonna sit at your desk and watch my ass, so I’m just gonna close the door.”

She waves the tips of her fingers and places a divide between them. Sinking back against the door, she hits her head against the solid wood. “How many professors you need in that collection, Chica?” she scoffs before pushing off the surface. Grabbing her purse from the bottom drawer, she reaches across the desk to turn off the lamp. Lifting a stuffed file, she tucks it under her arm, exiting the room quickly and locking the door behind her.

Thalia jogs down the hall, slowing before reaching the doorway to the staff workroom. Entering the shared space, she acts surprised to see Professor Evans leaning against the counter, eating a bowl of cereal. “Hey,” she says, nonchalantly, opening the fridge for a chilled bottle of water and her lunch bag. With her other hand, she waves the folder to him. “I finished the research. Wanna go get a table downstairs, spread it out and work on it?”

He chuckles at her word choice and she slams the folder against his chest. “Childish fucker,” she laughs, shaking her head.

“I didn’t say anything,” Chris laughs, turning on the water to wash out his bowl. “Can’t do it tonight, I’ve got to get Avery after dance.” He shakes off the excess water and lays the bowl in the drainboard to dry. “So… You and the Ken doll?”

She didn’t miss the jealous tone in his teasing words and her Latina blood starts to simmer. “Shit, I knew it. Are you fuckin’ spying on me? We said we were gonna live our lives separately. You have no right to-”

“Another professor though? Norse mythology? Really? Even the British arse would laugh at that. Maybe I should give him a call, let him lecture you about the pitfalls of dating professors. You always seemed to listen to him more than-”

Her eyes blaze as she cuts him off. “He wouldn’t fuckin’ care. His opinion has no basis on anything I do anymore and I couldn’t-” Her strength wilts in an instant and her eyes well with tears. “Fuck off, Evans,” she sputters, storming from the room.

She doesn’t turn when he calls after her and she tries to hold back her crying. He catches up quickly and reaches for the strap on her bag, stopping her. “I’m sorry, Thal, I didn’t know.” She angrily pushes away the tears, her arm caught between them as he wraps her in a hug. “He still didn’t call? Damn, I figured you’d patched things up by now.”

Thalia swallows hard, trying not to choke on her words. “Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I just… I’m tired. I need a new life, to forget everything-”

“-But that guy? He’s… I don’t know? He doesn’t seem like your type at all, other than being a professor.”

She pushes away from his grasp. “Thanks for trying to cheer me up, but eat shit, Evans. You don’t have any say in my life now either.”

Rushing down the stairs, she gasps for breaths, trying to quell her battered heart. Working on a friendship with an ex-lover is just too damn tough, he always thinks he can have a say in what I do. I’ll damn well do what I want, she thinks, sighing heavily. Leaving the back stairwell, she pushes out onto the sidewalk in the late fall sunshine. I’m done letting them control my life, as if they still own me. I’m my own person, dammit!

Walking to her car, she tucks her water bottle under her arm as she roots through her purse for her keys.

“Side pocket,” a voice calls out.

She spins around, to see Hemsworth straddling a motorcycle, pointing to her. She reaches for her coat pocket, and sure enough, the lanyard is hanging out, her keys tucked safely inside. “Nice ride,” she says, holding up her keys as a silent ‘thanks.’

“Wanna take a spin?” He tilts his head. “You look like you need to escape. You all right?”

Pursing her lips, she shakes her head no. Swallowing hard, she pushes back her fears. “Sounds good actually. You still up for dinner? Drowning myself in pasta sounds good right about now.”

“Put your bag in the car, and tie up that wild mane of yours.”

She does as she’s told and jogs back quickly to his set up. Hemsworth has opened a storage compartment and pulled out a second helmet. Handing it to her, he asks, “Ridden before?”

“Been a while, but I think I can remember.” She takes the helmet and pushes back fly away hairs from her face.

“Hold tight and lean when I lean; squeeze with your knees.”

“Got it,” she says, putting on the helmet and watching him lift his thick thigh over the seat of the bike. Pulling the protective gear over her head, she climbs behind him, sliding forward on the worn leather seat and wrapping her arms around his fit waist. She can feel his tight abs under his soft sweater and a decidedly masculine scent fills her nose.

As they pull out of the parking lot, the side door opens again and Professor Evans exits the building. She lets go and gives a little wave as they literally ride off into the sunset.

Click here for Chapter 3, Attraction

Copyright © 2019  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

Flashback

ch 1 jan 2 2019

Flashback

Chapter 1

Being Thalia

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom &  @devikafernando

AU FICTION

It’s TRUE! @devikafernando and @avenger-nerd-mom are posting a SEQUEL for Educating Thalia, involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans! In Being Thalia, the two rivals are still vying for their right to claim the lovely Thalia Bareo. The sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago is all grown up now, holding down a job, continuing her studies and freelancing as a consultant for museums around the world. Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Warning: As a whole, this work contains adult content. If you proceed you have agreed that you are willing to see such content. Each chapter will not be coded with individual warnings. The overall story contains no hidden triggers.

Summary: Thalia has an off-day, feeling out of sorts, and retreats to her office to let her mind wander.

Word count: 970

This opening chapter follows the events in the one-shot story, The Bet, originally posted in August 2018.

If you are new to the series and characters, click here to the beginning of Educating Thalia.

“Why are old lovers able to become friends? Two reasons:

They never truly loved each other, or they love each other still.”

Whitney Otto- How to Make an American Quilt

2020, Early Spring

Trouncing down the stairs, Thalia momentarily stops. Two students leaning against the window ledge are arguing points for class, one clutching a copy of Coriolanus to her chest.

A cold ache fills her heart, as it always does when her former professor and former lover, Tom Hiddleston, crosses her mind. “Fuck him,” she mumbles under her breath, hitting her fist on the bannister. She waves it off when the young woman asks if she’s okay. She sighs and continues her path down the hallway. Unlocking the door to her small office, she slams it behind her. Her love of languages and Shakespeare lost their shine when her light left. Tom took it away when he walked out of her life, nearly two years ago.

Plopping in the chair, she props her dusty boots up on the desk, swiveling the chair to face the windows, looking out across campus. The trees are beginning to bud, and soon things will be green again. Moving a file, the tennis ball she keeps on her desk rolls towards her and she picks it up and begins bouncing it against the wall. Methodically her thoughts drift as she gets lost in the repetition.

***

Slamming around their small apartment in Paris, Tom throws his clothes into the two large suitcases on the bed, the sheets still rumpled from their lovemaking the day before.

“Tom! It’s not like that! Dammit, why you gotta be such a hard ass?” She shouts back at him.

“America, Thalia? I thought we were done with that? I thought you let it go?” Tom’s voice is tight and controlled, his accent clipped. He opens the top drawer, reaching in and scooping out all the clean socks and underwear. Slamming it shut, the clock he hung just days before rattles against the stucco wall. “That we had a life here, together.”

“It’s just for a few months, a semester.” She replies, stepping in front of him.

He pushes around her. “And right back in Evans’ bed, no doubt. Of all the Ivy League schools that want you, offer you teaching positions, why do you think they keep calling you? It’s him, isn’t it?”

“Tom, I haven’t seen him in months. I’ve been here with you, you fool.” She rests on the end of the bed, trying to make light of his anger. She shuts out her thoughts and feelings about Chris cancelling their Spring Break plans at the last possible minute because he’d met someone new…

“Don’t bloody lie to me, woman. I know you still talk. I hear you on the phone with him, and his little girl. I know you still send her cards and gifts.”

Thalia nods. She can’t deny it. She made one promise ages ago, and that was to never abandon Avery. And she held true to her word. The relationship with her other former lover and professor, Chris Evans, had cooled, but they had still remained friends. She says so out loud, but it falls on deaf ears while Tom roots around in the closet, pulling out shirts and dress clothes, tossing them haphazardly on the bed.

“So you’ve taken a job at our old school, where he still works? Where he still pines for you? And you want to keep me?”

“He’s moved on, Tom. If you’ll stop for one damn minute-”

“I don’t give a rat’s arse about him. I care about you and how you let him get to you after all this time, Thalia. It’s too much.” He stands in the doorway, seething with a frightful energy she’s never seen before. Another moment of his rage passes through her thoughts, when he found out she had been seeing Evans. But this fury is unmatched; there’s a finality in it. He throws his hands up in the air. “You know what? I’m done. I’m fucking done. I’ll be back to get the rest of my things tonight, when I know you’re teaching your class. I’ll change my flight, and head back to London early.”

“Tom, you’re being ridiculous. My dad is sick, you gotta understand that,” she pleads. “I have to be back in the States, closer to home. Field Museum wouldn’t hire me, and I can’t just quit working and go home. I have college debt and bills to pay. It’s just a damn job,” Thalia says, throwing a pillow to the ground. “It puts me closer to home, closer to my dad. You don’t have to leave,” she says, anguish choking her throat.

“I do. I can’t fucking stay here a moment longer, be in your presence, knowing you still love him. I won’t do it anymore, Thalia. I can’t. Since you’re not ready to grow up and give up your other toys, I’ll take one away. I’m gone.”

***

She catches the ball in her hand, gripping it tightly. He’d meant what he said. Other than the occasional professional email, Tom Hiddleston was no longer in her life. He wasn’t even someone she could call a friend anymore. He had totally cut her out. The wounds had been deep.

When she’d first accepted the teaching position at their former place of employment, to cover another professor’s maternity leave, returning to the arms of Professor Chris Evans had not been her plan. She had made a point to stand on her own and it had worked well, for the first few months. Chris had moved on, a new girlfriend taking up space in his bed. But he and Thalia had been able to resume their friendship, and Thalia enjoyed spending time with his young daughter. The girl was so inquisitive, beautiful eyes and a sharp wit, like her father. When she was offered a more permanent teaching job at the university, she had nothing in Paris to return to, so she’d gladly accepted.

Next Chapter, Collection

Copyright © 2019  avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

It’s Complicated

et 24 Its complicated may 24 2017.png

Chapter 24

Educating Thalia

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom & @devikafernando

AU FICTION

A collaboration involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans- The two are rivals at a posh New England university and have no idea they both have taken interest in the lovely Thalia Bareo. She’s a grad student with interests in language and history; a sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago.  Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Word count:  6000 IT’S LONG BUT IT WAS NECESSARY- SORRY!

Warnings:  : Language, Adult Situations, stepfamilies, food porn, drinking, NSFW, fingering, exhibitionism, angst, real life discussions

Summary: Thalia enjoys some time out alone with her stepmother, glad she didn’t have to choose between her suitors for Valentine’s Day, but missing them.

Click here for intro to Educating Thalia

Tired from the long day of classes, the drive into the city, and a few errands, Thalia hides her yawn as she sits at the table. The two women pour over the menu.  The older blonde, polished and sophisticated, taps the table with her perfectly manicured nails.  Looking over the top of her reading glasses, she asks the young woman what she plans to order.

“Mmm… I can’t decide,”  Thalia admits.  “It all looks so good, my mouth is watering just reading the descriptions.”  She happily sighs.  “I think the fish with a baked potato and the house salad?  And their garlic bread is to die for!”

“Thalia, that’s a lot of food?  You really shouldn’t be eating all those carbs.  I mean, you look great, but…”  begins the older woman.

Thalia takes a deep breath, steeling herself as she carefully places the menu on the table.  She’s used to her stepmother acting this way, and she knows if they can get through the first hour without killing one another, they’ll end up having a great visit together.

Shaking her head slightly, she purrs.  “Stacey.  I’m never gonna be stick thin, like you.  I know my limitations and if I decide to indulge there’s always the gym tomorrow.  Besides.  I can’t eat too much tonight. Everyone knows tomorrow is half-price chocolate day!”  Smiling sweetly, she pats the woman’s hand.  “Thanks for always worrying about me, but I know my shape. Big and round.  And I’m learning to own it, and appreciate it.  I’m actually really healthy right now, Moms.”

The woman takes the younger woman’s hand and squeezes it.  “You do look great.  Really happy…”

She pauses their conversation as the waiter takes their order, appearing to be miffed they didn’t order the dinner special.  Thalia looks to her right and left and it’s an endless sea of couples with the steak dinner in front of them.

Picking up the conversation where it left off, her stepmother takes a sip of her wine before asking, “Would this have anything to do with the gentleman visitor at Christmas?”

Smiling when the waiter returns with the bread basket, Thalia takes a piece of the bread and smiles up at her mom secretly.  “Maybe, yea, a little.”  Pursing her lips together, she isn’t sure how much to give away.  “He’s… He’s really amazing.  So sweet and caring, and he…” She stops and shakes her head, realizing she’s talking about both men and almost hating how this sentence ends in her mind.  Cuz it’s fuckin’ true of them both, and for the thousandth time, she can’t believe she let this happen… Tearing off a piece of the bread, the warm cheese stretches between the two parts and she dips it in the olive oil before popping it in her mouth, chewing carefully.

“Thalia, spit it out.  What are you not telling me?” The woman prods.

“Fuck, Stacey.  It’s kind of a mess, but it’s also really wonderful.  And I think…” She props her elbow on the table and rubs her fingertips across her brow with exasperation.  “I think he loves me.” She shakes her head and laughs.  Both of them do, and she knows it, and it’s just a fucked up mess she’s created.  “We haven’t said it yet, but I think he loves me.  And not ‘in spite of’ my size, but partly because of it.”  Trying hard to control the grin on her face, she just can’t stop herself.  It is Valentine’s Day afterall…  “He’s really just… something else, ya know?”

Stacey stares in disbelief for a moment and then releases a happy squeal.  “Oh, my God, honey!  That’s so wonderful!  Do you love him back?  Is he cute?  Is he still in school?  Holy shit, I didn’t think you’d spill the goods before the food arrived,” she chuckles.  “It usually takes a pry-bar to get you to open up.  He must really be under your skin.”

Taking a drink of her wine, she tilts her head slightly to the side while dozens of images race through her mind of both Chris and Tom.  Her smile reaches all the way to her eyes and she feels she’s positively glowing in the candlelight.  Candles on the table.  Romance. Damn.  She leans forward and blows it out, the smell of smoke filling the air.  “In the best ways possible,” she hints.

Their salads arrive and Thalia picks off the tomatoes, laying them to the side.  The woman across from her raised her since she was nine and she adores her with all her heart, but she can’t bring herself to fully open up with all her sordid secrets.  Hell, she tries not to think about it herself.  Sometimes, she’s afraid if she opens up to someone, things are bound to topple over and smack her in the face. As if this is all some magical fairytale and as soon as she breathes a word about it, the bubble will burst. She doesn’t want to be judged – least of all in her own head, and she has a pretty good idea she’ll start doing that automatically if she shares the details of her secret little love triangle.

She tries her best to answer the questions without actually confessing anything.  Scoffing, she replies quickly.  “Yes, he is still in school,” grinning at her own little joke.  “Devilishly handsome.  Glasses.”  She tilts her head back, eyes closed and euphoric, and shakes her whole body happily. God, she’s such a nerd.  “He’s got the most adorable accent and he gets so excited about learning new things, he’s like a puppy sometimes, bouncing all over the place.”  In her mind she wonders again how two men so different can actually be so much alike…

“Thalia María Bareo!  You are in love with him!”  Stacey drops her fork and bounces with glee.  “I never thought I’d see the day, but you are head over heels for this guy.  Oh, man!  This is amazing, honey!  I’m so happy.”

Oh, fuck.  She’s right. Her step-mother is always right.  When the hell did that happen?

She quickly downs the rest of her wine and signals the waiter.  “Scotch on the rocks, please.”

She fends off a few more of Stacey’s questions, answering as obliquely as possible.  She doesn’t want to give her stepmother any details she can nail down.  Their conversation dies off as the food arrives.  Thalia turns her focus to her mother and asks the required questions about family and adopts an air of interest as Stacey talks about the convention she is attending in the city.  Her thoughts begin to drift to ‘kill me now, I’d never survive the business world’ when her phone begins to buzz, hopping all over the table.  ‘God Save the Queen’ chimes and Stacey looks confused as to the choice of song.

Wiping her mouth on her napkin, she lays it next to her plate.  “Stacey?  Can I?” She indicates she wants to check her phone and her stepmother frantically waves her approval, mouthing the words ‘is that him?’

“It’s a text.  He can’t hear you.”  She shakes her head at the woman’s flightiness. Thalia unlocks the screen to see a selfie of Tom, presumably laying on his bed, wearing the shirt she gave him and the book she found in an old shop lying on his chest.  The message reads I miss you, darling.  Have fun with your mother. Can we meet for tea and toast in the Commons in the morning?

She runs her fingers over her lips nervously, thinking of the timing and knowing she has to attend a history department meeting at eleven with Chris to take notes about the upcoming exhibit.  Who is she kidding?  She’s juggled them both this long…  Of course, Tom!  Can’t wait to see you SIR.

Good girl.  I can’t wait either.  I have something I wish to ask you.

Thalia’s heart jumps into her throat.  At least with Chris, she can see where his thinking goes.  He sometimes misses the domestic life, and tries to replicate his favorite parts of it with her…

But Tom?  She has no idea where his mind wanders off to sometimes. It’s like he’s truly foreign to her.  Some days it’s so frustrating to be with him because his British demeanor can be cold and seem harsh, when she knows that underneath it all, he’s just a teddy bear that wants to believe in love again, to have someone to love him.  Dear God, please don’t let me hurt him…  She has no clue what he’s thinking; what he might want to ask.  She finds it unnerving.

Finishing her drink, she pushes her plate away, her appetite lost.  Stacey reads her emotions accurately, and asks, “Honey, if you’re so crazy about him, why are you here with me and not with him?  It’s Valentine’s Day?”

Nodding, she turns her hands and examines her nails, smiling absently to the waiter as he carries away her plate.  “It is.  It’s Valentine’s Day and that’s exactly why I couldn’t see him today.  It’s complicated.”

#

Over the loud music and the roar of the revelers, Thalia yells at her stepmother.  “How the hell did you talk me into this?”

“I’m your ride home!  Now shut up and have another shot.  Live a little!”

Stacey turns back to her friends from the convention and Thalia considers calling a cab back to the hotel.  The group of older ladies were enjoying the Anti-Valentine’s Party atmosphere of the night club.  Although most of them were married, that didn’t stop them from flirting, accepting drinks or dancing with the scores of good looking men who stopped by their table.  The party scene had never been Thalia’s style, but she’d danced and was having fun.  However her responsibilities are too great and she’s exhausted from her long hours.  Sliding down from the barstool she reaches across the table to her stepmother to tell her she’s going to leave when a strong arm wraps around her waist.  A familiar scent fills her nose and a heat radiates through  her.  She tries to maintain a straight face.  Reaching around her, the solid brick wall of a man standing behind her slams another shot of the dark amber liquid down on the table.  Rubbing his cock against her curved ass, he growls in her ear, “Another.”

Picking up the tiny glass, she turns to face him.  She can’t hide her smile at the handsome face that floats before her, a sure sight for sore eyes in a sea of strangers.  Shooting it down quickly she hands it back to him with a wink. In her husky timbre she boldly says over the loud raucous crowd, “Four.”

With his head thrown back in laughter she pushes past him to the dance floor.  She can feel his eyes following every move, knowing her high heels add more of a swish to her ass than usual.  Realizing he desires her is so stimulating and builds her confidence. Over her shoulder she sees him visibly panting and trying to discretely adjust the already growing bulge in his pants.

Shaking her head she finds a spot in the middle of the crowded dance floor and begins to sway to the music.   As one thumping song blends into the next, he shimmies up behind her.  His grasp on her is seductive and as she moves the seam of her tight jeans pushes her panties between her aching lips, soaking up her flood.  Reaching over her head and behind them, she drapes her arm around his neck, pulling his head down to rest on her shoulder.  Turning her head she yells in their close space.  “Chris! What the hell are you doing here?”

His hands reach all the way around her and rest on her belly pulling her back to him as they grind to a pulsing Latin beat.

“Stag night,” he yells in her ear.  “Some of my single friends thought they’d prey on heartbroken women.  Looks like they found some at your table.”  He nibbles on her ear and she lets him.  The movements are so sensual it’s like fucking in public.  As the crowd presses around them, his hands tease down her hips squeezing the tops of her thighs.  “Is one of those ladies your stepmom?”

“Shh… Don’t talk.  Keep doing that.”  She wants to lose herself in the music with him.  In public.  Like a goddamn real date on Valentine’s Day.  It’s like Cupid heard her wishes to be with one of her men; she pushes the thought away that maybe it’s meant to be a ‘sign’ that Chris was the one that appeared?

How could she ever hurt Tom?  How could she hurt Chris?  Her head pounds in a beating pulse and for one more night, she doesn’t want to have to come up with an answer.

His hands are rough on her body, tugging and pulling to the beat of the music, unknowingly lifting her from her negative thoughts.   His thick fingers grasp at her flimsy top and with each grope higher up her hips and sides, he lifts the silky red fabric until he can drag his fingers along the waist of her jeans.  Tickling at her belly button, he traces a path to the snap on her jeans.

Feeling her pupils dilate as another rush of wet releases between her legs she turns her face to his.  “What are you doing?   We can’t…” Her words come out as a rush of air, no real sound to them but the fire returned in his eyes lets her know she heard him.

“Look around, no one’s paying attention.  I can finger fuck you right here and no one would know.”

The sea of dancers swells around them and they are hidden in plain sight.  She can’t even see the group of Stacey’s friends and she doesn’t recognize a single face.  The ache in her body is intense.  Looking down she can see her nipples are hard, obviously peaking under the silk shirt, teased from the lace bra brushing against them.  “Aw fuck, Chris.  We can’t…”

Changing dance positions his other arm comes up over her shoulder and snakes over her breasts, pinching one of her peaks. “Fuck you,” she whispers.  “I already ache.”

“Let me make it better,” he offers quietly in return.

She leans back into his body, his cock throbbing and rubbing her ass.  If unclothed, he’d fit right into her.  No wonder he finds her heeled boots so damn sexy, she thinks.  We’re the perfect height.

“Niña, don’t think.”  His hands dip lower into her pants, the fabric relaxing and pulling away, allowing him access.  “You know if you want me to stop, you just have to tell me.  You’re so wet, I’m not even to your sweet pussy yet and I can feel your juices on my hand, our dance moves shifting your clothes, teasing you, spreading the wet.  The lace is soaked, baby girl.  So damn sexy.”

The dancers move and swirl around them, new pairings dividing off and others joining in.  Chris is her constant, pulling her to the edge with just his hands and his voice.  Her heart pounds in her chest.  Her head drops back against his shoulder and he bites her neck as he dips into her well, stroking the lace through her lips.  “Shit,” she moans.  Other party-goers jostle against them and his arm is bumped causing him to push deeper.  Not expecting the force, her ass pushes back against him and a gasp escapes her lips.  He keeps up the pretense of their dance as she melts in his arms.

Pulsating to the beat, Chris holds her tight and fucks her well.  “Thalia? Do you want me to stop?”  With a barely noticeable turn of her head, she breathes heavily against his skin.  “No.  No. I need this.  I need you.”

His hands are magic and she can’t say no.  His long fingers quickly make work of her as he whispers in her ear, encouraging her to let go, to relax.  “Come, come all over my hand and I’ll know it the whole drive home.”  His breath is hot and damp, and the smell of beer as he puffs against her skin seems to add to her own intoxication.  The music builds to a crescendo as she comes at his request, spilling over him and the dew seeping down her pants leg.

Removing his hand slowly, he wipes himself clean on the inside of her jeans, tugging her shirt back into place.  Keeping up their pretense of a dance, Chris holds her tightly so her limp form doesn’t collapse.  “Beautiful, so fucking beautiful.  Your mind, your body, your spirit, Thalia.”

Coming back to earth she can see Stacey’s blonde head bobbing up and down over the top of the other dancers, searching for her. Chris spins her quickly, her back to her mother and claims her with a kiss. “Let me take you home,” he begs.

Tucking her hair back she tries to clear her mind.  “No. We said ‘no Valentine’s Day’. This is pure coincidence; you got lucky I was here.  I’m staying with her at the hotel and I’ll see you at lunch tomorrow.”  She pushes away from his massive chest, ignoring the pounding pain in her head.  “I gotta go.”

“Been a long time since I had a girl run off ‘cause her mother was looking for her,” he teases.

Thalia tugs at his shirt collar, catching a glimpse of his tattoo, one of her favorite quotes.  “Cradle robber,” she jokes, trying to make light of the situation.  What kind of magic spell did he just weave?  Bastard.

Yanking her close for a moment longer, he shakes his head in total disagreement.  “You’re all woman, and you’re mine.”

“Just remember, that makes YOU MINE too, so don’t you be flirting with any of these desperate old hags”

Fleetingly, he touches his fingertips to her lips and she smells the proof of her ownership. Pivoting on her heels to walk away, he smacks her on the ass.

When she reaches her table and gathers her coat, she looks around for him and realizes he’s gone.

#

The women decide it’s only three blocks back to the hotel so the walk in the cold would be easier than finding a cab.  Thalia mentions Uber and most of them look at her like she’s speaking an alien tongue, so she just falls back in the group.

The air is cold against her wet jeans and she fears the smell will be detected in the winter breeze. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” she whispers aloud, rubbing her knuckle across her lips like she does when deep in thought.

Stacey steps in next to her and links arms.  “I’m sorry I couldn’t get out of my meetings today.  I can’t wait to see your new tattoo.  Glad you decided to go ahead and do it, for Amy’s memory.“  The blonde side steps some broken glass on the sidewalk.  “That was a fun night, baby girl!  I always wanna go out like that, but your father wants to sit at home.  I’m glad you came with us!”  She takes the end of Thalia’s pink scarf and wraps it tighter around her neck.  Thalia blanches at the use of her family’s nickname for her, having been so long since she’d actually heard family use it.  She palms her hand over her mouth and her stomach twists.

Baby girl.  Aw, fuck.  What have I done?  Stacey continues to prattle on, but Thalia hears none of it.  All she can think about is how she’s broken her own rule. Where did all her determination go?  She was the one who didn’t want either of them as part of her day, just to be fair to them both. She had wanted to prove to herself she could have fun without them. She shouldn’t have given in so easily, to Chris- letting him claim her like that, out in the open. But damn, the man is irresistible… She’s betrayed herself, dammit. And to top it all off she let him manipulate her thoughts and he fingered her in a goddamn public place where anyone could have seen them.  She feels sick about all the consequences if anyone from campus saw them.

“Hey, I lost ya.”  Stacey takes her room key out of her purse to gain access to the hotel lobby at the late hour.  “You okay?”

The women wait for the buzz of the door to let them in.  They all say their goodnights and head off in their individual directions, some staying by the warm fireplace to warm up and chat longer.

Thalia can feel the fakeness to her smile.  “Fine. Really. I think the evening just caught up to me and I’m dead on my feet.  I need some aspirin and to lie down.”

“Can do that, honey.”  Stacey replies leading them to wait with the group at the bank of elevators.  She leans in conspiratorially.  “Damn, I know you’re in love and all, but that man you were dancing with?  Hell, he was hot sex on a stick!  Yummy!”

“Stacey!”  ‘In love.’ Her stomach lurches at Stacey’s words.  Fuck.  She is.  With both of them, and her wanton public behavior tonight is such an insult to Tom and the privacy of their relationship… Jesus, what the hell am I doing?

“What? Just because I’ve been married to your father for sixteen years doesn’t mean I can’t look and appreciate the male form.  And believe me, he had a nice one.”  Stacey bumps her shoulder and giggles.

Girl stuff.  Thalia was never good at that.  Pulling herself together, she focuses on the now with her stepmother.   She giggles too and plays along.  “Yes, he did.  Solid too.”

“A man built like that?  He’s just right for a girl like you.  He could throw you around like a ragdoll,” Stacey smiles, her eyes bright from her slight inebriation.

“Oh my God.  Hello?  Boundaries.  You’re still my mother, ya know.”  Thalia laughs for real and shakes her head at the absurdity.  She wonders if Stacey will remember this conversation in the morning as she kicks off her heels in the elevator car.

“You need a man,” Stacey warrants, bending over to rub the ball of her foot.  “If men like that in clubs drool all over you, pick one.  And hell, I’ll stop worrying about you and food and your weight.  I’ve never had a man look at me like that before, honey.  Like he couldn’t wait to see you under all those clothes…” Other women from the club chime in their hummed agreement. The blonde tumbles a bit when the elevator stops at their floor. Righting herself she finishes with her audience. “If you can get a man like that one, take him and ride him to the altar and don’t let him go.”

Echoes of “hell yeahs” reach through the doors as they close and the silence to Thalia is deafening as they are alone and quiet for the first time all night.

Her demeanor changes and she sighs bitterly, really hoping her stepmother doesn’t remember her anger in the morning, just her words. “Dammit, Stacey, slow down.  Thank you for finally giving me permission to eat whatever the hell I want, that’s so kind of you…  But grasp your head around this one now: marriage isn’t in my cards.  At least not for a while…  I did not spend all this time and money on an education to give it up for a man and raise his babies.  I’m not ‘riding’ anyone anywhere right now, or for a long time for that matter.”

Her headache is growing worse by the minute and she just wants to get to the room and wash the club off her, the smell of smoke out of her hair.  She’s angry and she knows exactly why and Stacey just happened to say the wrong thing at the wrong time.

“Girl, you’re all grown up,” Stacey says as she slides the plastic card into the lock.  “You don’t need me to tell you what to do.  And I’m so proud of all the things you do… I just don’t want you to be lonely.  Find a good man, not a boy, and know the difference.  Someone who lets you be you and makes you want to be… well, more.

Stepping into the room, Stacey moves to her bed and flops down face first kicking her feet up in the air.  Thalia closes the door and leans against it, banging her head back and closing her eyes.  “Maybe that’s the problem.”

Pushing away from the door the quote from Chris’s tat swirls in her brain.  When you lose touch with your inner stillness you lose touch with yourself.  When you lose touch with yourself, you lose yourself in the world.

Tugging her fingers through her hair, she wonders if she even knows how to be herself without them anymore. It’s like being with them has opened a Pandora’s box, and now she doesn’t know how to close it again. All the new experiences, the self-discoveries. Even though it ties her brain into knots sometimes to deal with the secrecy and onslaught of a dozen different emotions, she wants this, needs this like air.

God, how far gone is she? Will there ever be a point that is too far?

#

When Thalia arrives to the student Commons for her meeting with Tom, she’s ten minutes late and gritting her teeth. She knows how much he values punctuality, but this morning, nothing much has gone her way, traffic was bad leaving the city, and she probably looks as frazzled as her mind is.

He’s sitting at the far corner, a little secluded, alternately fumbling with his glasses and rubbing his lips. Surreptitiously straightening her clothes and hair and wondering for the umpteenth time what he wants to talk about, Thalia walks over.

Her heart gives a guilty little lurch when she sees that he’s ordered her favorite morning treat – coffee and a blueberry bagel with cream cheese.

He looks up and his jaw tightens as he’s watching her approach.

Shit. She’s not sure she can handle a pissed-off Tom this morning, with the mix of emotions churning away in her gut and the almost sleepless night making her grumpy.

“Professor Hiddleston.”

She stops in front of the table, wondering what to say. He taps his watch and lifts an eyebrow, giving her that stern look that’s infuriating and sexy at the same time.

“You’re uncharacteristically late, Ms. Bareo.”

Ugh. No use making excuses. “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again, sir.”

His expression softens ever so slightly at the last word and he motions for her to have a seat.

Thalia tosses her bag in an empty seat and sits down, crossing her legs. Tom is wearing one of his hundred nearly identical sweaters today, and the soft burgundy fabric stretches invitingly over his muscles as he folds his arms.

With a swallow, Thalia shifts in her seat. She needs coffee to survive this.

To keep up the pretense, Tom goes through a few project-related things first while they work their way slowly through their breakfast. She keeps having flashbacks of Chris pressed against her on the dance floor, and of the conversation she had with her stepmother.

Why did this have to happen to her? All those years without a real man to catch her attention, and now she has two who couldn’t be more different but mean the world to her.

“Ms. Bareo?”

With a start, she realizes Tom has been waiting for an answer from her. Blushing, she takes a last fortifying sip of coffee.

“I’m sorry,” she apologizes again.

He looks at her with narrowed eyes, but all of a sudden, his glare gives way to concern. Leaning forward, he lowers his tone. “Are you alright, darling? You look a bit out of it, to be frank.”

There it is again, the caring, kind side to him that not many people get to see, although he’s always politeness personified. She nods. “Yeah, I’m okay. Just a bit of a rough night.”

“I hope your stepmother didn’t give you any trouble?”

“No, nothing like that. She and her friends dragged me into a club and we got in late. So I’m a bit hung over, to be honest.  I feel as if I’m over forty and they’re the party-hungry teenagers or something.  They were all laughing and ready to go this morning like it was nothing!”

Tom laughs his characteristic ehehe, but sobers up quickly. Now that the somewhat stern look is gone, she can see that he seems nervous beneath his mask. He keeps adjusting his glasses and pushing the rest of his food around on his plate.

Changing the subject, he asks, “Did you and your stepmother get your tattoos?”

Thalia caresses over the tender spot on her breast carefully. “Yea, I did.  Hurts like hell too.  But when the redness goes away, it’ll be beautiful.  Stacey claimed she couldn’t get out of her meetings, but I think she punked out at the last minute.”

Tom smiles warmly, but his fidgeting hands bely his usual confidence.

Why is he nervous when she’s the one who should be feeling like that? It only makes her even more anxious.

“Didn’t you want to talk to me about something?” she offers quietly, hoping to alleviate his anxiety.

He swallows hard and starts playing with his empty teacup, long fingers handling the delicate porcelain with utmost care. God, what those fingers can do. They’re just as lethal when they’re gentle as when they grab her hard enough to leave bruises. She wonders, if given the chance, would he have done the same at the club – driven her crazy with his nimble fingers, leave her panting and wanting more?

Probably so, and his words would have been filthier.

And she’d have loved every goddamn minute of it too.

Who the hell am I becoming?

She closes her eyes briefly and forces herself to focus.

When he speaks, his words are so low she has to lean forward to hear him.

“Would you be my sort-of date at the Alumni Gala next month?”

The napkin she’s been twisting slides from her fingers to the table.

“What?”

Tom runs a hand back through his hair. “Bloody hell, that came out all wrong. I’m sorry.”

He takes a breath and continues in a surer tone. “You know that my project is going to be honored, and I want you there by my side because you’ve played such an important role in it. Without your research, this wouldn’t have been possible.”

His blue eyes seek out hers, everything about his expression earnest and appealing. She can feel her pulse racing at the thought of accompanying him to the gala. He’ll probably wear a three-piece suit or tux and look way too handsome. But…

“Won’t I stick out like a sore thumb?” she questions, worrying her lip. “All the staff and dignitaries and VIP guests, and then plain, old, plump me.”

He narrows his eyes again, reaching out to her but stopping himself at the last moment and taking a gulp from his water glass instead.

“Nonsense, Thalia. It won’t be the first time in history that a grad student has attended the gala for some very valid reason.”  Looking around the Commons, it’s still rather quiet the morning after the holiday, and she sees now she isn’t the only dragging, hung over person on campus.

His voice drops and her gaze is drawn to his lovely angled face again. “Darling, there’s no way you could ever be ‘plain.’  You’re such a beautiful, charming creature.  Everyone will fall at your feet and want to listen to your musical voice.”

Blushing, she tries to read him and understand his uncertainty.  His gaze softens. “It’s perfectly alright for me to invite you. Nobody will think twice about it…and I’m pretty sure the sight of you in a gorgeous gown will make rational thought impossible for anyone, especially me, anyway.”

A flirtatious spark darkens his eyes, and she feels her resolve melt away.

“Please accept my invitation, oh fair and gracious lady,” Tom adds with a theatrical expression that has her suppress a giggle. “Have mercy on this poor lad who doesn’t want to face the crowd alone. I haven’t got the faintest idea how Americans handle such events.”

Feeling more herself now, she raises a brow at him. “So, you only want me there to save yourself the embarrassment of putting your foot in your British mouth?” she challenges.

Something in his expression shifts from one moment to the other. It’s an art he’s mastered, and it never fails to throw her off balance.

“Oh, I have a whole list of ideas how you could keep this British mouth of mine busy,” he half-growls in a low, deep voice that sends delicious shivers down her spine.

“Tom,” she hisses, “not here.”

She’s had enough with public displays of… lust this week.

A smirk curls his thin lips before he pretends to busy himself with a bite of now cold toast.

“Seriously, though,” he goes on, sending her a pleading puppy-dog look. “I’d love to have you by my side and sing your praises, maybe even steal a few hidden touches. You don’t necessarily have to stick to my side, though I’d love that. And it will look really good for you, academically speaking, that you’ve been invited and received some recognition.”

Thalia leans back in her chair and sighs. “You’re right, of course. As usual.”

He smiles. “So you’ll be my date?”

“I’ll be your guest,” she says, stressing the last word and automatically smiling back.

“Marvelous. Don’t worry too much about it, you’ll fit right in.”

“I doubt that,” she mutters more to herself than to him. Her eyes widen when she realizes something. “Oh my god, I don’t have anything to wear! What sort of gown do you think is expected?”

Tom runs an appreciative gaze over what little of her body is visible, and she feels it like a caress that warms her from the inside.

“I’m sure there are photos or something from previous events to get an idea. Just pick whatever catches your eye, you’re going to look more stunning than all the women there put together, no matter what you wear.”

Blushing furiously, she wants to say something, but Tom holds up a finger.

“And by the way, I’m paying for the dress. No, don’t even think of protesting. You’re doing me a huge favor and honor by accompanying me, and a gown for a gala dinner isn’t going to cost a couple of bucks. I insist.”

“But, but…” she splutters, only to be cut off again when he adds in a low, warning tone, “Are you going to be a good girl and do as I say, or do I need to pick out a dress for you myself?”

Well hell, that doesn’t leave her with much of a choice.

“Damn you, Professor, you aren’t playing fair,” she complains, crossing her arms.

“Stop pouting like this or I’ll have to drag you into the next best room and kiss the pout right off your lips.”

The sexy threat makes her breath hitch.

Damn, he knows just how to push her buttons.

“Yes, sir.”

The look in Tom’s eyes is full of promises.

“Glad we’ve got that settled then.  Choose something to show off your lovely legs.” He gestures to the meal. “Any more coffee or tea?”

Thalia huffs and shakes her head. Ever the gentleman, Tom rises when she does. He bends to retrieve his leather briefcase and uses the move to whisper into her ear.

“I can’t wait to see you bedazzle the crowd, my precious orchid. You’re going to make all the other wallflowers wither away.”

Click here for Chapter 25 Step Up

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando

Morning After

ET ch 17 Morning After

Educating Thalia

Chapter 17

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom & @devikafernando

AU FICTION

A collaboration involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans- The two are rivals at a posh New England university and have no idea they both have taken interest in the lovely Thalia Bareo. She’s a grad student with interests in language and history; a sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago.  Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Word count: 3185

Warnings:  Language, Adult Situations, fluff, heavy life discussions

Summary:  Chris learns more about Thalia over a homemade breakfast together.  He finds there’s more to the dark-haired beauty than meets the eye…

Click here for intro to Educating Thalia

He turns her in his arms and clasps his hands over her rounded ass, holding her tight in the locked cage of his beefy arms.  Through the gap in the sheet twisted around her body, his cock fits against her hot pussy, seeking her out again.

“Oh, no.  We’re not going for Four now.  Food.  I’m starving,” she chuckles, pushing hard against his chest.

Her touch has a power over him, but no strength to actually move him.  He smiles and teases.  “Oh, that’s cute you think you could move me!”

He halts when she points to her gym membership card on the dresser and shoves him a bit harder.  Not expecting it, he totters just a bit and throws his head back in laughter as she pulls free of his hold.  Shit, she could probably kick his ass…

Moving to the closet, she gathers clothes and steps towards the doorway, then stops and throws the clothes on the bed.  She rolls her eyes.  “What’s the point? You’ve already seen me naked and didn’t run off…”

If anything it made him want to run closer to her.  He looks around for his clothes but pauses to watch her thoughtfully as she dresses.  He doesn’t want to go home to his empty condo. “Enough of that… you’re a sensual goddess, and I don’t wanna hear any more about that.” He looks to her smartly when she audibly scoffs.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” he points.  “I’ll do everything I can to make you believe me.”  He catches a pair of sweatpants she tosses to him and with a shrug, puts them on.  “Hungry, huh?  Last night you said pancakes.  What if I make pancakes while you study?”

Looking up from tying her loose sweats, her jaw momentarily drops.  “You wanna cook for me?”

“It’s mix and water.  It’s not that hard,” he replies, still feeling like a manly man for offering, but pancakes, he can do.

Pulling a superhero t shirt over her head she returns his laughter.  “Mix?  I don’t know what women you’ve been with, but real women make their pancakes from scratch.”  She runs her hand down his chest, straightening out the twisted elastic at his waist and then pulling it back and releasing it with a snap before leaving the room.

“Fuck,” Chris whispers following her out of the bedroom.  “From scratch?”

He watches her gather measuring spoons and a large skillet.  She opens a cabinet door and points to a recipe taped inside.  “It’s easy.  The one my stepmother always uses,” she explains.  “It says ‘vanilla optional.’ It’s not.  Add the vanilla,” Thalia requests.  “Are you sure?  I can make them quick, or even call the diner and pre-order something?”

Washing his hands, Chris grins at her.  “Sit down and study.  I can handle a Sunday morning breakfast.”

He notices her pause as she gathers some books to sit at the kitchen table.  Measuring out the flour and sugar he can feel her eyes on him and knows she’s studying anatomy and not… whatever it is she’s supposed to be studying right now.

“Chris,” her curious voice interrupts him as he dollops the first serving of batter into the warm pan.  “The comment about ‘women you’ve been with?’ I shouldn’t have said that…  I’m really sorry.  I… I just remembered stuff I’ve heard in the faculty workroom…  So?  It was a pretty bad divorce?”

Running his hand over his mouth and down his beard, his eyes sadden, nodding his head.  Scratching his eyebrow, he tells her, “I appreciate your concern, but I really don’t wanna talk about it.  That’s what I have therapy for.”

“Ok.  Fair enough…” She watches as he expertly flips the pancakes, biting her lip.  “You also made the perfect braid… “ she smiles, playing with her now loose tresses..  “A daughter?  How old is she?”

Opening a cabinet and finding the plates, Chris pulls two down and places them on the counter.  Turning, he rests his hip against the counter and smiles brightly.  “Avery is five; she’s my light…  Her mother wouldn’t let me see her last night.  That’s how I ended up drunk in a bar…  The last two times I was supposed to see her, there’s been some lame excuse.”

Turning back, he takes the pancakes off the heat and serves them up on the plates.  Thalia moves her books to the side, and he feels bad she’s not getting any studying accomplished.

When he sets the plate in front of her, she touches his arm.  “I bet you’re a good dad.  Don’t give up.  Your ex will see you’re trying, no matter what your differences are, and she can’t deny the facts.”

Sitting down at the little table with her, his large legs bump against hers and he enjoys her comfort.  “Thank you; I’m trying.  Some days are just easier, you know.”

Looking to a photo on the shelf of an older man, obviously her father, she nods her head and looks back to her plate.  “Yea, I do.”  She cuts up her pancakes and reaches for the syrup, her hand brushing his as he grabs for it at the same time.  “These look amazing.  You did good.”

They enjoy a friendly breakfast.  Chris asks her about the funeral notice and she tells her about her friend and he shares a few stories about Avery.  The speed with which they’ve settled in with one another alarms Chris and he already feels a tug on his conscious, trying to tell himself again she’s a student, and this is so damn wrong.

But he doesn’t really fucking care.

The pancakes were pretty damn good, for a first try, and he’ll remember to add vanilla the next time he makes some, even if he uses a mix.  Clearing away the table, she begins to rise but he stops her.  “No.  Study.  I’m in your way.  I really need to go.”

She smiles sweetly, tilting her head.  “Oh, I don’t know.  It’s kinda nice to have a man around,” she places her empty plate in his outreached hand.  “I mean, you should probably go get dressed, so I’m not distracted, but I’m going to study, really.  Once I get into it, I’ll focus…  You are welcome to stay.”

“I do have some emails I could answer, some papers to grade.  Not all of us have grad students to do that for us,” he comments wryly, placing the dishes in the sink, catching the blush rise on her cheeks.

“Professor Evans,” Thalia announces sternly and with authority, “any faculty member needing assistance simply has to apply in the office of student affairs.  It’s work study and helps keep tuition down for the students like me.  You can request short term help with things like grading tests and papers, or long term assistance if you were working on a large research project for the University.”

“God, please don’t call me ‘Professor.’  I really fuckin’ hate that title.  It sounds so pretentious.  And I try to be anything but that.  ‘Pretty boy.’  That’s a title I could get used to,” he teases.

Her eyes widen as she remembers talking to Jim before leaving the bar last night.  She cringes.  “It was so noisy!  How did you hear that?” she asks incredulously.

“I never reveal my sources,” he taunts, heading to her room to change back into his clothes.

Returning to the kitchen a few minutes later, Chris sits back down and powers up his phone, a question bugging at the back of his mind.  “So what’s the story with Jim, anyway?  He seems very protective of you.”

Looking up from her tablet, she opens a textbook and smiles. “That’s Papa Jim.  He and my dad were in Desert Storm together and have been like brothers ever since… he and his wife were so excited when I was accepted to school here.”  She glances at her scribbled notes and flips to another section of the book, looking over to Chris.  “To save money, they actually helped me establish residency here and I lived with them for about two and a half years, until I felt secure enough to afford an apartment with friends.”

Chris can’t keep his eyes off her.  Her little movements and quirks.  She’s fascinating to watch.  She twists her hair away from her face and ties it in a loose bun, sticking a pencil through the thick knot to hold it in place.  How is that even possible?

“Worst six months of my life, that apartment.  They thought it was party central…  I was so glad to get out of that lease when I went over to study in Europe the first time.”  She shivers at an old memory.  “And a friend stayed here and took over my lease this last summer when I was working on some research in England.”  Looking around the room, it’s like she’s seeing it again for the first time, maybe through his eyes.  “I like it here.  It’s cramped, and full of junk and crap, but it’s mine, ya know?”

His eyes sadden briefly.  He does ‘know’ but hasn’t felt that way in a long time.  He shrugs his shoulders.  “Still working on making my place feel like ‘home.’  To be honest, some nights I feel more comfortable in my office, or falling asleep in one of the bean bags chairs in the library.”

She clears her throat and leans forward over her book, picking up a highlighter to mark a note.  “I remember when my mom left and got a new place.  Hate to tell ya, it’ll probably feel like that for awhile.”

“Thank you for the uplifting sentiment; mind if I just stick my head in the oven now, so I won’t die alone?”

Her shoulders rock with laughter and he watches as once again, she jiggles in a bra that just isn’t the right fit for her.  That would be a situation he would love to remedy for her.  A little lingerie shopping and modeling of styles can always lift the spirits.

“I’m talking too much.  I’m keeping you from your work… But I do have one more question, then I’ll be quiet; I promise.”

Opening another book, she places it on top of the huge volume already displayed on the table.  “Shoot.  I’m an open book.  Whatever you want to know…”

“Well fuck, now it’s two things, cuz I just thought of something else I’m curious about.”

She giggles and gets up from her chair.  Moving to the fridge, she retrieves two water bottles, handing one to him over his shoulder.  “You are the type that asks for one thing, and then always hopes for more, aren’t you?”  She teases in his ear, pushing her body against his before returning to the chair.

He chuckles.  “Yeah, probably.  Like, maybe I’m just hanging around now for the hopes of Four?”  He smiles at the shake of her head and continues.  “Ok, first question.  You’re obviously brilliant.  You’ve studied in Europe; worked on a few archeology digs, and Professor Hiddleston obviously thinks highly of you; he can’t stand the state of the American education system and is always belittling students in meetings. But he tolerates you- you must be wicked smaht,” he grimaces when his old neighborhood accent shines through.  “Honestly, I don’t see how you stand to work with him, but,” he tilts his head, smirking at the scowl on her face.  Her beloved Professor Hiddleston… He might like to give that man shit, but he’s not going to get under her skin by knocking the man she admires… “I get the language and history connection, but still he’s just such an assh-…”  Shaking his head, he stops himself.   “So what do you plan to do with all your knowledge? It’s pretty diverse.”

Chris doesn’t let her know he’s actually been looking over her school records on his phone for the last few minutes.  She’s a fuckin’ genius; and her areas of study as so eclectic.  Linguistics, history, literature…  He’s probably in the presence of one of the smartest women he’s ever met, yet she’s still so clueless about so many things.

“That is a damn good question,” she laughs, tossing her head back and slapping her thigh.  “Can’t really teach high school, can I?  I’d be bored in a week…  I don’t know,” she says thoughtfully.  “I’ve been approached by some of the top museums in the world to work as a curator and continue my archaeological work…  The problem is, I’m passionate about all of it.  If I do that, then I’m stuck in one field.  And I think I’d hate that ‘tied down’ feeling.”

Fuck.  His cock immediately perks up at her turn of phrase and the image that popped in his head.  He drops the water bottle ‘accidently’ and bends to retrieve it, hoping she doesn’t see the expression on his face.  Sitting back up, he can’t stop himself.  “Yeah, you being tied down would be awful.”

The eraser she throws bounces off the table and hits him in the cheek.  They both share in the laughter.

“You.  Just sit over there with your fantasies.  I’m working…”  The blush on her cheeks is endearing and he knows he should leave.  Soon.  “Oh damn.  You had a second thing.  What was it?”

His cheeks now turn pink and he leans forward, resting his arms on the table.  Inhaling deeply, the air is tight through his nose.  “Last night… You said it was ‘taken’ a long time ago.  You don’t mean-?”

“Oh, God no. No. Just some fumbling around in a back seat and not really knowing what the hell he was doing, or I was doing.  It was awful,” she chuckles, “But it’s the story of my life.  ‘I make rash decisions.’  And ‘I don’t know what I’m doing.’”

“I can teach you a few things,” Chris smiles, tapping his finger on the book.

The grin on her face is huge.  “I’m sure you can…  Now.  You promised to be quiet so I can work.  I hope you are a man of your word, Mister Evans.”

The two work in silence, chatting occasionally, well into the afternoon. Chris reads a bit more over her transcripts and finds notes from her research projects posted on some of the school study pages.  She’s an amazing talent and would be an asset to his team in the history department as they get ready to undergo some staff changes.  He contemplates what working with her would be like, but when images of bending her over his desk fill his head, he knows he’s had enough.

Rising from his seat, he cleans up the trash from the snack they’d had and moves to sit on the couch.  He doesn’t want to go home, and she seems in no hurry to make him leave.  Hugging a couch pillow to his chest, it smells like her.  His thoughts run back over the last few hours and he realizes his ex-wife still hasn’t called him back.  Guilt smashes him in the stomach as he realizes he’d totally forgotten his responsibilities the minute a pretty face and deadly curves turned his head…   Punching the pillow, he rolls to his side, preparing to nap when “God Save the Queen” starts to play on her phone.

She quickly answers it and he hears shuffling in the kitchen behind him.  “Hey, how are you?… Just a lazy Sunday.  A friend came over…. Yes, I have friends, you know,” she asserts playfully.

He freezes when he senses her hovering above him and he pretends to be asleep, not wanting her to think he’s listening.  Her hand graces the top of his head gently before she walks away.  When he hears her voice again, it’s muffled and coming from the bedroom.

“Sure, I can.  I’d love to!  What a nice surprise!   What time?  Ok… Anything else?  Yeah… Yes.   Alright.  I’m looking forward to it…. See you then.”

Chris realizes this is his cue to leave.  Fuck.  Thalia said ‘for reasons’ she and her other paramore, for lack of a better word, wish to keep things private.  He quickly prays she’s not dating a married man.  But it’s not his place to judge or ask.  From his spot on the couch, he realizes the apartment shows no signs of a man in her life, and he begins to question her need for privacy.  A sinking feeling sets in, and he sits up to put on his shoes.

The bathroom door closes and he waits anxiously for her to return to the living room.  When the door clicks open he turns to the dark haired beauty with a smile.  “Hey, I hate to do this Thalia, but I got a text from my ex and I can go see Avery for a few hours.  I really need to get going.”

Standing up he admires her lovely full lips as the bottom one pops out in disappointment.  “You have to go?  Well, then I guess it’s a good excuse.  Getting dumped for a younger woman already.  I see how you are.”

Moving into his space, she places her hand on his bicep, stepping closer to him.  Batting her eyelashes, she smiles crookedly.  “No, that’s great.  I’m glad you can see her.”

Her pout is irresistible.  He places his hand under her chin and with a bit of force he rubs his thumb across her tender lips.  “So beautiful…”  Holding her chin in place, he thwarts her physical effort to deny it.  “And I’m going to keep telling you that until you believe it.”  He leans his forehead to hers.  “I left my phone number on one of the post-its on the table earlier when you were deep in thought.  Text me in a bit so I make sure I have your number.”

Sliding his nose against hers, he plants his lips on hers and sucks in her air.  Minty fresh.  Pulling back, he whispers quietly.  “You brushed; not fair,” he complains.

“Sorry. Syrup breath was killing me… And you know,” she sighs, “I was gearing up for Four, but I guess we’ll have to start our count over again another night.”

“Four?”  He cocks his eyebrow pleased by her enthusiasm and stamina.  “I’ll hold you to that promise, babe.”  He remembers her secretive phone call, and moves to extract himself from her arms.

She follows him to the door and tells him she’ll text soon.

Walking down the stairs and across the street, he wonders again what the hell he’s doing.  She’s a student.  Young.  Dating someone else.  His damn Italian jealousy is already getting the best of him…

Reaching for his car keys in his pocket, his phone beeps.  He can’t contain his smile when he reads the message.  “Had a great night. Look up.”

Following directions, he shields his eyes from the sunlight peaking through the gray clouds, the smell of snow in the air.  Standing at her window she waves grandly and he laughs when she flashes him the two most resplendent breasts he’s ever had the pleasure of seeing.

Click here to read Chapter 18 Changes

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando

 

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ET ch 15 Stay april 23, 2017

Educating Thalia

Chapter 15

Collaboration by @avenger-nerd-mom & @devikafernando

AU FICTION

A collaboration involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans- The two are rivals at a posh New England university and have no idea they both have taken interest in the lovely Thalia Bareo. She’s a grad student with interests in language and history; a sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago.  Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Word count: 3884

Warnings:  Language, Adult Situations, fluffy smut, foreplay, nipple play, hand job

Summary:  Sober now, Chris isn’t really sure if accepting Thalia’s kind offer was a good idea.

Click here to the introduction of Educating Thalia

The two talk long past midnight.  The comfort and ease feels like old friends.  They discuss a shared interest in history and he asks her thoughts on some of the books he sees sitting around the room.  Leaning against the arm of the couch he puts his feet up next to her.  If he tipped his foot just so, he could brush against her thigh, but he tries not to invade her space.  Although it was difficult not to want to, with her patting his leg occasionally for emphasis in her storytelling.   He bites back a groan when she rests one leg up on the coffee table in front of them. Her robe falls open, exposing her chunky, delicious looking inner thigh and his eyes dart to the V between her legs, covered by her short plaid bottoms.   Oh, hell.  It’s more than a man can take.  He excuses himself to use the restroom, to get away and try to clear his mind.

No such luck.  The tiny space smells like her, the fresh scent from her shower and her lotions and creams on the ledge above the sink.   Resisting the urge to check in her medicine cabinet, he removes his glasses, laying them on the counter and rubbing his hands over his face.  Chris can’t figure out if she really is just being nice or if like the guy at the bar said, she’s flirting with him and interested.  Washing up, he begins to speak to himself, hidden under the sound of the running water. “What the fuck are ya doin’, man?  She’s a student.”  He sighs and adjusts the fit of his pants thanks to the ebbing hard on building off and on all evening in her presence.  “A hot one.  That invited you to her home.  Jesus fuckin’ Christ, Chris, ya shoulda gone to the crappy coffee place.”

Grabbing his glasses, he returns to the living room, watching from the doorway for a moment as she brushes the tangles out of her hair, rubbing the ends with a towel.  He longs to run his fingers through it…  To grab it in his hand and twist it in his fingers as he… Clearing his throat he stops his thoughts and he returns to his spot on the couch, this time keeping his feet closer to himself.

Instead of returning to their conversation, she barely hides a yawn. “Well Chris,” she says sleepily, rising from her spot, “I wasn’t kidding when I said I had studying to do tomorrow.  I need to get some sleep so I can function.”  Walking behind the couch, she makes the few steps to the kitchen table and sets her empty coffee mug there.  “Sunday’s my only true day off.”

Stopping behind the couch, she rests her hand near his.  Her voice drops, “Let me get you some pillows and blankets and-”

He places his hand on hers and can feel a slight tremble.  His tone matches hers, a shared intimacy of their voices.  “You know I’m not really drunk… Why did you invite me here?”  Chris asks quietly.

She looks down over the back of the couch at him, her lashes long against her cheeks as she blinks.  She licks her lips and he watches her swallow before licking them again quickly.  “I don’t really know.” She chuckles nervously.  “Maybe just to see if you’d say ‘yes,’” Thalia admits, a vulnerability in her eyes.

Tenderly he lets go of her hand and rises from the couch, walking around behind it to stand in front of her.  Her head low, he lifts her chin, holding it with his thumb under her pouty lip,  bringing her eyes up to meet his.  “You didn’t think I’d say ‘yes?’”

“Most guys don’t look at me the way you did in the bar.”  She pulls back from his hold.

He swallows his own thoughts when he sees she needs to be wanted, to be worshipped.  “And how is that?  How did I look at you?”

“Like you didn’t care that I carry some extra weight,” she sighs and sucks in her lip quickly before speaking again.  “Like you… like you wouldn’t mind feeling it on top of you…”

Fuck. Orchids. Wet curly hair.  Pajamas.  A slight blush at her confessing her innermost thought… He’s hard again at just the thought of her and what she’s saying and not saying to him.  Her heart is racing; he can see her blood pumping through the veins in her neck, the robe loosely falling down her shoulder.  Not speaking, he steps to her and grasps the tie on her robe.  Locking his blue eyes on hers, he smiles devilishly and gives it a tug, the robe falling open and revealing her plump frame, still fresh and pink from the hot shower.  He places his hands on her waist and pulls her to him.

Damn, she’s gorgeous.

His eyes fall to her mouth as her lips open in a sweet “oh” of surprise at his manhandling.  He lowers his head, whispering across her skin, “Do you want me to look at you that way again?”  Chris gently places a kiss on her collarbone, nudging the lace trim strap of her tank top with his nose.

She grabs at the back of his head with one hand, holding him to her.  Thalia drops her head back and sighs, “Yes.”

His lips slide up her neck and his nose grazes her skin, delivering feathery touches to light her skin on fire and with her other hand she grabs his on her hip and holds it tight.  “Do you want me to sleep on the couch?” he whispers against the soft spot under her ear, kissing tenderly with his lips slightly open and searing her with a quick flick of his tongue.  He can feel her pulse racing and her shallow breaths echo in his ear.

“No,” quietly escapes her lips.

Chris grasps their hands resting on her hip in a tender squeeze and asks, “Do you want me to come to bed with you?”  He expertly pulls her earlobe between his teeth and sucks gently, his mouth pulling back into a smile when her knees buckle and she falls against him.

She squeezes his hand back and shyly replies in a barely breathed out sound, “Yes.”

“Thalia?”  She hums at the sound of her name.  “You’re still very young; You’re not giving anything to me?”  he asks patiently, voicing his concern.

Giggling quietly she turns her head to expose more of her neck to his devouring lips and with a soft voice addresses his thoughts.  “Oh, no, that was taken a long time ago.  And I’m not that young.”  She relaxes against him, allowing him to hold her up.  Her voice a bit stronger, she continues, “But I have a feeling you could have other firsts for me?”

Weakened himself by her thoughts, he nips at her flesh. Chris longs to brand her, to see his teeth marks, his handprints on her tanned velvet skin.  He feels a desire to possess her, to make her succumb to him.  But he also likes her fiery personality and wants nothing more than for her to power over him.

Taking her hand in his, he nods to the closed door and she shakes her head.  Pushing ahead he opens the door and waits for her to pass by him.  Moving across the room, he quietly orders, “Stop,” before she reaches the bed.  Moving behind her, he sweeps her hair into his hand, admiring it’s glossy sheen and the curls most women would kill for, seeing again the image he had moments before of him pulling her hair during a more sensual act.  He lifts it to his nose, inhaling the flowery scent.  “No smoke now,” he teases lightly in her ear, delighting in the chill that runs down her spine.  Still damp, he pulls it together and begins to make a loose plait, his hands brushing across her shoulders and back as he works.

“Mmm…  That’s nice,” she murmurs with her husky voice.

Her voice hits him below the belt, stirring him to rise again.  He tugs on his jeans, wiping off the precum he feels spilling over.  Coughing, he asks quietly, “Elastic?” and she removes it from her wrist and holds it over her shoulder.  He takes it from her outstretched hand and holds it in place as he gently kisses her palm.  When he lets her hand go, she runs it down the side of her neck and movement catches his eye.  In the dark room, only the small glow of a bedside lamp, he can see her in a mirror across the room. Her hand runs over her large breast and her nipples harden under the tank top, unencumbered by a bra, before she wraps her arm around her waist.

Jesus fuckin’ Christ.  She’s been sitting on the couch like that over an hour?

She awkwardly shifts her weight from one foot to the next as he quickly ties off the end of the braid.  Dropping it down her back, it reaches to her waist and he gives it a tug as he admires his handiwork.  Quiet sounds of her breathing and cars passing in the street below fill the room.  Placing his hands on her back, he runs his hands up her sides, feeling over her curves and across the tops of her shoulders to the collar of her robe.  Grabbing the neckline, he pulls it back off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor between them.  Her shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath, and he runs his hands slowly down her skin in the same fluid motion as before.  She makes no sound but her skin warms under his touch.  Kicking the robe out of the way, he steps to her, flush against her body, his threadbare jeans doing little to hide the hardness of his cock she has caused. Similar in height, his evident arousal brushes across her ass and she involuntarily pushes back against him.  His arms join hers around her waist, slowly rising up under her tank to grasp the tender flesh of her full breasts-

Music blares through the room from her phone. His hands drop when she steps forward, bending over the end of the bed to reach it.  “Fuck,” he declares, her ass in the air, and her tits falling free in the reflection of the mirror.

She pulls her tank top up, covering herself up self-consciously.  She turns her body, sitting on the edge of the bed, watching him with a smile, shaking her head.  Rolling her eyes at his stare, she nervously glances at the screen.   Her expression lifts as she answers the phone.  “Yes, Jim, I’m good.  Yes, I know his car is still parked out there.  He’s here…  Asleep in my room…  When I’m done studying I’ll sleep on the couch…  Jim, I’m not your daughter…  Yes, I know…”

Chris groans when she adjusts her tank, and rises up to tug down on the legs of the shorts, riding up into her personal sweet space.   “I’m in the living room studying…  Dude was drunk and it’s 20 degrees out.  Roads will be slick.  I told him to stay…. Yes.  I know.  I know.  Thanks for always having my back…  Yea, ya big goof, I love you too.”

Pressing ‘close’ on her phone, she tosses the phone into the pillows. Giggling, she blushes and sighs.  “Kinda broke the mood didn’t it?”

Looking down at her, sitting on the bed, the true co-ed she is, Chris stalks forward, pulling his tight blue sweater and t-shirt off in one swift motion and tossing it on the floor.  Biting his lip, he places his knee on the bed next to her and places his large hand on her chest, spanning across her collarbone.  “Heart’s still racing, sweetheart.  And you got some of your spirit back.  I don’t think the breathy ingenue is really you; but fuck it was a turn on.”

Looking up at him with her dark eyes of melted chocolate, she starts, “Chris, I-”

“No, honey.  The problem isn’t you.  You said “guys” don’t look at you… It’s the boys you date.  You need someone older to appreciate you; to take care of you.”  With his other hand, he unbuckles his belt and watches as her eyes scan across his chest, taking in his tats from shoulder to shoulder.  With a cocky grin he tells her, “They’re all spelled right, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

He slides the leather belt from the loops and brushes it across her thighs, feeling her shiver at his hold on her.  Her grin quickly changes to desire and the light gleaming in her eyes advances from playful to aroused.  “A woman like you needs a man.  A man can fuck you till morning; make you come three times before sunrise and leave you begging for more.”

With the force of his hand, he pushes her back on the bed with a slight bounce. She raises one of her perfectly arched eyebrows at him, and teases.  “Three times, huh?  A little cocky, aren’t you?”

“Oh, sweetheart, it’s not little,” Chris promises as he falls on top of her, gently applying his weight and pushing her into the bed as he attacks her neck.   He brushes his scruff against her tender skin, knowing the effect it will have on her.  Thalia giggles while bringing her arms under his.  Her hands stretch over his shoulder blades, feeling their strength and power.  He returns to nibbling at her neck as he had done in the living room, the desire to taste her overwhelming.  Tenderly he grasps her skin between his teeth and bites as tiny sweet sounds escape between her lips. Tilting her head back she gives him more access to her delicate flesh and begins to wiggle beneath him.  He shifts, allowing his aching cock to fit between her legs and he grinds against her.

“Oh, fuck,” she breathes out sinfully, scraping her nails across his back, digging slightly.

Moaning against her neck, he drags his beard against her again, leaving beard burn and marking her.  The desire to claim her is strong in his gut, to show to everyone she belongs to someone.  His inner monologue tells himself to shut up.  This is just one drunken night, he thinks.  But he still wants her to feel the ache for days…

He already knows he’s lying to himself – knows he’s sober- when she shifts, lifting her leg and rubbing it over his ass before sliding it down his leg, holding him closer to her.  Going in for another lick along the pulsing vein in her neck, he reaches to slide the strap of her tank top down her shoulder.  More forcefully than intended, the lace snaps and they both pause.  He looks up to her and sees the mirth in her eyes.

“Fuck it; never liked it anyway,” she giggles, toying at his chain, admiring his St. Christopher’s medallion.  “Good Catholic boy… Nice,” she wickedly grins, using it to pull him forward, lifting her head to connect their swollen lips.

his chain

“Can’t trust those Catholic girls,” he teases, his kisses drifting along her jawline.  He can’t get enough of the taste of her skin.

Sliding her leg back up his, she presses her heel into the cheek of his ass, rising up to grind against him.  “No, not at all,” she sassily agrees.

“Shut up and kiss me again,” he taunts, caressing his hand across her cheek, sliding across her freckles and winding under her hair.  Her lips collide with his and his large palm stretches from her ear to the back of her skull.  He squeezes lightly as her tongue darts in his slightly opened mouth, teasing and prying for more space.  His groan is swallowed by her kiss, her tongue lightly sliding against his, silently begging for his permission.  He opens his mouth, and returns the motions as their tongues tangle as if greeting one another.  Her breathing is labored and he feels her heat rising between her legs, turned on simply by his touches and kisses.

If this is her reaction to their tame foreplay, he can’t wait to really get her going.  Lifting his body up on both arms, resting his fists on either side of her head, he pushes between her legs again.  Without his weight on her, her body arches to him, her glorious tits raised. He grinds down on her, painfully aware of his own aching cock, wanting to seek solace and relief deep inside her.  She moans quietly and her head rolls back against the bed, her hands clenching the sheets next to her, his eyes drawn to them.

Not truly wanting to power over her, yet, Chris tells her quietly, “Touch me; I wanna feel your hands on me.”

Her warm hands drift to his sides, sliding along the waist of his jeans, dipping cautiously below the waistband.  Goosebumps form on his skin, desiring more touches from her.  The feathery caress teases him and he presses closer to her again as her hands reach lower, squeezing his ass.  She bites her lip, inhaling deeply at the discovery he’s commando.

“Damn, Thalia, you’re driving me crazy.”

Shaking her head in disbelief, he can see her denying his words.  “You’re beautiful, desirable,” he tells her.  “Sexy as hell, woman, and if no one has told you that before, they didn’t look close enough.”

Pulling her hands back, she runs them over his back, as if she’s afraid to play with the actual fire.  “Chris, this is just play.  A fun night; I get it.  You don’t have to say-”

“I always tell the truth; especially to a beautiful woman,” he rolls himself to her side, lowering his mouth to breath against her skin. “Maybe we won’t leave this bed till you believe it,” he whispers with a growl as he pushes down her tank top, exposing her swollen peak to him.  Her dark brown nipple is so tantalizing; he washes over it gently with his tongue and she whimpers aloud, not even holding back the aching need caught in the back of her throat.  Chuckling, he licks slowly again.  “Like that, do you?  Tell me, give me your sounds; don’t hold back,” he shares.

“Then do it again,” she replies, sliding one hand up to hold the back of his head against her breast.

Happily complying with her wish, he is treated when she rolls on her side to face him and the tank top pulls down, revealing the second delicious button.  He lavishes it with the same attention, but her quiet mewls encourage him to add pressure and he gropes with one hand while his tongue plays over her.

“Uhh…” she moans, throwing her leg over his hip and rolling him to her.  Snaking her hands between them she runs her hands over his washboard abs, teasing along his Adonis belt.  His breathing heightens and his need for her builds when she tangles her fingers in the trail of trimmed hairs leading her to the prize.  Her tentative touches are light and unsure so he’s surprised when she pops the button of his jeans and reaches inside.

Her soft hands brush over his broad tip, wiping at the precum he expels in response to her sexiness.  Sliding her hands lower she grabs him with both hands, not even reaching from tip to base. “Shit, not little is right, baby.”

Raising his head from her beautiful exposed breasts, his eyes meet hers, a mix of fear and desire.  “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re ready for me.”  Given the heat and wetness he feels pushing against his denim clad thigh as she slowly rocks against him, he’s not too worried. About that, anyway.  “Thalia?  This was the the furthest thing from my mind when I left my place tonight; I’m not really prepared.  Do you have anything?”

“Seducing grad students wasn’t on the agenda, Professor?” She tightens her hold and tugs, pulling a groan from deep within his chest.

“Ah, fuck,” he chuckles, growing stiffer from her handling.  “Nah, I’m the only one that’s tugged that in a while, sweetheart.”

Biting her lip, she inhales.  “I’m covered, and I have stuff in the basket under the bed.  No worries,” she informs him.

“A fun basket?” His eyes delight in the thought of truly playing with her.  There he goes again, thinking in the future.  “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got.”

She giggles.  “How about the real thing tonight?  I can’t wait to see what you’ve got.”  Sucking in her breath, she whispers out, “It feels amazing in my hands.  So big…” Running her fingers across the veiny weave of his cock, she adds.  “So thick…”

He wants to respond to her but she instinctively licks her lips and his mouth falls to hers, pulled like a magnet.  Flicking his tongue across her raw flesh where he’s scratched her with his beard, his tongue teases hers again, running along the tops of her teeth and pulling out slowly.  She sighs and seems to melt beside him as she rolls to her back, flopping her arm to her side, the other still rhythmically pulling on him.

Dropping his eyes, he watches her hand, hidden still in his jeans and he lifts his hips to slide them down under the curve of his ass allowing more freedom for her movements.  Fully exposed, her hand reminds him of the way he watched her pull on the tap at the bar just hours before.  Was it only hours ago?  Her hands move methodically, and he realizes he’ll spill his seed if she doesn’t stop.  “Thalia, you need to-”

“You promised me three times before sun up, Mister.  This will help you last longer.”

Rising to her knees beside him he sees her eyes pleading with him as she continues to pull and twist his sensitive skin, reaching down to caress his balls with her other hand.  Kneeling there, she strikes an imposing figure, curves and beauty, all focused on him.  Damn, how did she flip it on him?  But she makes a point…  Raising up on his elbows to watch her work, he replies with a groan, “Have at it; it’s all yours.”  He grins, waving his hand as if he’s gifting himself to her.

Tentatively at first, her confidence builds and she pulls him to a crest, a tightening building in his thighs, whispering “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”  He thrusts into her hands and spurts his cum over his chest, dribbling on her fingers and some rolling down his side onto the bed covers.  Her smile can’t hide her satisfaction and she takes it all in stride, pulling the ripped tank top over her head to clean the mess.  He’s surprised and so turned on when she casually licks the drips from her fingers.  “Damn, that’s really sexy,” he hisses, sitting up and placing his hand on the back of her neck, drawing her to him in a passionate kiss, his hormones surging as his body still quakes.  “Hell, I really needed that,” he chuckles.

Giggling, she shakes her head and replies, “Glad I could help.”

Click here for Chapter 16 Three

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando

Closing Time

et ch 14 closing time april 19 2017

Educating Thalia

Chapter 14

Collaboration by  @avenger-nerd-mom & @devikafernando

AU FICTION

A collaboration involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans- The two are rivals at a posh New England university and have no idea they both have taken interest in the lovely Thalia Bareo. She’s a grad student with interests in language and history; a sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago.  Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Word count: 3400

Warnings:  Language, Adult Situations, fluff, drinking, discussion of homelessness, thoughts of sexual situations

Summary:  Professor Evans seeks solace in a bottle and finds himself in the bar where grad-student Thalia Bareo is finishing her night shift….

Click here to the introduction of Educating Thalia

“Ah, shit,” she mumbles, wiping the counter down. Her grumble catches his attention and he looks up, a smile of recognition dawning across his face. A brief image of the lovely woman before him in a short Tartan plaid skirt quickly romps through his memory.  With a slight nod, he runs his fingers across the top of his glass indicating another, and she motions to the other man behind the bar that she’s got this.

“What’s your poison, professor?” The plump latina asks, her accent thick and sultry.

He indicates the tap and looks on as her hand subtly strokes the metal handle before she pulls it down, watching the foamy brew flow into the chilled glass, stopping just before it spills over.

She sets it down with a clink in front of him. “I work all the way out here so I don’t have to put up with the college crowd; what’s your excuse for being at this dive?”

He ponders his response, taking a long sip of the dark hops as it cools down his throat. Even in the dark bar he can see her eyes darken for a moment while she watches the muscles in his neck as he gulps the beverage down. He continues drinking, his eyes on her as a blush rises on her cheeks and her nipples begin to strain against her shirt. She turns away from him, grabbing a bowl of mixed nuts to place in front of him, the heat diminished in her eyes.

He runs his thumb across his bottom lip, gathering the wasted drops off beer and flicks his tongue across the pad of his finger before replying. “I needed to get away from the college crowd too,” he tells her honestly.  “Sometimes it’s just too much bullshit, ya know?”

She wipes her hands on her apron, “Man, I hear that.  So what is it this time? Johanas and Smythes fighting over offices again, or the library collection refuses to update the check out system for references?”  she teases.

He chuckles and takes a handful of nuts, palming them and pushing them into his mouth.  “All of the above, and shitty freshmen that can’t write a goddamn sentence to save their lives.”

She laughs and rolls her eyes.  “I hear that too. Working as a TA in the language department; I can’t believe what they let in these ivy league doors these days, it’s a disgrace.”  Winking, her long lashes close and rest against her freckled cheek while she shares her tease with him.  “Kids wasting Daddy’s money, while I gotta work my ass off to get anywhere.”

She turns in a fluid movement to grab a bottle filled with an incandescent blue liquid, and his mind freezes on her use of the word ‘daddy’ and ‘ass’ in the same sentence.  From where he sits high on the bar stool, he can admire her rounded backside, in tight jeans with silver stitching on the pockets.  Reaching up to grab a bottle on a higher shelf, her shirt rises just enough to see a hint of her beautifully tanned skin.  Turning back to the main bar, she blushes lightly and self-consciously pulls her shirt back down.  He’s fascinated by watching her work as she mixes up a drink and shoots it smoothly down the wooden countertop and the other bartender catches it.  

“Thalia, right?”  Chris asks.  He knows she works for Hiddleston, but he vaguely remembers her from one of his study groups a year or two ago.  How could he forget such a beautiful name for such an alluring woman?  “You were in one of my classes, right?”

She nods.  “Your Women’s History class?  I gave my speech on roles of women in the World War II era while dressed in a USO showgirl outfit?”

Hell yeah.  She’d given the speech from memory, save for one notecard she pulled out of her cleavage halfway through the presentation.  He’d had such a hard-on the rest of the hour, he had to give her an A just because he couldn’t focus on a damn word she’d said.

“Do you commonly give costumed speeches?”  He asks, seeing her differently in the dark bar than he has before as she walks across campus, arms full of books.

Accepting a tip from a leaving customer she smiles brightly.  “Nah, I was young and foolish then, and besides, I’d worked really hard to make that outfit for a costume party.  I thought I might as well get more good out of it,” she laughs.

He smiles.  “Not so foolish now?”

“Grad student.  Bills to pay.  No time for fun.  Between school and workin-”

“Hey!” A voice at the end of the bar barks, “I don’t pay ya to flirt, I pay ya to mix drinks and clean tables.  Get to it!”

She drops her eyes.  “Sorry. Um, I wasn’t really… “  Shaking her head, she clears her throat.  “It was nice talking to you Professor Evans; I owe, I owe, it’s back to work I go.”  Humming quietly, she walks away, stopping at the end of the counter to pick up a big gray bucket to use to clean the tables.

He downs two more drinks during her absence, playing on his phone and returning emails.  Rolling his shoulders, he stretches his neck from side to side, watching her reflection in the aged mirror in front of him, rather than turning to admire her full figure.   Her dark curly hair cascades down her back, skimming just the top of the waist of her jeans.  Her tight v-neck tshirt supports a logo for the school team and hugs her tits just right.  From the fit, he can tell her bra is just a little too tight, and with each step she has an extra jiggle that makes him hard now.  He begins to fantasize about groping her voluptuous breasts from behind as he pounds against her ass.  Maybe she would even call him ‘daddy.’  

He shakes his head to clear the image.  Removing his glasses, he places them on the counter, rubbing his stubble gruffly.  Fuck.  She’s a student.  Even a damn good lay wouldn’t be worth risking his job.  And she would be good…  He can just sense it about her and that makes his cock twitch in his pants, and at the moment, he rather wishes he hadn’t gone commando after his shower at the gym.

He catches the eye of the other bartender and as if the guy could read his thoughts, Chris drops his head and hides his face in the crook of his elbow, staring into the amber liquid in his glass.

She chats with the other patrons and is obviously friendly with a few of the regulars.  When one guy tries to get a little handsy with her, she’s already twisted the man’s arm behind his back before he can jump to her rescue.  She gives the man a push and sends him on his way.  Chris watches as he scurries out the door.

Returning to her position at the bar, her face brightens when she realizes he’s still there.  “It’s late; don’t you need to be getting home?” she asks kindly, adding payments to the cash register and making a few notes.

“To be honest, I had a shit day and don’t wanna be alone,” he scoffs, slightly drunk and words slurred..  “When do you get off… work?” he adds with a wry smile, swishing around what’s left in the bottom of his glass.  “Sit with me and have some coffee while I dry out before I drive home?”

He sees her discreetly looking to his hands, possibly admiring their thickness or looking for signs of attachment, so he stretches his fingers to show there’s no wedding ring.   She leans into the counter, and pulls the glass from his hands, sitting it on the lower counter in front of her.  She rests her elbows on the bar in such a way to push her boobs together to showcase their beauty and whispers, “I got a better plan.  My apartment is just across the street.”  She twists her head to look at the neon clock on the wall behind her, exposing her graceful neck to him, to look at the time. “How ‘bout some early morning pancakes and some hot coffee before I have to hit the books.  Some of us actually prepare before we attend our classes,” she teases.

Chris can’t believe his luck.  It’s like an open invitation, but he sees a vulnerability in her too.  Her offer is gracious and full of concern over his slightly drunken state.  “That’s really nice, but we don’t have to,” he tries to deny his wish to say yes.  “The diner on the corner is open.”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, “And it’s shit.  Besides, I really hate going anywhere after work and smelling like an ashtray.  I was gonna fix coffee anyway, so it’s no big deal.”  The beauty shrugs her shoulders, indicating it really is no trouble.

How can he resist?  “Sounds good.”  He pulls his wallet out of his back pocket and counts out a few bills to cover his tab.  She takes the money and raises her eyebrow at the tip.  Handing it back to him, he puts his hands up to stop her.

“Ok, fine,” she huffs.  He watches her move over to the end of the bar to open the register and address the other bartender.  “It’s slowing down and the tables are clear.  I’m outta here.”  Counting out her tips for the night, she doesn’t see the scowl on the older man’s face, but Chris catches it as the man turns to glare at him.

He strains to listen to their exchange over the din of the bar.  He can’t hear most of it, so he puts his glasses back on; he’s perfected the art of lip reading over the years.  Something to do on a slow day during boring staff meetings.  He catches the man’s concern for his female counterpart. “What? You’re leaving here with pretty boy?  Thalia, what are you doing?”

‘Pretty boy?’  Chris observes her looking around the bar, sweeping her arms wide.  Her voice is higher pitched and easier to hear.  “You’d rather I leave with one of the other patrons?  At least if pretty boy has tats, they’re spelled right.  But, Jim, don’t worry, my heart still belongs to you.”   She pats his big belly and rises on her toes to kiss his cheek.  Chris smiles at the scene.

Untying the apron, she tosses it under the bar.  He swears her voice is a bit louder, for his benefit as she continues. “Don’t worry about me.  You’ve seen me kick ass around here, you know if he tries something and I’m not interested, I can totally handle myself.”

Their voices drop but Chris continues to read their lips.  “You’re interested,” Jim nods towards him.

Thalia turns her brilliant smile to him and he watches her puff out her chest slightly and pull her shoulders back.   He returns the look and stands up from his seat, pulling his coat from the empty stool next to him.

She shakes her hair out, a thoughtful expression on her face.  “Maybe; I don’t know,” she says to the other bartender.  She grabs her coat from the hook and walks around the bar, titling her head to the exit and Chris follows her out, his hand on her lower back.

Outside in the cold, she pulls her collar up to protect her ears and loops her arm in his before stuffing her hands in her pockets.  “It’s just across the street; that doorway,” she gestures with her head as she leads him across the street.  Fumbling with her keys in the cold, she asks him to step around behind her for a minute.  “Hang on just a second; can you hold it open?”

“Sure?” he asks as she steps around the corner of the building and yells something down the alley and he hears a scuffle.  He’s surprised when she returns to see another woman with her.  “Tina, this is my friend, Chris.  He’ll be here tonight too, okay?”

Tina steps inside the warm entrance and mumbles something.  Thalia pulls a wrapped sandwich and apple from her pocket and hands it to the woman.  “Sleep well, Tina,” she says as the woman shuffles down the hall and disappears under the stairway.  

Thalia nods her head up the stairs and starts climbing.  Chris steps up beside her and quietly asks, “What was that about?”

Thalia grins and presses her lips closed tightly for a moment.  “She has no place to stay.  She’s harmless so a few of us let her in the building on cold nights and she sleeps under the stairs.”  Stopping at the third landing, she halts in front of the door on the right and unlocks it.  “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve offered her my couch.”  She shakes her head, her hair falling around her shoulders.  “But she always says no.  About once a week I am able to convince her to come up for a shower and we have hot tea.”

Chris is blown away by her generosity.  “You have a habit of taking in strays?  Me?  Tina?  What do you two talk about?”

The door open, she motions for him to enter and reaches around and flicks the light switch.  He’s struck by the chill in the air, but the light casts a warm glow around the small space.  She places the keys on a side table and rubs her hands together for warmth.  “Wanna sit at the table? You might wanna keep your coat on.  It’ll take a while for the place to warm up.”  She moves to the radiator and clangs on it a few times with a metal wrench and Chris immediately remembers his days as a poor grad student too.  He bites back his laughter at the expression on her face, when she bangs it again and curses in Spanish before it rattles to life.

Crossing to the kitchen, she lays her gloves on the counter, and fills a kettle with water before adding it to the machine and settling it in its spot.  “She tells me about her life before she lost it all; her husband and son were killed in a car accident, and she just gave up after that.”    She reaches to her left and pulls out a coffee filter and grounds, measuring and adding it as well.  She pushes the orange button and the coffee maker makes a quiet hiss as it begins to do its job.

He watches as she moves about the kitchen and instantly feels at home in her space.  Funny.  That’s a feeling he hasn’t had in months.  He looks around as she talks a little more about Tina and straightens the counters, maybe a little embarrassed a guest is seeing it in a messed up state.  She halts when she realizes he’s watching and giggles.  “Sorry.  Habit.  I’m not used to having guests, and it’s a mess.”  She hands him a tin of cookies from above the stove and places two mugs on the table.  “So, listen.  Can you finish up the coffee?  If I have to smell like that bar for five more minutes, I might scream.”  She pulls a strand of hair to her nose and inhales.  She drops it in disgust and makes a stink face.  “It’s just awful; in my hair, on my clothes; on my skin.  I hate it.  And my hands?  I think they always smell like beer.”

She’s standing just close enough that he reaches to grab one of her hands and brings it to his face, brushing his nose against her palm.  Breathing deeply, the smell is strong, but she’s just left work.  “Occupational hazard?” he teases as he gently caresses the back of her hand with his thumb, enjoying the soft feel of her skin, afraid to lift his eyes to hers.

Clearing her throat, Thalia pulls her hand away slowly but the catch in her breath is audible and seems to echo in the silence between them.  Quietly she tells him, “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to shower.  I won’t be long.  Make yourself at home.”

She rushes from the room quickly and enters through a closed door.  A few moments later, she comes out and rounds the corner and passes into another room with an armload of clothes. He hears the turn of the lock.  As he makes his coffee, he tries not to imagine her naked and wet in the shower, but the thought jumps into his mind anyway. Adding sugar, he visualizes the rivulets of water running across her hills and valleys as she soaps away a long night at work. If he were there with her, he’d follow the wetness all over her curves, with his fingers and his tongue. He’d… Shit, he probably shouldn’t be thinking this.

Chuckling at the sound of her humming, he tries to identify the song he’s heard on the radio as he reaches to the fridge for creamer.  On the door, he sees a recent application for paperwork to travel overseas and sees her birthdate, during the week of finals  She just turned twenty-five.  Pushing his glasses up, he rubs his forehead.  Twenty-five.  Fuck.  Is that too young?  She’s a grad student.  He shrugs his shoulders.  Not a student in his department.  What’s the harm there?

Sipping his coffee, he walks around the tiny space.  On the bookshelf are photos of friends and family…  A notice from a funeral she attended a few months back.  Books are piled everywhere.  Lots of little trinkets from tourist destinations across Europe.

The radiator is slowly warming the room, with a slight chill still hanging in the air.  He removes his coat and hangs it over the back of the chair before sitting on the couch and pulling the soft blue blanket around him.  The furniture is nice and newer, not typical college student decor.  He sinks back against the sueded fabric and settles in as the water shuts off.  Again, trying to shut out any thoughts of her naked behind the closed door, he pulls out his phone and checks for any updated messages.  Seeing none, he scowls at the screen, jumping a bit when the door creaks open.  

“Hey,” she says quietly as a waft of orchids from her bath soaps float from the room.  Her long curly hair is wrapped in a towel perched precariously on her head.

Damn, that’s really sexy, he thinks.  How do girls do that?  He smiles at her, in a pink polka dotted robe, tied loosely over a tank top and plaid pajama shorts.  When she walks to the kitchen, the robe splits open and he catches sight of the way her thighs sensually rub against one another as she moves. “Hey,” he responds.  “I didn’t know how you take your coffee so I just uh, didn’t fix it.”

She giggles.  “Strong and bold, with a little sugar.  Like my men,” she laughs and the sound is so joyous, he joins in the mirth.  Moving elegantly she seems comfortable in her skin.  Chris likes that about her right away.  She doesn’t seem phased by his presence or uncomfortable to be in her pjs in front of someone she barely knows.  As she fixes her coffee, he asks her a few more questions about Tina, her work at the bar and the memorabilia from her obvious travels.

“Ya know, Thalia, I always got the impression you didn’t like me,” he boldly states.

She settles at the end of the couch and tugs the robe around her middle.  He can see her carefully considering her words.  “You’re the type of man girls like me are taught to stay away from.”

A slow grin crosses his face, “Oh really?  And what type is that?”

“Handsome and self-assured?  But, I don’t know?  Tonight you seemed-  a little broken.  Like you needed someone just to be nice to you.  I can do that.  I can be nice.”

He wonders how nice she could be; how nice it would be to run his fingers through her hair; how nice to slide between her legs; how nice-

He clears his throat and takes another sip of his coffee.

Click here to Chapter 15 Stay

Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando

 


Dating Fiasco

ET ch 9 april 5 2016

Educating Thalia

Collaboration by @devikafernando & @avenger-nerd-mom

AU FICTION

A collaboration involving Professor Hiddleston and Professor Evans- The two are rivals at a posh New England university and have no idea they both have taken interest in the lovely Thalia Bareo. She’s a grad student with interests in language and history; a sassy full-figured Puerto Rican girl from Chicago.  Story updates are posted on Wednesdays and Sundays.

Word count: 3618

Warnings:  Language, Adult Situations, Fluff, Impolite Use of Cellphone

Readers may wish bodily harm on a certain someone after this chapter, and he’s surprisingly clueless, but the bastard wears his glasses… so, there’s that. 

Summary:  Professor Tom tries to keep suspicions away from his secret relationship with his assistant and grad student, Thalia Bareo

Click here for the introduction to Educating Thalia

Tom sits in the staff lounge, his head bent diligently over some paperwork. None of his colleagues have any idea that he’s been staring blankly at the same page for minutes without accomplishing anything.

Over three months have gone by since his secret night with Thalia in the school library, and they’ve managed to sneak many others in too. Their stolen moments are the sunshine in his life now, a time when he can truly be himself and get a taste of what a happy relationship might feel like. If only…

With a sigh, he adjusts his glasses with his forefinger and tries his best to not let his feelings run away with him. Yet his thoughts keep drifting to the idea she’ll be leaving soon after finals, and be gone for the long weeks over the holiday break.  If he’s honest with himself, he doesn’t want to be apart from her that length of time.  Tom shakes his head and turns the page to give the appearance he’s working.  He needs to focus on what his head tells him, not his heart, or they’ll risk being discovered.

“Alright, I’ll call it a day then. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Laughing at her own joke, Professor Joanna Kent grabs her bag and coat, ready to leave the staff lounge. As usual, she manages to walk by Tom so closely that she ‘accidentally’ brushes his arm.

He grits his teeth. Hiddleston, get your butt into gear and do this.

Suppressing a sigh, he rises and catches up with her in front of the door.

“Joanna?”

She turns, fluttering her lashes at him.

Tom clears his throat and gives himself a mental shake. “I was wondering… A new Greek restaurant opened at Williams Street, and… Would you like to join me there for dinner tonight?”

Her eyes widen, and then the lash-fluttering increases to such speed that he feels dizzy looking at it.

“That sounds lovely, Tom. Tonight at eight? I know which restaurant you mean, I’ve been meaning to check it out. I could meet you there?”

Well, he has to give the woman credit for one thing, she doesn’t beat about the bush.

“Sure. Uhm, great. Yes.”

“Awesome. I’ll see ya then.”

She gives her hips an awkward swishy sway and leaves, her overly sweet cologne lingering unpleasantly, and Tom has to remind himself for the umpteenth time why this is supposed to be a good idea.

“Trying your luck with the local ladies, Hiddleston?” comes Professor Evans’s voice from close by where he’s packing his bag.

“Beginner’s tip,” he adds with a smirk, “you might want to smile a little more.”

Tom resists the urge to roll his eyes, realizing with a start that Thalia is rubbing off on him. He scoffs instead, shooting his colleague a glance. “I’m not entirely sure you’re the right person to be dishing out dating advice, but thanks a lot.”

Smirk still firmly in place, Evans walks out too, leaving Tom alone in the room to sort out his feelings and give himself another pep talk.

Hours later, Tom is fervently praying for a hole to open up in the ground and swallow him whole.

They haven’t even gotten to the meal yet and he’s had more than enough. Struggling hard to keep his polite smile in place, he toys with the napkin.

Professor Kent has been talking incessantly since she arrived – which was fashionably late and in heels so high she’s almost walking on stilts. While she’s always come across as bold and wanting to appear younger than she is, Tom hasn’t expected her to present herself quite so aggressively. Her hot pink dress is a bit too short and offering glimpses of cleavage he certainly won’t be caught staring at. What surprises him even more are the layers of makeup she’s hiding behind. Not that he’s ever looked at her with much interest, but she strikes him as pretty in a sort of bland way. With the right makeup, she would look attractive because she has a nice, small nose and even features. Tonight, however, she’s gone for the siren look complete with garish colors and fake lashes, and it’s all he can do not to cringe.

He wants a woman like Thalia who knows how to bring out the striking features she has, not someone who decks herself out in war paint to slither into a different skin.

Of course, he has complimented her nevertheless, earning himself some fake-humble giggling and two cheeks presented to kiss.

Tom takes a long sip of water and reminds himself to inject “I see”, “oh, really?” and “mhm” at regular intervals while Joanna keeps on talking.

He has no real idea what she’s blathering on about. Oh, he has tried valiantly, because it’s rude of him to ask her out on date and not care…but he’s fighting a losing battle. For one, she jumps from topic to topic and doesn’t much care for input. And it doesn’t help that he wishes he could take Thalia out on a proper date instead. Right here, for everyone to see. It’s like he has this primal urge to officially stake a claim on her or something, although he knows full well that he can’t and won’t.

His phone chimes in his pocket, and he automatically reaches for it.

It’s a message from Thalia, the last thing he’s expected. He texted her right after he left the staff room, telling her about the planned date. Her reply came more than an hour later, consisting only of an “okay” and throwing him off balance. He expected some teasing or at least a longer comment, and the one word with its million ways of interpretation has had him wondering ever since.

He turns his phone to vibration mode and makes sure that Professor Kent is so entertained by her own baseball-related story that she won’t notice him checking the message.

Enjoying your date?

With a grimace, he taps out a reply, wishing for once that he’d use emoticons because he’s sure there are a whole bunch of very expressive ones he could use to illustrate his suffering.

Tremendously, thanks for asking. I think having all my teeth pulled out without anesthesia would be preferable.

He keeps the phone on his thigh instead of sliding it back into the pocket, hoping against hope that Thalia didn’t just want to check in on him but will reply.

It’s getting rather warm in the place, which is full of enthusiastic guests and the mouth-watering smells of Greek cuisine. But he doesn’t want to take off his suit jacket. It’s his armor, protecting him from unnecessary ogling and offering at least a bit of reassurance. Joanna has already eyed him like a vulture about to pick the meat off his bones; he doesn’t need to encourage her by chucking the jacket. Thalia is never good at hiding whenever she’s running her eyes all over him, but there’s a world of difference between her appreciate gaze that makes him all hot and bothered and between this…this…leering.

Stop it right here, Tom, he scolds himself. He’s making matters worse. Dammit, he should be banishing Thalia from his thoughts. Tonight of all nights is the worst time to long for her. And he shouldn’t be comparing apples with pears.

Just when he leans forward with his chin on his hand, tuning in to Joanna’s monologue – Wait a minute, she’s talking about cleaning alcohol stains from expensive dresses? How did they get to that topic? – he feels his phone vibrate on his thigh. Tom glances down and reads.

I didn’t need that visual. 😉 Surely it can’t be so bad. Man up and woo the lady with your irresistible charms, Professor Hiddleston.

He suppresses a chuckle. Her tone is odd today, and he can’t put his finger on her mood. Stretching his pained smile wider, he flicks his gaze down to type a reply.

You know very well that I’m all man. But if you need a re-demonstration, I’m more than ready to comply.

He feels his lips curl in a grin, but his fingers hover over the send button. So far, they’ve only messaged each other sparingly, keeping it either project-related or organizing their clandestine meetings. Is this too far? And why the hell does he tease her when he should be focusing on his date?

Tom hits send and looks up in time to catch Professor Kent staring at him expectantly.

Flustered, he takes his glasses off and stuffs them in a pocket.

“I’m sorry, Joanna, how terribly rude of me. I think I’ve lost you there for a bit.” He gestures to the phone, cringing inwardly. “My sister. From England.”

She raises her needle-thin eyebrows. “Oh, how adorable. So, you’re a family man?”

Before he can try to get a word in – and he honest to god has no wish to share family stuff with her – she bulldozes ahead. “I keep thinking we’re much too young to think about all the settling down and founding a family stuff, don’t ya agree? We’re still enjoying life and all it has to offer, why tie ourselves down with babies and added responsibilities?”

Tom blinks and gets a “yes, if you say so, sure” in sideways before she rambles on.

With an internal groan, he sits back again and gives up all pretense of listening. The ironic thing is that she’d make a good ‘partner’ for him as it’s obvious she doesn’t want anything serious, finds him attractive and is too interested in her own life to get suspicious of anything he might be doing. That’s the theory, but reality looks a lot different. There’s no way he could ever see himself dating her, whether it would help or not.

His phone bounces a little on the table, and he snatches it up to read Thalia’s message.

You are so NOT texting me teases like that while you’re staring at Professor Kent’s cleavage. Behave.

There’s no smiley this time, and Tom finds himself wondering again what mood she’s in. Is this a serious reproach, and deservedly so? Or is she teasing him back?

Only one way to find out… He types surreptitiously, nodding at whatever Joanna is now saying about sports cars.

If you think that’s a tease, you’ve got another thought coming. And for your information, Miss Bareo, the only cleavage I am mentally ogling is yours. In fact, I’d love nothing more than to bury my head in it now. I shaved before my date, so I’d be all smooth and cool against your warm, full globes. I’d hold them ever so softly, not giving you the fondling you crave, and then I’d run my tongue all over them, avoiding the hard peaks that are begging for my attention.

Tom presses send and sits up straighter. He needs to get this dinner over with, preferably without making a fool of himself.

When the waiter brings their food and there’s a momentary lull in conversation, he puts on his most charming smile. Filling their glasses with wine, he asks, “So, tell me, Joanna, have you ever been to England?”

He’ll keep her talking about herself. That should do the trick.

“God, no, England is way too plain, old and snobby for me. Monaco, though, now that would be grand, to mingle with the high society and…” comes her reply, and he realizes again how much her shrill voice grates on his nerves. He’s always been sensitive to voices, maybe because of all the book readings and plays he’s been to. And Thalia’s voice has him enthralled. That sexy Spanish accent, the passionate lilt to it. Her husky undertone which gets more noticeable the more aroused she becomes.

Shit, maybe it’s not such a good idea to distract himself with thoughts of her moaning his name when she’s writhing in his arms.

Shifting against the tightening in his pants, Tom devotes all attention to his food and studiously ignores his phone even when it vibrates dully on the table cloth.

They make it through the main course without any trouble, although he is seriously considering splashing wine all over his suit just so he has a reason to leave early. Not only is Professor Kent still droning on about a hundred different things a minute, he can also feel her play footsie with him under the table.

Jesus, he shouldn’t have gone on this date.

On the pretense of dropping and picking up his napkin, Tom scoots his chair back a little and sits so he’s out of her high-heeled reach.

He tops up her wine and debates whether to accidentally brush the glass so the wine hits her instead. Wasn’t she going on about how she’s an expert at removing alcohol stains? But then he thinks of having to be all gentlemanly and pat her body down with napkins, and he ditches the idea.

With an apologetic smile that is totally lost on the woman, he checks his messages.

There are only two words. Not fair.

Damn, what’s this all about? He’s at a loss how to answer. Is this her way of refusing to be teased? Or is she turned on and too shy to urge him on?

Running a hand through his hair, Tom asks Joanna whether she wants any dessert, and she orders a fruit salad. Ugh, as if she needed another minus point on the ever-growing list in his mind. What the hell is he doing here sitting with a stick-thin tactless excuse for a woman who thinks she needs to count calories to keep up her appeal when he could and should be spoiling Thalia with some sinfully tasty sweet treats?

As if she’s read his thoughts, another message appears.

I hope you’re not feeding her dessert.

Tom’s fingers fly over the keys, typing his answer before he can think about it.

Fuck no.

He flinches and drinks more water. It doesn’t take more than a moment for her reply to appear.

Language, Professor.

He hurriedly sends another message.

By now, I’d be willing to feed her anything to make her shut up. I’ve never met a woman in my life who yaps on and on like this. I swear my ears are ringing. But that aside, I won’t be feeding her anything. There’s only one woman I want to feed – with food and with quite some other things – and that’s you.

While typing, it dawns on him how pathetically, dangerously true that is. He’s addicted to Thalia, so much so that he’s got no room left inside him for the politeness he’s usually so proud of. He knows he’s being a dick, texting her on his date, but he can’t bring himself to care.

In between dainty nibbles on fruit pieces she clearly doesn’t enjoy, Joanna suddenly changes track and asks him personal questions.

Using his best British behavior, he dodges them all and offers half-answers that have her narrowing her heavily painted eyes.

“But enough about me,” he insists when his phone vibrates, “why don’t you tell me more about why you chose to become a college professor?”

That effectively sends her off on another self-centered discourse so he can glance at the screen.

If I can be such a good girl for you all the time, sir, you can be good too. Keep that chiseled chin up.

Tom frowns at the sentences. Her tone is kind of bossy, but then she’s mentioned the word that always triggers his darker side, and he’s pretty sure it’s deliberate.

With a sigh, he pockets his phone and lives through the rest of the ordeal silently. Not even the amazing dessert he’s chosen – Greek yogurt with honey, walnuts, vanilla and something else that’s delicious – can lighten his mood.

Nearly an hour later, Tom finally ditches the subtle and seriously unsuccessful hints that they should leave and outright tells her that he should get going because he has an early morning class.

When she rises from her chair and he gallantly helps her into her coat, she leans into him, and her wine-breath wafts into his face.

“What a lovely evening we had. Now how about proving to me that you’re indeed a typical English gentleman and making sure that I’ll reach home safely?”

Her fingers crawl up his jacket lapels and he has the irrational wish he knew how to disapparate at will.

“But of course, Joanna,” he says in his best British voice, jaw clenched.

Once they’re outside the restaurant, he realizes that she’s walked here and apparently lives close. And it’s more than plain to see she’s had a glass or two too much of wine, because she’s swaying dangerously on her killer heels.

With a long-suffering sigh, Tom offers her his arm and escorts her home.

Oddly enough, something has made her go quiet, so they spend nearly ten minutes navigating the pavement in awkward silence.

Tom shoves his free hand in his pocket against the winter cold, toying with his phone and wondering what Thalia may be doing at the moment. What does she think about this whole dating farce? Will she do the same soon, and let him know about it like he did?

His gut clenches of the thought of her with another man. Worse still, it would be a bumbling, fumbling boy and nothing like the real man she needs.

A gust of cold wind makes him even more miserable. It will be Christmas break soon, and he isn’t particularly looking forward to it. Thalia will visit her family in Chicago, and most of his colleagues will be on leave too. And he? Something holds him back from traveling to England for a week or two, and he can’t really pinpoint what.

Maybe he’ll barricade himself in the library and read until he’s forgotten all about the world. It’s worked wonders for him before, both during childhood and much later. Though he’s usually spent Christmas with his family back home.

With a jolt, he realizes he hasn’t bought Thalia anything for Christmas when he picked out cards and little souvenirs to send to England.

Damn, how could he forget that?

Another thought brings him up short, which makes Professor Kent stumble and grab onto him with both hands. Tom lets her hang onto him, quickening his long strides so he doesn’t prolong the agony of being with her.

Would Thalia even accept a present from him or would it be out of line? He desperately wants to gift her something simple yet meaningful. A book to emphasize their shared love for literature? Another of those girlish, vividly colored, endlessly long scarves she wraps around herself these days, which always make him itch to grab her by the dangly ends and reel her in for a kiss? A naughty toy to explore another nuance of their relationship and make her discover more thrilling novelties?

He’s pulled out of his thoughts roughly when Joanna digs her long, red nails into his forearm.

“That’s me, right over there with the lovely pink curtains,” she says with a slight slur, pointing across the half-empty street.

Tom swallows, feeling claustrophobic with her pressed so close. She turns and dances her fingers up his jacket lapel again, and he has a devil of a time of keeping his expression civil. He’s beyond the point of fake smiles by now, but he sure hopes his feelings don’t show on his face.

“Such a gentleman,” she says, followed by a high-pitched giggle. “How ‘bout bein’ even more gentlemanly and accompanying me in for a nightcap?”

Revulsion making his skin crawl, Tom takes a hasty step back and extricates herself from her surprisingly strong hold.

“Erm… I think I’ll pass on that, Joanna, uh… thanks.” He fumbles for something nice to say when her redder than red lips begin to droop and her thinner than thin eyebrows pucker.

“I’ve had a nice time tonight, thank you.” Liar, liar, pants on fire. Grasping onto his last ounce of reserve, he forges on. “But I don’t think I should be joining you now. We’ve barely got to know each other, and…” He breaks off and gives himself the millionth mental kick.

For a moment, Joanna simply glares at him. With a “right” that is tight-lipped and glacially cold compared to her previous sugary tone, she turns and wobbles across the street. Halfway up the short flight of stairs, she comes to a teetering halt and turns to look over her shoulder at him.

“Ya know, we would have gotten to know each other a lot better if you hadn’t spent so much time looking at your fucking phone.”

With that, she’s up the stairs and inside the building before he can pick his jaw off the ground.

“Serves you right, Hiddleston, you pompous, pretentious arse,” Tom mutters to himself and sighs.

He definitely isn’t dating material. This fiasco has proven it once and for all. And it’s proven something else he’s begun to suspect… Thalia makes him a better man, in a way. He can not only let down his guard and be himself around her, but he’s also much nicer than people here have probably come to expect it from him.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he turns and begins the walk back to the bus halt, as he’s left his car at home tonight.

No more pretend dates for him, no thanks.

He tries to summon a Shakespearean quote to calm his frazzled nerves, but all he can think about is Thalia, home alone in her own bed, as he dials her number.

Click here to read Chapter 10, Rescue Mission

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom and devikafernando

No Decisions Today

no decisions today jan 1 2017.JPG

No Decisions Today

a Sunshine Story

a Chris Evans fan fic

By avenger-nerd-mom

Chris takes Sunshine home to meet the family and she receives an interesting phone call

Warnings: Language, adult situations, tickle fight, seriously way too much ice cream, fluff

Author’s Note: I feel like if I don’t post this story now, I never will.  Life is crazy and my original fiction is calling me! For the present time, this is the conclusion to the Sunshine series.- ANM 1/1/17

Word Count: 3176

After dinner is cleared away, the family retreats to the airy living room and I am loving every minute of it.  It makes me miss my family a bit, thinking of when we can all get together.  The boys are enjoying time with “Uncle Chris” and are taking turns diving off the couch and landing on him, much to Mama Lisa’s dismay.  She cringes each time, just waiting for someone to get hurt.

“Relax, Ma,” Carly chides as she sits on the couch next to me.  “You know he’ll catch them every time.  He’s the one that’s gonna be sore tomorrow.”  She says this with a smile as Chris moans when he’s kicked in the stomach again.

“Well, it makes me nervous.  I can’t stay here and watch.  Shanna, will you come help me set out dessert?”  Lisa rises from her chair, bending to straighten some magazines on the side table.  I swear the woman never stops moving.

Shanna rolls her eyes and I can’t hold in my giggles. I try to intervene on her behalf, knowing it’s difficult to be the youngest.  “Miss Lisa?  Can’t I help?  Please, I feel bad.  You haven’t let me lift a finger since I arrived and-”

“Sweetie, you just sit back and relax.  Help keep the kids busy; it’s all under control.”  She smiles warmly and walks staunchly towards the kitchen, the proud matriarch of the family.

I shrug my shoulders to Shanna as if to say, ‘I tried.’  Chris smiles up at me from the floor and winks, swatting at Shanna’s legs as she walks by.  “Thanks, sis,” he says, appreciation dripping from his rich, velvety voice.

The kids continue to roll around the room and play with their uncle, shrieking with delight when ‘Uncle Scott’ joins the fun.  One of the boys brushes against my bare foot and I quickly pull it away, lifting it up and tucking it under me as I sit and talk with Carly and her husband.

Later, the noise dies down and Carly goes off in search of the kids.  “It’s not the sound that bothers me; it’s the quiet.  That’s usually when they’re up to no good.”  She rises from the couch, and nudges her husband, who has drifted off to sleep.  He quietly snorts and pushes her hand away.

Chris’s muffled voice rises up from the floor, his arm draped over his closed eyes.  “They’re fine, Sis.  They wanted Scott to see where they plan to build their secret fort.  But it’s a secret.  You didn’t hear that from me.”

The mention of a secret fort jolts Ryan awake.  The tired parents set off in search of their offspring, mumbling about the influence of ‘Uncle Scott.’

Chris rolls over on his belly, a look of contentment and joy on his face.  His smile turns up in a childish grin, something on his mind.  “So, uh, Sunshine?  I couldn’t help but notice you pulled your foot away while the kids were playing.”

I sense of dread fills me but I keep my voice light.  “Yeah, I didn’t want them tripping over my big feet and getting hurt.”

Army crawling towards me on his stomach I know he knows.  Crap.  The look on his face is purely sinful.  “So, it’s not because you’re ticklish?”  His voice drops, adding an air of seduction to his play as his warm hands snakes under me and grabs my ankle.  I squirm away from him, but his hold is tight.

Christopher.  Don’t.  You.  Dare.”

He rises up on his knees, his too- tight shirt stretching over his chest drawing my attention to his beautiful form, distracting me for a moment. Chris wraps his other hand around my ankle and I try to kick him away, connecting with his shoulder and he laughs playfully.  “Sorry, sorry,” I whisper, just adding fuel to his laughter as he guffaws even more loudly.

Giving a forceful tug, he pulls me onto the floor next to him.  I land with a slight bounce, thankful once again for my extra padding. Squealing I scramble to crawl away from him, but his grip is tight and he throws his weight against me, pinning me to the ground. Crawling over me with a predatory look on his chiseled features, I admit defeat to myself knowing I really don’t want to get away.

My stomach flips and turns in knots and I know he’s going to win.  I try to block his attack as his hand roams up my side, poking and brushing over the stays of my tight blue sundress.  His hand flies up to my face and brushes my disheveled hair from my eyes.  “You’re really beautiful, Sunshine… How have you kept this a secret from me all this time?”  His breath is warm against me when his lips brush against mine. Shifting, his rugged beard tickles my face, dancing across my cheek to my neck. He moves his head back and forth assaulting me with the coarse bristles of his beard as he nips and bites at my tender skin and I can’t catch my breath.

“Stop,” I whine, pushing fruitlessly against his firm chest.  “That tickles; really.  Stop, please.”

“Aw, honey, you know I love when you beg…”  He continues to torment me with his beard while his hand digs and kneads at my rib cage, up and down; teasing me, tickling me, torturing me.  My legs rise up around him, trying to protect myself; trying to block his movements, my hands clutching at his strapping biceps to get him off me.

His attack really just provides us an innocent excuse to have our hands all over each other, appropriate for the family setting.  And I settle into the ticklish sensations taking over me, helpless giggles and quiet pleas escaping my lipstick stained mouth.  Breathless, my breasts heave and threaten to push over the top of my dress as he rolls off of me and snuggles against my side.

“Are you as oddly turned on as I am?”  Chris laughs, tucking fly-away hairs behind my ear, the delicate touch a trigger in my heightened state and I shudder against him.

I giggle, hiding my face under a pillow near us on the floor. “Oh my god, that will kill me, but yes. Lord, yes.”

He pulls the pillow from my face and gently leans over to kiss my soft lips, tenderly caressing my belly to slow my evident muscle spasms and calm my breathing.

“Uncle Chris! Dessert time! Grandma got your favorite ice cream!” One of the boys yells as he streaks through the living room, mimicking a gagging motion at the sight of our kisses.

“More food? I don’t think I could eat another thing!” I exclaim as Chris pulls me to my feet, purposely pushing his solid body into mine.

I catch him sneaking a quick glance to the kitchen doorway. I can’t see anyone standing there, so I don’t slap his hand away as he wraps his strong arms around me, hitching up my skirt and grasping my rounded ass.  “We aren’t done with this,” he growls predatorily into my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I step away, taking my hand in his large paw and lead him to the kitchen.  I look over my shoulder and watch him following me like a puppy in his own home.

The sight on the kitchen counter is heaven.  I can definitely see where Chris developed his affinity for ice cream!  Lisa has pints of every flavor imaginable on the counter, with bowls of sprinkles, nuts and various toppings lined up.  Seeing the smile on my face, she grins back and says, “Chris tells me your favorite flavor is-”

I spot it and pull the container to me, taking a spoon.

“Hey! We are sharing!” Chris laughs.  “That’s not all for you!”

I raise my eyebrow at him and a devilish urge to challenge him flashes through me.  I lick the spoon quickly and stick it in the middle of the container.  Shanna laughs and hi-fives me, repeating the same action for the pint in front of her.

Scott scoffs. “Dammit. I don’t want any of that now… I don’t wanna think about where your mouth has been.”  He shudders and then hollers in pain when Carly slaps the back of his head.

“The kids are here. Behave,” she admonishes her youngest brother.  “I swear, it’s like living in a frat house when you two get together.  Not everything has to be R-rated, you know.”

“Scott, mind you manners and hold your tongue,” Lisa also scolds him, waving a bottle of electric blue dish soap at him.  All the adult Evans children groan, and to my right, Scott mumbles under his breath, “Worst punishment ever.” He shudders as if still remembering the taste of soap in his mouth.

I giggle, reaching across the bar to get the container of hot fudge and Chris pushes the bowl of cashews towards me.  “So, Christopher, was that a punishment you received often?”

The family chuckles at my use of his full name.  “Yeah, Uncle Christopher. Did Grandma ever soap your tongue?” one of the boys chimes in, climbing up on the stool across from me.

The family settles in to their pattern of storytelling and I instantly feel at home and warm in their presence. Looking around the counter and at the kids at the table, I see a little bit of each of them reflected in Chris.  I love seeing how the little ones are so much like their favorite uncle and I’m sure that creates trouble for Carly at times.

Stories continue, changing from one topic to the next. As the children get restless, Carly’s husband offers to take them up to bed.  By now, most of us have moved to more comfortable seats around the table.  Before saying goodnight, Stella crawls up in my lap and grasps the sides of my face in her chubby little hands.  “You’re fwuffy.  I wike it,” she declares as she leans in to kiss me on the cheek. I giggle at the tickle of her touch and her honest candor.

Carly’s eyes are filled with horror and I kiss the little girl back before blowing a raspberry on her cheek.  “I wike it too; fluffy girls have more fun,” I admit to her.  Looking around the room, I know why it was important for Chris to bring me home.  He wanted me to see that all the women in his life that are most important to him are ‘fluffy.’  To show me that I’m important to him…

“And we get to eat more cake,” she giggles as her dad pulls her from my lap into his arms.

“All the cake, sweet Princess,” Shanna laughs, tickling the bottom of her niece’s foot as Ryan carries her from the room.

Carly whispers her apologies and I just shrug them off.  “Carly, relax.  I’m a big girl,” I chuckle at the unintended play on words, tilting my head to the side.  “I can handle it; at least kids are honest about it.  And fluffy is the sweetest adjective I’ve ever heard; I’ll take that title.”

Patting her own motherly form, Lisa giggles.  “Fluffy?  I can deal with that too.  And I’m all for anything requiring cake,” she jokes as she cuts off a small piece to go with her ice cream.  “That little girl has amazing ideas.  I have no idea where she gets them.”

“Oh, not from any of the strong, independent, sassy women in this room, that’s for sure,” Scott delivers with heavy sarcasm, a beam of pride across his face.

Winking at me, nodding his head in understanding, Chris leans to me and looks at my container of ice cream.  “Not making much progress there Sunshine,” he teases.

“I never said I was eating the whole thing tonight but I claim it for the next few days we are in town.”  I lay my spoon down on his plate where he had brownies with his ice cream and lean back in my seat.  “I can’t eat another bite; Lisa you are an amazing cook!  All that home-cooked Italian food? I’d love to have some of those recipes.”

“Oh, no. No one can quite make it like Ma does,” Carly complains.  “I live with the woman; we cook together all the time.  But when I do it alone, it’s crap.  It’s like she leaves out one ingredient every time she gives me a recipe just so I won’t be as good as her.”

She glares at her mother, and I can tell this is an on-going tease in the family.

Chris pipes up.  “Sunshine is an amazing cook!” He leans back in his chair, his leg bumping against my thigh.  He pats his belly and proclaims, “All that Venezuelan food?  I think I’ve gained ten pounds.  Getting in shape for Cap is gonna be a bitch.”

I can hear Scott and Chris talking about his upcoming project, but I focus on the discussion of the women.  Shanna asks about the types of food I like to cook and she and Lisa convince me I should cook one night while we are in town.  Drawn back into our ‘girl talk’ as he puts it, Chris agrees to hosting a dinner party at his home .  He starts asking the family if they think his house is impersonal and I notice Lisa and Carly shy away from the chat. I don’t focus on the last of this conversation. My phone rings and I am flustered by the information on the screen.  I stand up abruptly and put my hand on his shoulder. “Work thing, gotta take it.”

He nods his head yes and keeps entertaining his family with his stories as I walk into the living room to take the call in private. Before I am out of earshot, I hear Scott over the low roar in the room, “Damn bro, she’s definitely different from your other girls you’ve brought home.  You really like her, don’t you?”

I can hear Carly.  “Nah, it’s love.  And he’s so far gone he doesn’t know what to do with himself, right lil’ bro?”

Shit.  Looking at my phone screen again, I do not want to know the answer to that question. I run quickly for the door and step out on the front porch, closing it loudly behind me.

#

Returning the kitchen, everyone’s face turns to me and I can’t hide my smile.  Chris rises from his chair, his eyes taking on a shade of green to match the shirt he wears, and smiles at me in anticipation.

“I got it; I got the job!”  I whisper, still in such shock I can’t believe it myself.

Chris picks me up and spins me around in a quick circle.  I giggle when I hear Scott’s gasp of disbelief and Carly hits the back of his head again.

“That’s amazing, Sunshine, I’m so happy for you!”  Taking my face in his large hands, Chris kisses me tenderly, but there is a sadness in his green eyes.  “This is what you want, right?”

“Yea, I think so, it’s my chance,” I shrug my shoulders and laugh, not being able to contain my joy.

Carly looks quizzically between the two of us, and asks cautiously, “A new job?  That’s great!  What- what is it?”  Her gaze lingers on Chris and I wonder about his confession to his siblings while I was outside, but that will be for us to discuss later.

Sinking back into my chair and sighing deeply, I fight to find the words, torn between the good and the bad.  “Months ago, before I started working for Christopher, I had a job with a TV exec down in the valley.  She had me audition for an idea of a design show she wanted to put together…”  I watch as a most proud smile breaks across Chris’s face as the news sinks in and he grips my hand a bit tighter, sitting back down next to me.  I notice Mama Lisa’s gaze is on her son, and his reactions to my words, but I continue my news.  “Well, she got the go ahead from the cable network and the other execs want me to do the show.” Saying it out loud the crazy story becomes real, and I giggle nervously.   I turn to look at him. “Me, Christopher… I’m gonna be on TV, redoing homes and giving decorator secrets.  Can you believe it?”

“Fuckin’ wicked, Sunshine.  That’s amazing.”  Raising my hand to his lips, he kisses the back of my hand, tears of happiness in his eyes.  His family chimes in with their words of congratulations and well wishes. “I’m so proud of you; my girl’s gonna be a TV star,” he chuckles.  My heart soars with his faith in me and I tell him so.

“No one’s ever believed in me the way you do; honey.  Your support keeps me going, even when I want to give up, and I…” I pause as the words choke in my throat, fighting back my own tears.  “I will always love you for it.”

One by one, his family begins to sneak away, realizing this may be a bigger discussion than they are ready to witness.

His face falls and sadness momentarily takes away his good looks.  I hate to think of causing him pain and grief.  I pinch my eyes shut and when I open them, a weak smile has returned to his visage. “Sunshine, what are you saying?  I love you too, whatever this is, we can figure it out.”

He’s finally said the words I desperately longed to hear and now I feel they’re a little too late.

Caressing the side of his face, I say what he hasn’t pieced together yet.  “I start filming the same time you’ll be leaving for Georgia in the Spring.  I can’t go with you; I know we talked about it and had plans, but-”

“Shhh, Sunshine.  You’re my light.”  Chris sits up and scoots his chair closer,  placing his arm across my belly and resting it on the edge of my chair.  “You’re talking like this is good-bye.  I’m crazy about you…”  With his other hand, he traces his fingers across my hummingbird tat before looking up into my eyes, both of us with tears threatening to spill over.  “I love you, my Sunshine, and we don’t have to decide anything for now.  Okay?”  His once powerful voice is now barely a whisper on a his breath.  “Promise me that?”

Sighing deeply, I shake my head slightly, knowing he’ll want to stretch out the inevitable.  Choking back my tears, I place my lips gently to his, tasting the mixed salt of our tears.  Still caressing the side of his cheek, I slide my nose against his, and whisper the words softly against his skin.  “Right, we don’t have to decide anything today.  We still have several months to figure it all out; it’s vacation. No decisions today..”

Copyright © 2017  avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom

 

Beautiful Design

beautiful design.png

Beautiful Design

by avenger-nerd-mom

*a Chris Evans Fan Fiction*

Chris x OFC (First Person)

Chris Evans develops a crush on his interior designer, a sassy plus sized woman with an eye for details

Warnings: Language, Adult Situations, Oral Sex, Penetration, fingering, NSFW

Word Count 4727

“How did you know I like soft, fluffy things on my bed?”  Chris’s laughter and sultry tone causes me to jump out of my skin, releasing a squeal of surprise.

“Oh, Christopher! You scared me!” I turn my attention from the decorator pillows I’ve been fluffing on the giant bed, and start to blush, realizing how this must look to him.  The meaning behind his words is not lost on me.  He leans against the doorframe so casually, my heart skips a beat and I can feel my blush deepen.  “I wasn’t expecting you till after the shoot.  What are you doing here?”

He ignores my question, moaning quietly.  Fuck, why must he do that!  “Unf… And you’re already kneeling on my bed?”

“Stop, teasing, please,” my voice pleads with him, reaching to straighten and fluff the rest of the pillows, becoming self-conscious, knowing he is watching me.  He’s been flirting for weeks, but he doesn’t really mean it.  That’s just who he is.  He’s just a flirt.

“Why?” Chris moves across the room, emptying his pockets onto the dresser.  Seeing the expression on my face, he opens the drawer and slides the items off and hides them away.  “What is it going to take to convince you to go out with me?  Why won’t you say yes?”

Pivoting carefully on the bed so to not disrupt the décor, I catch my reflection in the mirror on the wall behind him.  Nearly a size sixteen… That’s why I don’t say yes.   Chris doesn’t really want me he just wants the challenge because I keep turning him down.  Having worked with the household staff for weeks getting ready for this house design photo shoot, I am totally aware “no” isn’t a word he hears often.

As I finish fussing with the blanket at the foot of the bed I realize Chris is watching me closely.  “You haven’t answered my question…” he says quietly.  My heart cries at the sound in his voice.  This flirting is different.  He truly seems hurt by my rejections…

Crawling to the edge, I shake my head, getting ready to climb down from the higher bed he requested.  As I move across the surface, I realize my dress isn’t holding me in and my two best features are slowly popping out over the top of the neckline.  I look up and Chris notices too.  That goddamn smirk of his… “Christopher, isn’t the answer obvious?” I turn again and begin to crawl away from him.  At least the length of my skirt will keep my ass covered until I can get off the ridiculously high bed.  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing at all the jokes the design team had while creating the room’s main feature.

“Either direction is a good view,” he chuckles, kicking off his shoes.

“Goddamn it,” I mumble under my breath.  “There is no graceful way to get off this bed.”  I spin my legs around to a seated position, preparing to slide off to the floor.

“Then don’t.  Stay on the bed,” Chris says as he steps in front of me.  “You look good there,” he purrs, just as my feet hit the floor and I stand up, nearly bumping into him.

“Damn, you’re tall.  I don’t think I’ve really noticed that before,” Chris says, reaching beside me and straightening the edge of the blanket I kicked.  As he moves past me, I can feel his warmth radiating from his body, and catch the smell that is him- the outdoors, clean, fresh, manly.

I try to side step him, but he blocks my path.  “Christopher, don’t you have something else to do, I have work to finish here.” I put my hand on his arm to push him away and encounter his rock hard bicep.  My fingers linger there and I can’t deny the attraction I feel for him.

“I love that you call me ‘Christopher,’” he says, dropping his eyes to my manicured hand on his arm.  “And I think you’re amazing.  Don’t give me that “low self-esteem” bullshit.  I’ve known you for months.  You are the most vibrant, out-going, carefree person I know.  You’re funny and opinionated and you don’t take any shit… That’s my kind of girl.  Why won’t you go out with me?”

I freeze when the back of his hand caresses the watercolor hummingbird tattoo on my collar bone as he brushes my fair colored hair over my shoulder.  His eyes plead for an answer.  He touched me.  I can’t think.  Quietly, I say the honest truth, the first thing that comes to my mind.  “The funny, fat girl is always great to hang out with until you have to be seen in public with her.”

He leans in and kisses my tat, his lips a bare brush against my skin. I can feel the slight exhale of his warmth breath as he puffs out his next words. “That’s bullshit.  I don’t see you like that.  I need a better reason.”  Goosebumps form across my pale surface as he continues to caress my shoulder, his fingertips running under the strap of my favorite yellow sundress.

Unable to control my breathing, trying to keep steady from the effect he has over me, I choke out the words “I work for you.”

His long nose nuzzles against my neck, his beard trailing behind, ticklish.  “Not any more.  You’re fired.”

Giggling, I grasp the back of his hair and lift his head even to mine.  My stomach turns somersaults.  I don’t want him to stop.  “The camera crew will be here in two hours.”

“Plenty of time,” he answers, diving towards my lips and meeting them with a wanting heat.  Both hands now continue to tug at the straps of my summer attire.  His tongue flits across my plump bottom lip inviting me to open and accept him.  My breathing accelerates and I run my fingers through his hair, holding him tighter to me, knowing it’s a bad idea but feels so good.  His hands run along the sweetheart neckline, dragging his fingers just under the edge of the dress covering my ample chest.  A delicious moan escapes my lips, aching for more of his touch.  “And we can go for round two later,” he growls seductively.

His mouth continues to tease.  Damn, can that boy kiss!  My lips slowly part at his temptations, his lips soft against my own.  His tongue eases in slowly, gently touching my tongue before sliding back out and running across my bottom lip.  A slight chill runs through me and my knees weaken so I tighten my grasp on his arm.  He repeats this move again, venturing his skilled tongue deeper inside, tangling with mine.

His hands snake down the corset style front of my dress, stopping to squeeze under my breasts, grabbing at my ribcage and pulling me into him.  I can feel his erection through the layers of my skirt, pushing warmly against my thigh.  I open my eyes to remind myself this is really happening and he is watching me with his pupils dilated, lost in the black of desire.  He really wants me?  If this is an act, he should win in an Oscar.

A million thoughts cross my mind.  If I go through with this, I don’t want it to change the friendship I’ve developed with this charming man.  I love stopping by with a new find for the design layout and finding him watching Disney movies alone, collapsing in a nearby chair to join his movie marathon.  I love catching him eating fries and a burger, leaning against the counter, exhausted from his day with a cold beer near his hand.  I adore overhearing him on the phone with his niece and nephews.   I love all the little things he does that has captured my attention in the time I have known him. I love the easy banter we have and the way he makes me laugh even when I don’t want to. But damn, I want him bad.  “You can’t fire me.  I have bills to pay and the job isn’t done.”

Winding his large, strong hands around my sides to my back, he grips me tighter.  Again I can feel him, even stiffer than before and he teases, “I can offer you a nice severance package.  You won’t be complaining.”

His kissing becomes more fervent and I match him lick for lick, nipping at his bottom lip.  His hands roam across my back side, gripping and tugging.  I bring both hands up to his forearms, grasping his biceps and running my fingers under the sleeves of his t-shirt.  His lips pull away and drag along my jawline, moving to tickle my ear with his breath.  “I love that you always smell like springtime and lilacs… and Gucci?”

Giggling back, I answer, “You left it on the counter.  I couldn’t resist.”  Tilting my head back elongates my neck to give him more space to play with his lips, his beautiful scratchy beard against my delicate skin. He obliges, running his nose along the exposed flesh, taking my ear lobe between his full lips and playfully biting down.  I can’t stop the moan of pleasure that threatens to escape.  “Ah, fuck,” I confess.  “I’ve always loved that when you hug me goodbye, I go home smelling like you.”

“So you admit, you like me?”  His breath is hot and damp in my ear and my insides melt like lava.  I want this man; I’ve needed him for weeks now, wishing he’d see me as more than his decorator, more than a friend.

He licks his tongue around the outer edge of my ear, sending chills down my spine, tenderly nibbling back down towards my chest.  He places a slow, wet open mouthed kiss on the side of my neck and I grasp at him tighter, wrapping my arms around his neck, playing with the hair touching the collar of his shirt.  “Damn, that feels good,” I sigh. “Christopher, me liking you has never been the issue.”

He scoffs at this, but he doesn’t say anything.  Besides, his lips are too busy slowly biting and kissing around the front of my neck to the other side.  His hands wander down my back, pulling at the curve of my generous hips. His tenacious fingers drift farther down, under the curve of my ass, pinching together the fabric and pulling up the skirt, exposing my legs, gently brushing against my body.  The impact of his desire causes a surge of warmth and wetness to my most intimate spaces.  His kisses are igniting a flame only he can control and I struggle to keep my breathing under control.  Impossible.

My feelings for Christopher have been simmering for weeks, but I wasn’t sure until just now he actually meant any of his flirtations. The bright lights of Hollywood aren’t easy on a girl built like me, but I’m no wallflower.  Sure, he’s Captain America, with biceps to die for, but how do I know he’s strong enough for me. It’s his anxiety, his desire for a private life that’s kept me holding back.  I know the looks I get when I’m out and about.  Add in the additional attention of being on his arm?  I can take it, but I’ve wondered if he can?  Has he even thought about what the press or the fans would say?  On a good day, in my favorite heels, I stand taller than he does.  I’m definitely more than a handful and nothing like the little starlets he is often photographed with…

Pulling back from my neck, Chris’s eyes search my face, placing a hand on my cheek, pushing my red matte lips with his wonderfully curved thumb.  My lips part under their own volition and my tongue teases between them, licking the tip of his appendage as it glides across my ready mouth.  I can feel his other hand splayed across the top of my back, his fingertips finding the zipper of my dress. “Honey, if you don’t want this, you need to stop me now.”

Taking a deep breath, a smile forms on my face and is reflected in his eyes.  “I’m not gonna stop you, but wait one moment…”  Quickly, I run my hands down the front of his black t-shirt, feeling his hard chest and ripples of muscle along the way and grasp the bottom hem.  With a quick tug up, his shirt is removed and his hair is disheveled. How is he so fucking adorable and sexy at the same time?  Winking at him, I grab his hair, winding my hands in it tightly, pulling him back to my mouth.  My tongue explores his sweet cavity much as he did to me moments ago.  I don’t know what he wants but at this point I don’t fucking care.  I just know right now I need him to quell the fire he started.

His hand skates down the zipper, his second hand caressing each inch of skin as it is exposed.  I reach between the two of us and unfasten the buckle on his jeans, pulling the belt slowly from each loop.  Easing open the buttons on the fly, I hear his breath catch and gently caress his happy trail, following to dip my fingers in the waistband of his Calvins.  His skin feels exquisitely soft and he slightly tenses at my touch.  As he pulls the dress over my head, I try to maintain a sense of composure.  It’s now or never; please, Lord, don’t let him be sorry.

I can’t breathe as Chris steps away from the bed.  “Christopher?  What are you thinking?” I ask quietly.  The summer sun filters into the room and there is no hiding.  Feeling so exposed in this moment, I hope he feels the same way I feel about him.  If he truly likes me, cares for me, he’s not going to care what I look like with extra pounds on my large frame. Exhaling, my heart skips a beat.

The grin on his face shows he isn’t having any second thoughts as I stand before him in my pink strapless bra and boycut shorts.  Every inch, every curve is on display for him.  He either needs to take it now, or leave it.  “I’m not one of your stick thin models…  You can’t break me.”

His laughter is true and rocks through his body.  “No, no you aren’t.”  He cocks that famous eyebrow of his at me, grinning like he just won a prize.  He moves towards me, wrapping one arm around my back and grasping my other shoulder and bending to bring the other arm behind my knees and scoops me up off the floor, tossing me onto the bed.  Holy shit!  Landing off- center, I watch as he climbs over the top of me. “You’re beautiful,” hovering above me, he kisses the swell of my breasts, devoting a moment of attention to them before seducing my lips again.  “You have more of everything I like, and I’m just trying to decide where to start with you…”

“What did you decide?”  I tease him, already knowing the answer to the question as he crawls down between my legs, pulling down the lacy pink shorts as he slides off the bed onto his knees.  He scoops his hands under my ass and I gasp as he lifts and pulls me to the edge.  Marry this man.  He can pick you up and move you around like it’s nothing. Giggling, I push it away when he asks what’s so funny.  “Nothing, oh my god, you…”  I’m unable to finish my thought as he lifts my shapely leg and places my foot up unto the edge of the bed and his beard begins to scratch my inner thigh as he moves into place.

His breath is hot against my bare, shaved mound, his face moving side to side.  He taunts and teases me with his beard, leaving stinging marks.  His plump lips kiss their way down my wet slit as he runs a hand up my thigh and drags his finger through the juice, smearing it. I tilt my ass down into the bed, placing myself right where I want him to be, spreading my legs wider for him.  Looking between the V I have created, he is watching me and I can see the warmth and laughter in his darkened eyes.  Such a mischievous one!  I reflect the smile back to him and groan in pleasure when his tongue tickles over my center.  “So wet,” he offers, taking another lap with his wide tongue. “So sweet.”

His long licks paint over me as I rock my hips against his face.  I place my hands at my sides, grasping the thin air.  He moans his satisfaction and adds additional pressure by slowly penetrating me with one of his beautiful fingers, “Oh, Christopher, I like that, please,” I sigh with relief.

His other hand reaches for mine and he twines our fingers together, bringing our hands to rest on my rounded belly, pushing me down to hold me in place from rising off the bed. A true orator, he licks down my side walls slowly and back up the center, as he turns and twists his finger with each extraction.  His tongue teases me as he penetrates deeper with his finger, each time.  My body begins to tense and he slowly changes his motions, not bringing me to my much needed release.  His tongue rudely flicks over my swollen clit, before rising to his feet, wiping his beard on his discarded t-shirt.  I rise up on my elbows, watching as he quickly removes his jeans and his boxer briefs in one swift move.  His lovely cock is already swollen, veins pumping blood through the red tip.  Without hesitation I lick my lips at the thoughts of all he can do to me with that plentiful piece of equipment.

He moves to the dresser, and stops.  “Where? I have no fucking idea where you put stuff?”

I laugh, “Second drawer, either side.”

“Full service decorator.  Love it,” Chris laughs, turning to reach in the drawer.

“Nice ass,” I tell him, enjoying the flex in his Adonis and the way his ass cheek concaves for a brief moment as he bends to look in the drawer.

Upon rising to his full height, his cock also stands at attention as laughter wracks his body again, “Shit! You found these?” He chokes out, placing a pair of metal handcuffs on top of the dresser.

Motioning for him to join me on the bed, I hold out my hand for the condom packet.  “I found shit hidden everywhere.  The drawer on the other side has even more goodies,” I laugh, peeling open the package and climbing up on my knees.

“God, what you must have thought…” Chris laughs, sitting across from me in a similar fashion as close as he can be, moving his right knee between my open legs.  “How did you keep a straight face and watch Disney movies with me?” My tummy brushes against his, tickled by his happy trail as I gently slide the condom over his shaft.  His head falls back and he moans at the touch, lightly jerking in my hand.  His hands are on my hips, tugging and pulling at my flesh as his mouth finds mine again while I snap the protection in place.  Moving to favor attention on my breasts, he quickly releases them from their pink prison.  As they fall to their natural position he can see they are even more than his large superhero hands can hold. Attempting to hold them one handed anyway, he admires them closely and inquires, “Or did it peak your interest?”

Pulling at the hair on his neck when he bites a little too hard on my nipple, “Ease up,” I tell him quietly.  “Nothing I hadn’t seen before.”  I grin and cock my own eyebrow at his look of surprise and interest.  I begin to push into his thigh and he sits back on his heels allowing me to straddle his leg as he begins to nuzzle between my breasts, occasionally pulling my tight buds between his teeth.  Keeping his grabby hands free, he roams them over my body, caressing every inch.  I believe him when he whispers, “You’re so beautiful. I want all of you.”  His hands are under my ass and he somehow lifts me again, bringing my legs from under me and laying me onto my back.  I smile into his eyes, lost in their depths of blue.

“I want to feel you on me,” I tell him.  “Give me all of you, all of your weight.”

He shakes his head and chuckles, “Yea, I don’t hear that often… It’s usually, ‘you’re crushing me, get off.’”

“Big girls don’t break,” I confide in him.  “We’re more fun that way.”

He chuckles, “Why do I feel like you have many things you’ll teach me that I didn’t know before?”

Raising my leg up and pinning my knee to his side under his arm, Chris sinks himself into me.  He isn’t gentle, but there is a consideration to his force.  It’s as if he knows he can be rough, but doesn’t take the liberty yet. He remains above me as he slides in and out as we find our rhythm together. I reach for the pillows bumping me in the head and throw them on the floor.  I really fucking hate decorator pillows. “I hate those things,” he laughs.  I chuckle too, grabbing his tight ass and pulling him closer to me.

“You could have told me that before I bought two hundred dollars’ worth,” I tease.

“Shit,” he curses, shaking his head as I rise up under him, matching his thrusts.  I’m not sure if that was meant for me or the expense of the pillows.

I shift slightly, pulling my leg free from his arm, allowing for deeper penetration from his loaded cock. I run my hands down his sides, smiling when he shivers from my touch.  His eyes are on mine, occasionally looking down between us, watching my breasts rub against his solid chest.  His strength is an added bonus in the bedroom, his weight welcomed by me.  As requested he lays on me, cradling his arms around my face like a cage, holding my hands together above my head as he plows into me.  Each new bounce is more forceful, pushing moans and cries from my lips.  My walls start to tighten as my need to come burns me.  “Chris… Christopher… Oh, honey, I’m coming.”

His additional weight pushes me harder into the bed, a good pain as the orgasm rocks my body, but doesn’t quit finish the job.  “Roll me over?” I ask, knowing his certain proclivity for a rounded female form.  My pussy still clenches, seeking more, knowing he can fulfill its’ need.

He pulls out holding the condom in place as I rollover onto my knees for him.  I know he’s going to laugh at my tat, and he does. “Shit, that’s awesome,” he snickers, grabbing my curvy hips and sliding me onto his cock. My moan echoes through the room, high pitched and repeated as he bounces me on and off his stiff figure.  “So tight,” he groans as he pinches at my flesh, pulling me closer. I love the feel of him inside me, deep and full.  The wet he creates allows him to fuck me effortlessly and I can push against his hard body with the force I crave. He takes the hint and slams into me harder, slapping his solid thighs against my ass, his hands roaming over my expansive back, “So beautiful,” he whispers again.

His driving force brings me to a second climax, riding the pleasure out differently from this angle, my nipples brushing against the soft down comforter.  Fevered cries diminish to quiet whimpers as I continue to take his firm intrusions, his own vocals matching mine and building.  He picks up his pace incredibly fast as he parts my ass cheeks, pulling and tugging on my silky skin.  His determination takes my breath away, “Oh, Christopher, fuck me, come for me,” I chant breathlessly.  My mouth remains open, gasping for air as the tremors of his release rock through my body.

“Oh, fuck, that was so good,” he mumbles as he leans over my back, covering my shoulder blades with butterfly kisses and the occasional touch of his lips.  As the ripple effects die down, he slowly pulls out, knotting the condom and tossing it on his pile of clothes, collapsing on the bed beside me.  I’ve rolled to my side and he throws his arm over me to maintain his connection.

Laying in the afterglow as he struggles to catch his breath, I giggle and grumble, “Shit, this room is a disaster and those photographers will be here soon.”

He rolls on his side to watch me. “Are they photographing you too, or just the house?  Cause you look a little wrecked too.  Why don’t you go freshen up and I can put the room back together? And after the photographers leave, we can go get dinner.”

“Christopher, you don’t have anything to prove to me.  You don’t have to take me to dinner,” I tell him, running my fingers across the “Loyalty” tattoo on his right shoulder.

He shudders at my touch.  “Woman, that’s not for you.  I’m starved.  And we’ll need sustenance for the rest of the evening.”  He leans forward for a gentle kiss and runs his hand over the curve of my hip, sliding his fingers back and caressing the tattoo on my back side.  “The tat?  What’s that about?”

“Pretty much says it all, don’t you think?”

“Yea, but how did YOU get it?” he asks, still rubbing my hip.

“Not many have seen it, just so you know.” I smile fondly, thinking of the four leaf clover on my ass, with the message ‘You got LUCKY!’ written around it in a circle.  I take a deep sigh, “It’s a lot like this one here,” I say as I run my fingers over his Bardsley tattoo, gently caressing the tiny hairs on his torso.  “My roommate in college always said she was gonna have that done, but she never got the chance…”

He picks up my hand, squeezing it and bringing it to his lips, kissing the semicolon tattoo on the inside of my left pinkie.  “I’m sorry for your loss,” he says, lingering on the spot with his lips, the unspoken questions settled on his tongue.

I shrug my shoulders. “Life isn’t always easy.  That’s why I make my living searching for beautiful things to make people happy.”

He sighs deeply, maybe lost in his own thoughts. “Your eye is a gift.  Half this stuff I never would have picked on my own, but it’s all me.  I love it; it’s all perfect. You did a great job…”  Together we lay in the quiet ‘after sex’ bliss, knowing we should be moving and getting ready for the rest of the afternoon.  “Hey, what’s with the wooden box thing under the bed?”

Chuckling, I roll onto my back, pulling the sheet up over me.  My confidence is only so much, and I know lying on my back is not the most flattering view of my breasts.  Looking at him, I wait to see the reaction on his face.  “Well, it didn’t take a genius to know why you wanted a raised bed.  It’s a platform to pull out for shorter… bed guests.”

His laughter explodes and rocks the bed and I laugh along with him.  Moments pass before he can regain himself.  “And the mirror?  So I can see even when I’m behind?  Nice…  You designed me a sex room and I didn’t even know it?”

Climbing out of bed on the other side, I pull the sheet around me and laugh.  “That’s why you can’t fire me.  There are other features to this room only I know about.”

I pick up my clothes and pad barefooted into the bathroom.  Before the door closes, he calls out, “Wait! Did you design this room for YOU too?”

Without a word, I blow him a kiss before closing the door.  “Shit, sneaky girl,” I hear him say as I get ready for a quick shower.

No, but I sure as hell was hoping, and he did not disappoint…

“Hey!” he calls out, yelling through the door.  “And the chaise lounge in the sunroom? Can we try that too?”  Smiling at my reflection, I climb into the steamy shower, eager to get the photography of the house finished and dinner over with, ready to start round two.

Click here for part 2 “Let Them Watch”

Copyright © 2016 avenger-nerd-mom.  All rights reserved. Intellectual property of avenger-nerd-mom