Winter Jacket: New Beginnings

Winter Jacket:

New Beginnings

ELIZA LENTZSKI

Copyright © 201
4 Eliza Lentzski

All rights reserved.

ISBN: 149971211

ISBN-13: 978-1499712117

Other Works by Eliza Lentzski

Apophis: Love Story for the End of the World

Winter Jacket

Date Night

Second Chances

Love, Lust, & Other Mistakes

Diary of a Human

Malibu, California: Winter Break

She was singing in the shower when I walked through the bathroom door.
I could just make out her slender silhouette through the flimsy material of the opaque shower curtain. There was no music for her to sing along with, but that didn’t seem to bother her.

The air was thick with steam from the heat of the shower. I
silently stripped out of my pajamas and carefully folded and placed them on the ample counter space. The rental condo’s bathroom was massive. In addition to the double sinks, it had a separate shower and a bathtub so large that it needed a designated deep end. When Troian had first shown me the property online when I was looking for a place to escape to after my tenure review, I’d teased her about paying extra for a full-time lifeguard for the bathroom.

When I pulled back the shower curtain, a noise that I can only describe as
a “yelp” echoed against the tiled bathroom walls.

I bit back the snic
ker that came at her expense. I hadn’t meant to scare her; I only wanted to join her. But she’d been singing so loudly and was so much in her own world that I’d gone undetected even though I hadn’t been trying to be stealthy.

“Sorry, baby. Did I scare
you?” I asked with a smug smile. I stepped in under the warm spray of the shower and let the water hit the tops of my shoulders. There was only a single showerhead, but it was one of those oversized rain showers that allowed both of us underneath the falling water.

“No,” she snorted stubbornly. “You just surprised me, that’s all.”

I didn’t consider all women in
the midst of a shower to be attractive; some women seemed to
glisten
from the spray of an overhead water fall, but some women just got wet. Hunter, however, was stunning. She should have looked comical with her blonde hair thoroughly plastered to her forehead and the flustered look on her face, but beyond that was a banquet of naked flesh. And believe me, I was a glutton when it came to this woman.

I watched the spray of water hit the top of her shoulders to collect in concentrated rivers that traveled down the expanse of her taut, limber figure.
Her normally porcelain skin was flushed across her shoulders and breastplate from the exertion of her earlier run on the beach and the heat of the shower. Her more-than-a-handful breasts were pert, supple, and capped with rose petal pink nipples.

I could tell s
he was internally wrestling with how to respond to my unannounced appearance. She could be angry with me for scaring her or impressed that I’d finally taken her up on her flimsy offer to save water and reduce our carbon footprint. I could also tell she was having a hard time not gawking at my naked body, and it made me smile a little to feel her stare. I wasn’t a runner like she was, but a religious routine of other cardio-activities kept my stomach flat and my legs and arms toned.

I stepped behind her and wrapped my arms around her bare waist
. I held her close so my hardened nipples pressed against her back. The hot water felt good.
She
felt good. I tilted my head backwards to let the water cascade down on my face. I’d been out on the balcony earlier and the chill from the saltwater-sprayed air had me chilled to the bone.

“I was starting to think maybe you didn’t care about the environment,” she murmured. She pressed her backside more fully against me.

A low moan fell from my lips at the contact. I ran my hands over her
full breasts and down her flat stomach. Her skin was slick from a mixture of soap and water. My hands met at the apex of her sex.

I fully expected us to continue in this way, me gently stroking the length of her body and murmuring intimacies into her ear, until she was panting for me to take her from behind. A graphic image of her bent at the waist, palms flat against the shower tile, and legs spread shoulder-length apart, flashed before my eyes.

Unexpectedly, she spun on her heels and pushed
me
against the cold tile wall. Her hot mouth bit down on the top of my shoulder. My eyes rolled from the multiple sensations – the icy shock of the cold tile against my back, the warmth of her mouth on my shoulder, and the sharpness of her teeth, which threatened to break the skin. “Fuck, Hunter,” I gasped.

She looked up at me from beneath thick eyelashes and an army of butterflies assaulted my stomach. “That’s kind of the plan, isn’t it?” she smiled coyly.
Her hand was instantly between my legs.

“God
,” I panted, trying hard to keep my composure as she started rubbing my clit in a circular motion. I spread my legs just a little wider, letting my body language inform her that I was game for whatever she had in mind. She cupped my naked sex, and I released another guttural moan.

Wh
en she pressed against my slit, two fingers just barely inside me, not even to the first knuckle, I bit down on my lower lip. I wanted to lower myself completely onto her slender digits and surrender myself to her. I was rarely a bottom, but I’d let this woman dominate me if she kept making me feel this way.

To my great
disappointment, she pulled her hand away from my core. My frustration was short-lived, however, as she began kissing and licking water droplets from my skin like she’d been wandering around a desert all her life. Her tongue worked at my right nipple; she flicked the bud back and forth with just the tip of her tongue and she scraped her teeth across the surface skin. I resisted the urge to hold her head there and enjoy the sensations because I anticipated she had other plans in mind.

As s
he slid down my body, her tongue continued to capture the random water droplets that stubbornly clung to my skin. I sucked in a breath when she dipped her tongue into the shallow of my belly button. I’d always been sensitive there; it was like she knew my body as well as I did. She continued moving lower and lower, and I couldn’t help but hold my breath in anticipation of what was going to happen next.

She was on her knees
in front of me, breathing warm air on my shaved pussy, eyeballing it like she was going to devour me whole. And then she did. With no warning, she pushed her long tongue inside and began fucking me with her tongue, clenching onto my thighs with either hand. She held my thighs so tightly, it felt like she was going to brand her fingerprints on my skin, but I would have been an idiot to care.

Every time she bottomed out, her nose bumped deliciously into my throbbing clit, sending wav
es of pleasure through my body. And the biggest turn on of them all were the little sighs and grunts that told me she was loving this as much as I was.

This had to be Heaven –
Hunter on her knees in front of me, and fuck if I didn’t want to just grab her by the ears and have my way with her talented little mouth. I wanted to hold her face there and tell her all the dirty thoughts streaming through my mind. I wanted to tell her every single naughty thing I wanted to do to her tight body; but I amazed myself by showing some restraint, and only tugging on her blonde locks a little. She looked up at me with those blue-grey eyes and they perceptively narrowed when I pulled on her hair. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or turned on, but suddenly she began pistoning her tongue in and out of me like she was on a mission.

“H-Hunter,” I stammered. “
You know I can’t…st-standing up.” I stumbled on my words. My tongue wasn’t up to the task. Her tongue, however, was more than adequate.

Her nostrils flared and sh
e licked her lips. “Challenge accepted.”

+++++

“Professor Graft, can you sign this form for me?”

“Professor, can we meet
later to discuss this assignment?”

“Dr. Graft, I had a question about the syllabus.”

“Professor, when is this due?”

It was a Wednesday, the third day of classes in the new semester, and I’d just finished teaching my first class of the morning. I had another two writing seminars to instruct later and a slew of committee and departmental meetings
to round out the day. Students hovered around me, firing off questions. I was bombarded with voices ranging from curious to panicked, but one clear voice rose above them all.

“Professor Graft?”

My eyes snapped up from the crowd and met hers. We had a silent exchange, there in that congested hall, as students scattered from one class to the next. A peculiar smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. When I licked my own, she abruptly cast her eyes away. I thought she might be blushing, but she still had some of that California tan leftover from Winter break so I couldn’t be sure.

Hunter was beautiful – h
air the color of warm sunshine, piercing blue-grey eyes, high cheekbones, and a wide, expressive mouth that was quick to laugh. She was tall and angular, with unblemished, snow-white skin that wrapped around long, willowy limbs. Those elongated arms and legs could have looked awkward, like a bird preparing for flight, if she didn’t possess the natural grace of a dancer. Her fingers were long and slim and they fit perfectly with mine. She always wore a tattered woven friendship bracelet on her right wrist, the bones fine and delicate, and a small silver cross that rested against a defined collarbone. She was a distance runner and years of self-denial and sacrifice had rewarded her with a supple firmness all over. She was slender enough that when reclined I could mark the space between her ribs, but not so skinny that when I grabbed her backside or thighs that I could mistake her femininity.

She was polished and put together in a way unlike other undergraduates
I’d taught. When high ponytails and sweatpants with words screen-printed across the backside was standard issue for most female students at my school, Hunter never looked like she’d rolled out of bed just minutes before class. Her hair was always meticulously flat-ironed, even when it was up in a ponytail. She wore light makeup, mostly mascara that gave depth to her blonde eyelashes, and a light blush that colored her otherwise porcelain skin. And while she had never unusually dressed up for class, her jeans were always fitted and the collars of her shirts crispy pressed. I hadn’t see much else of her clothes when she was a student of mine because she never took off her winter jacket in class. It was blue, puffy, and reached her knees. It was that jacket that had originally drawn my attention to her; while the rest of the class had melted when the classroom heater refused to shut off, she had never looked more comfortable, even while wearing her coat. I was thankful for that winter jacket.

The students scattered, moving on to their next class of the day, and the hallway emptied, but I remained rooted to the spot. My grin grew as she walked closer, eliminating the distance between us. I self-consciously straightened the hemline of my pencil skirt and adjusted the infinity scarf around my neck.

“I didn’t expect to see you on campus today,” I said as she stopped close enough to touch me, but not necessarily in my personal bubble.

“I had to pick up some books from Interlibrary Loan,” she explained.

“It’s the first week of class,” I pointed out.

She shrugged. “Maybe I’m feeling pressure to do extra well this semester since I’m dating an Associate Professor.”

I loved hearing those words out of her mouth. It was kind of like when
I’d first gotten my Ph.D. and had insisted everyone call me Dr. Graft or at least Dr. Elle. Now that I’d recently been awarded tenure, it came with a jump in official title from Assistant Professor to Associate Professor. I’d have to wait another 6 years or so to become a full Professor.

“I was also thinking about sitting in on one of your classes
to see if you’d notice me.”

I cleared my throat as a mixture of anxiety and arousal washed over me. I generally taught writing seminars no larger than a dozen and a half, but I’d notice Hunter even in a large lecture hall. Her presence made me feel like a magnet, attracted to her opposite charge.

She took a small step closer and her voice dropped an octave lower. “And I’d raise my hand in the middle of your lecture.”

“
And you’d ask an astute question,” I interjected, a willing participant in this fantasy. “And I’d wonder why you were never this bold when you actually took one of my classes.”

A sly smile crossed her lips. “Maybe my thoughts were otherwise occupied; it’s hard to focus on thesis statements and topic sentences when a gorgeous woman is parading around in a tight skirt.”

I had to bite the inside of my chee
k to keep from smiling too wide; I knew we probably had an audience. The time slot for the next class of the day had begun, but there were still a few tardy stranglers in the hallway. Even though we’d never dated when I was her professor, plus she was graduating in May, it still felt at little taboo to see and talk to her on campus – like we had a shared secret to which the rest of the world wasn’t privy.

Her head cocked to the side
and she looked contemplative. “Am I allowed to kiss you good morning?”

My smile broadened despite myself, but who could blame me? I was happier than I’d ever been. Hunter was pure b
liss. “Are you really asking permission?”

She lowered her gaze and fiddled with the bottom loop of my scarf. Apparently she really was asking
for my consent. I wrapped my fingers around her wrists, stopping her anxious fidgeting. I pulled her hands from the scarf and tugged on her arms until I had them thrown around my neck. I stared into those crisp, cornflower blue irises. They changed colors on any given day, and today they looked a darker blue than her usual grey-blue.

“Don’t ask for permission,”
I said, leaning in so she could feel my warm breath against her ear. I gave her just the tiniest of licks against the shell of her ear, hidden from view. I could practically feel her knees buckle. “If you want something,” I husked, “take it.”

Her response came in a burr mu
ch lower than her usual tenor. “You’re making it very hard for me, Professor Graft.”

I pulled back just slightly to keep my libido under control.
Even if Hunter was comfortable with PDAs, I was still mindful that we were at my place of employment. “I’ve got to get to a meeting in a few minutes,” I said, allowing my voice to return to its regular tone, “but are you free for lunch later?” I might have been able to control my libido, but I was still unable to resist digging my fingers into her hips.

“
In the cafeteria or someplace else?”

“
I would love to take you someplace off campus, but I don’t think I’d have enough time to really enjoy myself. I’ve got two more classes this afternoon.” An additional line about me “taking” her wherever she wanted came to my lips, but I let it die there. I didn’t need to be unnecessarily cruel when I knew we both had a full schedule that day, me teaching and she with her internship at the hospital.

“You and your being-late phobia,”
she smirked. Being late was one of my worst fears. If we went for lunch off-campus, I’d be checking the time the entire meal.

“What about tonight? Are you free?” I asked. Normally with a partner I wouldn’t
be so obviously desperate for her time. With Hunter, though, I couldn’t hold that desire back.

I felt her arms tighten at my pencil-skirted waist. “What did you have in mind?”

“Nothing special,” I shrugged. “Maybe get a drink at Peggy’s?”

“I could go for Peggy’s,” she approved
with a curt nod. “Will Nikole and Troian be joining us?”

“I should probably extend the invitation
,” I said, thinking out loud. “If Troi hears we went without her, she’ll accuse me of breaking up with her.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that to happen,” Hunter chuckled.

I hummed a wordless tune on my way over to the campus library where my first meeting of the day was being held. I pulled my scarf higher to block a particularly vicious wind.

Hunter and I had parted with a fleeting kiss – too brief and too chaste for my liking – but I was again mindful of where we were. This wasn’t the privacy of my home or Hunter’s apartment or even the bathroom at the local lesbian bar. Hunter and I were currently enjoying the honeymoon of a new relationship, but circumstances and our environment forced me to be more tempered.

“Good morning,” I greeted as I walked into the library conference room. Most everyone on the Women’s and Gender Studies Committee was already there, probably having come straight over from the previous class period. Hunter’s appearance had delayed me, but I thankfully wasn’t late. I was serious about my being-late phobia, especially when I was the junior faculty member on the committee. I couldn’t wait until someone newer joined so I didn’t feel like such a child. I was thirty years old, but in academia, age was really irrelevant.

The
Women’s and Gender Studies Program was an interdisciplinary program with faculty members representing the English, History, Psychology, Sociology, and Theology departments. It had become one of my favorite committees to be a part of because there was no posturing or competition amongst the women in the group like I’d experienced on some other campus committees. We genuinely got along and we wanted to do what was best for the students, not for our own personal careers.

I sat down in the vacant chair next to my friend and mentor, Emily Sullivan, who was from the English department like myself.

“Have a good break?” she asked me as I removed my jacket and winter gear to get settled.

“I did,” I confirmed. “And you?”

Emily rolled her eyes. “Henry’s parents ended up staying with us from Christmas through New Years. I’ve never been so happy for school to start up again just so I had an excuse to get away from the house. How about you?” She leaned forward. “Did you and Hunter do anything special?” she asked conspiratorially.

I didn’t want to blush, but I could feel the heat on my cheeks from her question.
“We had a nice time in Malibu,” I dismissed vaguely. I considered Emily a close friend, but not close enough to give her the intimate details of how I’d spent my Winter break. “I even found some time to finish the book proposal for my next manuscript and sent it off to a few trade presses.”

“Impressive, Dr. Graft,” Emily murmured approvingly. “But you know you’re supposed to sit back on your laurels for at least a few semesters, right? You won’t be up for a
nother promotion for six years,” she pointed out. “Take your time.”

I shru
gged, nonplussed. My first book – a collection of short stories about individuals with unique abilities and powers – was so new it wasn’t even out in print yet. But I’d wanted to keep working while I was motivated to do so. You never knew when one’s Muse might stop working. “I was feeling particularly inspired.”

Emily smirked knowingly.
“I bet you were.” She threw in an extra wiggle of her eyebrows for my benefit.

I never took for granted how lucky I was not to have to hide my pri
vate life from my co-workers. But before I could pretend to be shocked, Penny, the Chair of the Women’s and Gender Studies Program, called our meeting to order.

Now in her early 70s, wi
th no signs of slowing down, Penny was one of the most senior faculty members on campus. She had a weathered face with deep lines, but it was probably one of the kindest faces I’d ever come across. Her grey hair was long and wiry, and she habitually wore it in a thick braid. She reminded me of someone’s grandmother and I knew the students loved her for it.

“First order of business,” she announced, getting us focused and on track, “welcome back to campus,” she smiled. “I trust you all had a relaxing yet productive Winter break.”

Obscured by the conference table, I felt Emily nudge my ankle with the toe of her shoe, and I swallowed down a telling laugh.

“Second on our agenda today,” Penny continued, “is staff changes. Over break there was some movement among the higher-ups; Dean Krauss, our venerable Dean of the College of Arts & Sciences, has accepted a position as Provost of a school down South.”

“Wow. That’s unexpected,” Suzanne Jay from the History department commented. “I didn’t know he was looking for other jobs.”

“H
is family is originally from Virginia, I think, so he wanted to go back,” Emily remarked. I could always trust Emily to have her finger on the pulse of campus gossip. She had been the one to “inform me” the previous semester about the rumor that I was dating a student.

“I don’t blame him – I’
ve had enough of these winters for a lifetime,” Betsy Martinez from the Theology department snorted.

Even though the academic calendar said it was Spring semester, it was mid-January
in the Midwest, which meant that Winter would refuse to be disposed of for several months. It was the kind of prolonged freeze where my cat, Sylvia, buried herself under the afghans on my couch and hibernated for hours at a time.