Emily: Hello Kitten (The ‘Hello’ series)

22. Chapter 22

twenty-two

T he warmth of the fries and burgers we just got rest on my lap as I squirm lightly, feeling his cum dripping down my thighs.

“I don’t want to stop,” I whisper. “I can’t.”

His hands tighten around the wheel. “I’m addicted to you, Kitten. I’ll never stop. But we have to get creative.”

His words burn me as I struggle to breathe. But I have to remind myself, this is about the sex, nothing more.

I know that’s the only way, because I want him in my life, more than I probably should. My words falter as I don’t know what to say, not sure how to take his words. My dorm comes into view and he drives to the back.

I glance around, then lean over and kiss him softly, then deeper. He groans and kisses me back, leaning against his seatbelt to tease me with his tongue.

“We’ll have more time soon. I’m sure I can get to your house this weekend,” I mumble.

“Or I’ll just have to dress up and show up at a frat party,” he teases.

“But we’ll be careful. I really don’t want you losing your job,” I emphasize.

“Such a sweet kitten when you want to be,” he sighs.

I gaze around again to make sure that no one is looking as I get out of his car and head to my dorm as I hear him drive off.

Even as I go inside and up the stairs to my dorm, my mind is with him. Every mark on my body, the cum that I still feel, even a shower can’t erase his touch.

Nothing can. Not anymore.

As I unlock my door and go inside, I sigh in relief that Beth isn’t here yet. I hate that I have to keep it from her, but I can’t let her know about it. I don’t need another lecture telling me how wrong I am for doing this because I already know.

Tossing my keys on the table, I go into my bedroom and flop in bed as I try to smother my smile with my pillow.

This is dangerous. I know that. It would’ve been smarter not to follow him. It would’ve been better to keep my mouth shut about my feelings. I could’ve just asked him to drive me home and then been done with it. But I didn’t.

I groan and grab my laptop to work on my essay. Better put my mind to work before I keep spiraling.

My ears perk as I hear the front door opening and closing, soft footsteps follow, and I glance at my door, meeting Beth’s stare. “You aren’t normally back first.”

“I wasn’t feeling well, so I didn’t go to class. After sleeping and drinking some water, taking some medicine, I feel better,” I lie, and she walks closer.

She sits on my bed. “Is seeing him still that hard?”

“No,” I grumble, blushing. “I have to get used to it, right?” My chest aches at the sight of her soft eyes.

“Let’s focus on homework,” I say, not wanting her to ask any more questions.

She nods, and we get through the next two days dealing with plenty of homework and no talks about Adrian, meaning I didn’t have to lie any more than I already had.

I survived, and now I’m back in the English building to be a T.A.

“I remember you did a great job on the essay and discussion of this book, Emily,” Dr. Spence says as she looks me over. I made sure to wear jeans and a cute sweater since the temperature is dipping.

I blink a few times. “You remember that?”

“Of course. How about you teach today? I already have a migraine,” she says.

I nod and prepare to teach the class, organizing the main ideas on a paper I can use to remind myself where I’m going with today’s lecture. Once I’m standing in front of the class, I feel a little nervous. I haven’t had the spotlight on me in a long while. I haven’t stood in front of a class to talk since last semester when I had to present a project.

Teaching is new. Sure, I want to do it, but all these students know about me is that I’m the T.A. who checks their attendance and takes their homework. After a deep breath, I dive in, talking all about the symbolism and rhetorical devices being used in Dracula .

By the time I glance at Dr. Spence and see her motioning to her watch, I wrap up my lecture and start taking questions. I’ve tried to engage the class as much as possible because I don’t like monologuing. When no one has questions, I smile, go over the assignment due next class, then watch as others pack up.

Dr. Spence smiles. “A good writer and a good reader. You’d make an amazing professor.”

I smile slightly and incline my head. I haven’t really considered being a professor, but there are worse things.

Like being a lawyer and working sixty-hour weeks just to make my dad happy. I can’t imagine arguing in a courtroom without crying.

Shaking my head of the thought, I get half the papers from Dr. Spence so I can go through them and make her workload a little lighter.

As I’m walking out, someone catches my arm before I can trip over the stupid metal piece in the floor between the edges of the doorframe. I clutch the papers tighter to my chest. “That would have been bad.”

“You don’t need any additional Band-Aids, Emily,” a low, deep voice says gently.

I turn to look up at Adrian. He smiles very slightly and releases me. I clear my throat. “Thank you, Dr. Hayes.”

“I’m very impressed by your insights into a classic,” he murmurs. “Most people stop once they point out the homoerotic subtext in the piece.”

“I think that’s become a trend with vampire fiction. Everyone notes that consistent trend, but Anne Rice made it clear in Interview with a Vampire , so there’s no need to point out the obvious. It doesn’t serve anyone,” I mumble.

“Still, focusing on Dracula and saying it’s a war between religion and folklore versus industry and science is a nuanced view,” he continues while walking with me. “I look forward to your next paper.”

“I’m sure you do. I’ll have to work twice as hard to surprise you,” I say playfully.

He gives me a half smile. “Now I’m expecting a surprise.”

“I’ll rise to the occasion,” I promise. “Hopefully, you’ll surprise me in class.”

“Are you calling me a bad professor?”

“Nope,” I answer. I nod to him. “Have a good day, Dr. Hayes.”

“Emily,” he calls.

I turn and face him. He puts a Post It note on the top essay. “Every time you raise my standards, I start expecting more.”

“So I should fail your expectations so it’s easier to surprise you?” I sass.

His eyes sharpen. “I don’t think you’d be satisfied with a job half finished.”

“I guess we’ll have to find out, Professor .”

His jaw tightens. “Be careful, Emily.”

“I will be. No new Band-Aids,” I say with a quick wink and walk away before I do something stupid like suggest we continue this talk during his office hours.

As fun and intense as it is to skirt the rules or try to get away with breaking them, I don’t want us to fuck in the car again. I want us to have time. I want some foreplay, teasing, maybe his tie wrapped around my arms again, or his belt. I lick my bottom lip at the idea.

Once I get back to my dorm, I read the sticky note.

Don’t get too drunk Friday. I have plans for us Saturday, Kitten.

Tell your friends you have a date.

Since I can’t resist, I text him.

Oh? I have a date?

You’ll be gone from dinner Saturday to breakfast Sunday.

I laugh and respond.

You know my schedule better than I do ;)

He calls, and I nibble my bottom lip before answering. “Adrian, listen, we can’t do—”

“You’re coming over and I’m going to cook for you. I don’t have a fireplace, but I’ll make sure my house is nice and warm while I feed you,” he says.

I flop back in bed. It would be so easy if he were only good in bed. Maybe if he burns all the food and we have nothing to talk about, then it will just be sex and we’ll both realize it and can let it go, bit by bit.

After all, he’s not the only guy in the world who’s made me come.

“Staying in?” I confirm.

“All night, Kitten. You already know where I live… unless you’d rather me work on a Saturday so we can have a long, thorough talk in my office about what has you distracted in class,” he says in a sultry voice.

“Saturday,” I mumble. “Your house.”