Page 36 of The Biker and the Professor
We leave the studio with me thoroughly buzzed on wine and Nero amused by my antics. We don’t go home, though; we’re having too much fun. We instead drop into a late-night seafood restaurant for some crab legs and live music. He forces me to suck down a raw oyster then laughs at my face when I do.
“It’ll make you all nice and juicy for me when we get home,” he says with a wicked kick to his lips.
Gosh, he’s so damn filthy, and rawer than the oyster I just sucked down.
We dance once we’re stuffed on crab legs, his hands all over me, my ass pushing back against him, gyrating. Gone are my fears that we could be seen and outed—I’m too buzzed to care. Less on wine and more onhim.
It’s the best date night I’ve ever had.
He’sthe best I’ve ever had.
We get home safely and without incident. The second we’re through the door, we strip each other’s clothes off and go at it like wild animals, loud and without apology.
After, we immerse ourselves under a hot shower and wash away all our sweat and secretions.
Leaving Nero in bed upstairs, I trek downstairs to make us some hot cocoa, while I ruminate and contemplate. The night had been fun, and cathartic, and sexy, and raw, and beautiful. But weneededto talk. I need to be honest with him about how I’m feeling emotionally, and we both need to come to an agreement on what to do going forward.
Games, fantasy, and playhouse are over. We’re in dangerous territory now.
Needing time to myself to mentally prepare, I take forever to make the two cups of cocoa.
When I finally make it back upstairs, Nero is sitting up in bed with his back against the headboard, eyes closed. He does that a lot. Meditate. Anywhere, at any time, he’ll just close his eyes and retreat into meditation.
As I’m setting the tray down on the nightstand, he opens his eyes. “Were you harvesting the cocoa down there?”
Laughing, I pick up one of the mugs and hand it to him. “I just needed a little time to think.”
“Yeah. You’ve been doing that a lot, haven’t you?” He takes a sip, brow arched over the rim of the mug. “Wanna tell me what’s botherin’ you?”
Sitting down next to his strong, crossed legs, I dust imaginary lint from the sheets, before I take a deep breath and lift my eyes to his. “I’m in love with you. That’s what’s bothering me.”
Quietness falls, save for the sound of Nero taking another sip of his hot cocoa.
I’m a nervous, petrified wreck, and he’s as calm as a monk, just watching me and freaking sipping.
I’m in love with him.
I’m in love with a man twelve years my junior.
I’m in love with my student!
How did we let this happen? How did it get this far? This serious? It was supposed to be a fun fling. Not…this. Whatever this is.
“Aren’t you going to say anything?” I snap, unable to bear the silence any longer. “You asked me a question and I answered.Saysomething, dammit.”
In reply, he pats the pillow on my side of the bed. “Get up here.”
I’m so subdued to him and his bossiness that I no longer think when he commands me, I just move. Once I’m next to him, back against the headboard, he picks up the other mug and hands it to me. "Drink. Calm down and stop freakin’ out.”
Balking, I start, “Are you—”
“Drink your goddamn hot cocoa, Toni,” he shuts me up. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow. Yeah?”
These are the times when he frustrates the hell out of me. Because he’s so impossible to read. What is he thinking? How does he feel about this? I’ll never know until he’s ready to tell me. That’s the downside to being in love with a biker nicknamed “Grunt.”
I want to scream and yell and curse and claw at him, but I know him well enough by now: That’ll get me nowhere with him. Anger and hostility make him retreat, withdraw, and shut down completely. He’s drama-averse and prefers “discussions” over heated arguments. His maturity drives me nuts sometimes.
That said, if there’s one thing I do know about my bossy grunter, it’s that I can trust him, implicitly.
