“Okay…” I choke out, gulping. My eyelids feel like they’re taped against my skin as I try to comprehend how close our bodies are together. I inhale and can smell him. And it’s oh so fucking delicious. Christ. I need to focus. “I think I understand. Thank you.”
Our bodies are still fused together, our hands still touching. “You’re welcome.”
The room is so silent I can hear the vent above us blowing out air. His breath tickles my neck. I’m two seconds away from spinning around and slamming my lips against his. Especially since I can feel his distinct bulge against my lower back, confirming he’s struggling with the same forbidden attraction as I am.
Moments later, reality crashes back into my mind, and I know making out with my really hot art professor would be a really bad—but really hot—thing. The only reason I came out to California, besides needing to get away from home, was because I was offered a partial scholarship. My parents offered to pay for my entire education if I went to a college closer to home, but I wanted nothing to do with that idea. I didn’t want their money or any ties to them at all. I don’t know the exact rules of my scholarship, but I’m pretty certain having an affair with your professor is grounds for losing your scholarship and possibly being expelled.
“Well, I’ll continue this next class,” I finally say, breaking the tension. “Thanks again for your help.”
He releases his hand and steps away from me. “No problem. It’s kind of my job.”
“Right.” I turn and smile at him before grabbing the easel and drawing to store away.
He walks to his desk and collects his stuff as I pack up my supplies and start heading out. “Have a nice night, Professor Hampton.”
He looks up, a flustered expression on his face. “You as well, Aspen.”
MORGAN
As soon as my hand slides against her smooth skin, all rational thinking leaves my mind. I know I shouldn’t be crossing the lines with a student, but with Aspen, I can’t help myself.
How is it that a girl with so much talent, so much beauty, is filled with so much pain? I know she hasn’t told me much, but it’s enough to figure out. Her sister died years ago, leaving her feeling empty and bitter. She uses art and solitude as a way to cope, to express her emotions and feelings, but she has this uniqueness about her. Every time I see her, she’s glowing. Her smile, her laugh, her body language. It’s as if she’s strong on the outside, but falling apart on the inside. I can tell because I’ve been doing the same for five years.
Five years too long.
I think about her all day Friday, and once Natalia goes to bed, I head downstairs to where I’ve packed away all of my art supplies for the past six months. My paints, pastels, canvases, and brushes—they are all here, mocking me. I’ve avoided it all this time, unable to connect with anything other than anger.
I used to paint a lot back in Ohio, relieved to have the fresh start. I used that optimistic feeling as a guide to create new inspirations. However, after Ryan’s death, I hadn’t been able to focus on anything at all. I only thought of him. Then I’d see his face in my mind and be absolutely disgusted with myself that I allowed so much time to pass before we could make amends. But now that time was useless. I waited too long, and I hated myself for it.
I get out my old easel that I had tucked away. I set my old brushes and tubes of paint up and stare at the blank canvas in front of me.
Blank canvas.
That’s what being back in California truly represents. That’s what I need to stay focused on.
In fact, it’s what Natalia and I should both be focusing on.
I only hope it’s good enough to actually help her move on—to help us both move on. However, six months wasn’t that long ago, and I know she’ll be hurting and grieving for years, but it’s something we need to work on together.
You should try it sometimes…you might surprise yourself.
Aspen’s words repeat in my head as I look at the canvas. Taking a breath, I close my eyes and search for the courage to paint again. Moments later, I open my eyes to the same blank canvas and no desire to change it.
Frustrated, I throw the brushes down and walk out. I know Aspen’s probably right. If I can get out of my cluttered mind and connect my frustration and anger to that creative side of myself—the part that takes control when the brush is in my hand as if it’s another extension of myself—I could use it as the motivation to paint again, but it’s just not there.
I head back upstairs and undress before getting into the shower. After the day I’ve had, and the intense encounter with Aspen, I need a cold shower. I’ve never had someone affect me the way she does, especially a student. I’ve always been professional and kept my distance, but she’s making it nearly impossible, even though I know I should be making more of an effort.
As I wash my body,
thoughts of her in those leopard print fuck me heels and tight painted on jeans surface, and I feel myself getting hard again.
Just as I remind myself that I need to be more careful around her, I find myself lost in thoughts of her. My mind goes blank on what’s right and wrong, and my body happily responds to the image of her.
Her voice, her lips, her soft skin.
It all taunts me as I try to think of anything but her. Unable to erase thoughts of her from my mind, my hand reaches down and grabs my cock, stroking it back to life.
I know it’s wrong and that I shouldn’t be fantasizing about her, but fuck it. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since the moment I first saw her. Hell, since the moment I started looking through her portfolio. The emotion she pours into her work and the way it captivates me is something I can’t explain.
I rest a hand on the shower wall, letting my head fall forward. I tighten my grip, wrapping my fingers around my cock tighter, feeling the need to punish it. I hear her soft giggle in my head and picture her perfectly curved body as I pump harder, groaning as my body hums to thoughts and images of her. My eyes close tightly as my hips thrust wildly into my hand as I imagine being inside Aspen’s tight pussy instead of my rough palm. Her eyes would look up at me with intense pleasure, begging for more, as I thrust deeper with each solid movement. I wouldn’t stop until she’d cry out my name, screaming in ecstasy as I filled her deep, releasing my own orgasm inside her. I pump faster as I feel my body tighten at the thought of her wet juices covering my cock.
I’d look down at her, pleased with how her body looks flush and sated. Those pert breasts would bounce every time I buried myself deep, my name falling from those cherry red lips again takes me over the edge, and I come powerfully, groaning her name aloud.
Once my breathing is under control, I turn the water to warm and slowly wash myself off again. I wonder what in the fuck I am going to do with this fascination and how the hell I’ll convince her of what I know we both want.
ASPEN
Kendall and I make plans to meet up for lunch at a diner near campus. She’s loud and bubbly as usual, but I still feel half asleep. After last night’s class, I hadn’t been able to sleep.
My mind was occupied elsewhere with a certain professor…
“So what do you think?” Kendall asks, breaking me out of my self-induced a coma.
I blink. “Of?”
“Jesus, Aspen. What’s gotten into you?” She brings a forkful of mashed potatoes up to her mouth and devours it.
“Nothing, sorry. Just tired. What were you saying?”
“My cousin, Piper, is coming to visit from Arizona. Can she stay in your apartment since your couch pulls out?
“Um…” I draw out, grabbing my cup of coffee and taking a long sip. “Not sure that’s a good idea.”
“Oh…” She continues chewing. “All right.” I hear the disappointment in her tone as her lips turn down.
“Sorry, I just…don’t do well with having a roommate.”
“Didn’t you have roommates your freshmen year?”
“Yeah and it was pure hell. I mean, I had a single bedroom, which was nice, but we had to share everything else. So that sucked.”
“Well, she’ll only sleep there. I can tell her to hang out in my apartment during the day or whenever you’re home if that’ll help.”
“Okay, maybe. I just don’t do well sharing my space. I get anxious, especially when it’s someone I don’t know well.” I shrug, hoping she understands. “It’s fine.”
“No, I understand. Sorry, I forget how bad it can sometimes get .” She flashes me a sympathetic smile making me want to change the heavy topic as soon as possible.
Kendall’s seen a few of my embarrassing episodes before. We were drinking at her place one night, and I ended up falling asleep on her bedroom floor. In the middle of the night, I started screaming in my sleep and shaking. She was two seconds away from calling 911, but once I convinced her I wasn’t having a seizure, she calmed down enough to let me explain.
“You going out this weekend?”
“I might. Is Zoe working?”
“Yeah, I think she has the dinner shifts Friday and Saturday, then we’ll stick around to hang out afterward.”
“All right. Yeah, I’ll probably head out for a bit. I have some studying to do tonight, though.”
“It’s only the second week of classes. How can you have studying to do already?” She grimaces.
“Because I don’t want to get behind. Some of us—” I narrow my eyes at her, “—are trying to get into graduate school.”
“Graduate smaduate.”
I shake my head at her and laugh. “I’ll come out as long as you buy me a drink.”
She smiles. “Don’t I always?”
After we finish eating, we then head off to our afternoon classes. Once I’m back home, I work on the blog assignments I have for Professor Hampton, and I quickly get them done. Once I finished, I feel the urge to clean.
And by clean, I mean scrub every inch of my apartment until my fingers bleed.
I’m not always like this—neurotic, I mean. Cleaning helps clear my mind when I have too much going on to focus on painting. I go through episodes of manic behavior, but more often it’s depression that takes over.
I see my doctor regularly to consult about my medication and to make any adjustments. After six years of suffering from depression after the accident, I was told I was likely suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. Reoccurring dreams of the event, flashbacks, anxiety, depression and avoidance are all areas I suffer from. Not to mention the secondary trauma from my mother and the way she’s blamed me all this time. But no matter how much I try to get my life together and move forward, a dream or flashback will suck me back in and bring me back to the beginning again. It’s a vicious cycle and it’s hard to see any light at the end of the tunnel.
A loud beating at my door grabs my attention and when I whip the door open, Kendall is standing there with a tense look on her face.
“What’s the matter?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“What the hell, Aspen? I’ve called you like four times, and I’ve been banging on your door for like five minutes.”
“You have?”
“
Yes!
Why is your music so loud?” she shouts, covering her hands over her ears.
“It is?”
She narrows her eyes at me and lowers her hands. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
“Yeah,” I lie. “Fine. Just doing some cleaning.” I hold up the towel from my left hand.
“Oh my God…” Her eyes go wide as she pushes through and walks inside. “It smells like bleach and pine sol had a love child and then threw up all over your apartment.”
I scowl and shut the door. “I just told you I was cleaning.”
“No, you’re getting high.”
I burst out laughing. “I am not.”
“Well, between the loud rap music and toxic bleach smell, the cops will be called in no time.”
I hadn’t even realized my music was on. I walk over and shut my stereo off and then open a window. “There. Better?”
“A little, yes.”
“Sorry. I just lost myself for a bit.” She walks toward me and gives me a sympathetic frown. “I’m fine,” I repeat, hoping she’ll drop it.
“I’ll have Piper stay with another friend, okay?”
“This isn’t about Piper. I said it was fine.” I wave her off.
“Aspen, I may not have known you for long, but I know you well enough to know when you aren’t
fine
.”
I exhale. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Well, obviously the anxiety of having a stranger stay here is too much, and I’m sorry I even asked. I should’ve known better.”
I hate that she says that.
“It’s not about Piper, okay? My mind is just a clusterfuck right now.”
She sits down and pats her hand on the couch. “Are you sure? Wanna talk about it?”
I sigh and roll my eyes. “What? Are we going to have a slumber party and talk about all of our hopes and dreams?” I mock sardonically and sit down next to her. “Because if that’s the case, I’m going to need wine.”
Wine in hand, we both plop down on the couch and Kendall wastes no time asking me about what caused me to go crazy Merry Maid on my apartment.
Taking an exaggeratedly large drink of wine, I consider my words carefully, knowing I can’t tell her the truth of what is going on and hating that I have to evade her questions.
“Honestly, it’s just a bit of everything. My mom wanting me to come home for Spring break, my hectic school and work schedule. I’m just overwhelmed and cleaning helps me regroup.”
Nodding, she takes a quick sip from her glass. “Yeah, that makes sense. I know the pressure can really amp up anxiety, too.” She knows certain triggers can increase my anxiety.
I nod in agreement, thankful she doesn’t pry further. “Enough about my crazy life. Tell me how’s Kellan?” I empty my glass. “Coming along yet?” I tease, waggling my eyebrows. “Or rather, coming at all?” Her cheeks heat, and I know I’ve successfully changed the subject.
“You’re such an ass. You know that, right?”
“So that’s a no?”
“That’s an…
almost
.”
I shake my head in mock disappointment. “That’s unacceptable, Kendall. Are you sure he’s not gay?”
“He gets hard just fine, thank you very much. He just doesn’t want to screw it up by moving too fast. Even if my vagina is filling up with cobwebs.”
“Cobweb pussy,” I confirm, shaking my head. “I hear it’s a brutal disease.”
“So is too-much-cock-in-the-mouth disease.”
“Oh, but it’s oh, so worth it.” I wink and she pretends to gag.
“All right, screw this girly crap. Let’s go hang with Jack and Jose.”
“Deal.”
We run to the liquor store and grab two large bottles that are sure to keep us company.