Page 32 of Snowed in with the Professor
And God, I couldn’t wait to take her innocence… to make her mine.
I felt out of my element a little, like I was wandering through a dream, a really good one, but a one nonetheless. After dinner Seth had taken us to his apartment… like I’d asked, hell, pretty much begged him to.
That was also another thing so unlike me. I never asked or all but demanded what I wanted, but with Seth, I felt myself yearning to jump out of the box I’d put myself in. And then when he’d given himself up to me, told me about his life, his past, I realized at that moment that we were one and the same.
I had a nice family, a mother who was always there for me. My father was another tale entirely, but the loneliness I could sense in Seth was one I’d felt numerous times. By nature, I was a solitary person, living life by keeping people at arm’s length.
It had been at that one moment that I recognized my love for him was true, justified, and devouring.
Now here I was, back at his apartment, my thoughts clear but my anxiety taking over.
As I wandered through his apartment, absorbing everything in, learning about Seth via his possessions, I couldn’t help but feel closer to him.
It was modest yet had sumptuous accents, as if he’d chosen each piece out of a different time period, a different era. I approached forward the artwork hanging on the wall, a large piece that had a tiny light illuminating it from the top, the glow showing the sweeping lines of color, the exquisite way it all came together.
I proceeded on to the bookshelves, big oak ones that were crammed with books, most seeming old, the leather spines having gold leaf accents. I ran my fingertips over each one, and I swore I could feel their gaze, the information they kept inside those pages.
I stepped to the window, a wide, attractive one that looked out onto his backyard, the city scape beyond vast, beautiful. The snow falling added a serene element to it all.
God, the snow is starting to really stick now.
When I turned, I saw the black piano, shining beneath the dim light, the ivory keys so white and perfect. I’d been so out of it my first night here that I didn’t recall any of this.
And among his worldly possessions, I saw the one bit of decor he was missing.
Pictures.
Of his family, friends… of himself.
I faced Seth, saw him standing in the entryway to his kitchen, the lights out save from the low entryway one he’d switched on when we arrived. The shadows ran across his physique, accenting the slim and honed muscle underneath his fitted slacks and Oxford shirt.
My mouth got dry, knowing he watched me even though I couldn’t see his face clearly, couldn’t make out his eyes with the darkness that enveloped him.
He’d let me wander, looking at his stuff, running my fingertips over them.
He moved away from the wall and took a stride toward me, tucking his hands into the pockets of his pants, his head slightly bowed as he continued to watch me. I came closer to the piano, saw he monitored my movements like a hunter eyeing his prey. The hairs on my arms stood on point from awareness, from comprehending that in this moment I was very much at the mercy of Seth, of my feelings.
I felt like he stalked me, that he knew my every action before I ever took the step.
“How about some wine?” he asked, but it wasn’t so much a question as him telling me that’s what he was going to get for us no matter what.
“Okay,” I replied quietly and then licked my lips.
Seth moved into the kitchen, the sound of cabinets opening and wineglasses clinking together drowning out some of the calm in the air. I sat on the bench and ran my fingers along the smooth keys of the piano, the ivory chilly to the touch, the feeling of silky silkiness beneath the pads of my digits reassuring.
I didn’t know how to play, but I could envision Seth sitting right in this very location, his fingers sliding easily over the keys, the sounds he generated filling the air. I closed my eyes, imaging that particular moment, imagining being in the room with him while he performed.
I hadn’t heard him come back, and when I felt him stand behind me, his arms placed exactly close to mine, his fingers over mine, a faint gasp escaped me. I pulled my eyes wide and was about to turn, but he made a faint, almost disapproving sound in the back of his throat. I sat there paralyzed, unable to move, the side of his face so near to mine, his chest almost brushing against my back.
I stared straight ahead, could feel that he was as well. And then I felt him slide his hands underneath mine. My fingers now sat on top of his, mirrored, a parallel image of what he was doing. He didn’t speak, but his near closeness was so intense that had my arousal rising to the surface viciously.
I clamped my thighs together as wetness started to puddle on my underwear. I felt my nipples stiffen below my blouse. Fire licked over my skin, from the tips of my fingers to the bottom of my feet. I attempted to breathe normally, to attempt to seem like this wasn’t bothering me. But I failed badly.
And then he started playing, my fingers still over his, like if I were a toddler walking on his foot and he moved with me, my actions echoing his. He was so calm, so composed as he played the piano, the tones filling the room, enveloping us, like small bee stings all around my body. I started breathing harder, this moment so intimate I couldn’t even concentrate.
I parted my mouth, breathing deeply, the air rushing in and out of me in short, quick pants. And yet he slid swiftly over the keys, playing a song I didn’t recognize but was intrigued with. I curled my toes into the soles of my shoes, brought my legs closer to my torso so my feet were now on the tips, my thighs pressed tightly together.
The rush of arousal was steady between my thighs.
