Study Me - Logan Chance

STUDY ME A SEX ME NOVELLA

LOGAN CHANCE

CONTENTS Prologue 1.

Marley

2. Houston 3. Marley 4. Houston 5. Marley 6. Houston 7. Marley 8. Houston 9. Marley 10. Houston 11. Marley 12. Houston 13. Marley 14. Houston 15. Marley 16. Houston 17. Marley 18. Houston 19. Marley 20. Houston 21. Marley 22. Houston 23. Marley Epilogue Acknowledgments About the Author

Copyright © 2017 by Logan Chance All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

DEDICATION

For K To Paula Dawn, you poured your blood, sweat, and tears into this book. Thank you for bringing Marley to life.

February 27th Two years ago, I lost control. I vow to never let it happen again. They’ve asked me to speak at a medical conference in Chicago. Me. A doctor who no longer believes in medicine.

1 MARLEY INSANITY-NOUN-EXTREME FOOLISHNESS OR IRRATIONALITY.

THAT'S ME. I’ve lost my mind, but I can’t help it. Being so close to Professor Houston Dale does this to me. It’s led me to masturbating in the bathroom on a Boeing seven-forty-seven, thirty thousand feet in the air. My fingertips race over my clit as I close my eyes conjuring up his dark irises, strong hands, his deep voice...oh, God, I’m going to come soon. I’m so wet, and the want swimming through my veins is too powerful to stop. When we took off from the JFK airport, my nerves were shot from the idea of spending two whole days with my Anatomy professor. Houston Dale, wait, I’m sorry, Doctor Houston Dale, was asked to speak at a prestigious medical conference in Chicago. As his assistant, he asked me to come along At first, I was thrilled with the prospect of meeting some of the nation’s most brilliant physicians. In my excitement, I spent hours packing and repacking a variety of clothes—casual, business, even a slinky cocktail dress. My suitcase for this weekend trip is filled with enough outfits for an entire week. Then, my nerves took over. A weekend trip. With Professor Dale. Two whole days of being in close quarters with him, no buffer. Let me explain the problem with this scenario—even if my body doesn't agree, I don't particularly like Professor Dale most days. But, on the other days, I really do. It’s his brain, his intelligence. He’s so smart, and of course, it’s scary. To say he’s intimidating is an understatement. If you don't complete an assignment or if you fail a test, the ridicule is severe. Believe me, I’ve experienced it a time or two. Miss Murphy, maybe you need to return to high school and learn the fundamentals of education. Miss Murphy, will you tell your patients you had no time to complete their chart? Miss Murphy, blah blah blah. The gorgeous man can be downright terrifying. Keyword, gorgeous. Tall, distinguished, and fucking sexy as hell in his glasses. He's constantly running his hand through his dark waves, his frustration with his students leaving his hair in a sexy rumpled mess. It's distracting. So many times, he's chastised me, not

knowing I was focused on the shape of his full lips forming the words. The way they sound coming out in his deep voice. Class is much harder when your Anatomy professor is talking about the human body and you’re checking out his. Shit, my legs tremble as I try to steady myself in the small confines of the tiny bathroom. A burst of turbulence propels me forward a bit, and I lose focus momentarily. Until I remember the words Houston said to me five minutes before I beelined to the restroom on this airplane to touch myself. We were sitting side by side, his muscular leg brushing up against mine, our forearms mere hairs apart on the armrest. Just a hint of stubble decorated his chiseled jaw, and I couldn’t stop staring at it. I wanted to touch it, see if it was soft. If it would scrape the sensitive skin on my thighs. The flight attendant was no help at all. She kept setting those adorable, tiny bottles of vodka on my tray. So, I drank them. One after the other. All while watching him concentrate on the leather-bound note book he wrote in. He has really nice hands. Hands that have held someone's life in them. Obviously, that led to me wondering how they would feel on my breasts. With alcohol coursing through my veins, my imagination took off, like anytime I’m near Professor Dale. I couldn’t stop it. In my fantasy, he wrote about all the wicked things he wanted to do to me. Then, he leaned over, his warm breath fanning across my cheek, “Don’t get too drunk now. I wouldn’t want to have to take advantage of you.” My green eyes slid to his dark brown, and he laughed, slightly. I, however, did not. My pussy pulsed and I excused myself, rushing to the bathroom, consumed with need. Yes, you’re probably thinking I’m either an idiot who hasn’t had sex in forever, or, I’m a naughty little nympho. Which, as you can see, I fantasize about being his. I mean, uh hello, I’m masturbating here. But, sadly, I’m neither. All I know is… I’m drunk. Drunk enough to admit to myself, I have a crush on Professor Dale. He may be an asshole, but he's a brilliant one, and for me that's a turn on. Bracing my hand on the wall, my fingertips circle faster against my clit as I use our boarding the plane for inspiration. The way Houston’s eyes bore into mine, the cramped aisle, his hard body pressed against me. Yesss. His strong hand searing the skin on the small of my back, leading me into the seat. Bend over the desk. You need to be disciplined. Fuck, I pick up speed, circling faster. It feels so good. Desire runs rampant in my core imagining Professor Dale spanking my bare ass with a ruler. Another jolt of turbulence causes the walls of the bathroom to shake, and my orgasm crashes through me. Wave after wave of ecstasy. I moan his name as another bump of turbulence hits, this one causing the bathroom door to fling open. My startled eyes meet his. Dark. Mysterious.

Shocked. Wondering what the fuck I’m doing with my skirt up and my hand in my pink panties. Oh god. He heard me moan his name. Before I slam the door shut in mortification, the side of his lip lifts into a smirk. One sexy ass smirk. Fuck me.

2 HOUSTON

February 28th Two months until the anniversary. Sixty days. Like clockwork, my mood is on a downward spiral. I don’t want to go on this trip. Schmooze top doctors in the field? Who cares? I sure don’t. I just want to sit in my apartment. Alone. I definitely don’t want to be sitting next to this beautiful girl. She’s cute, chugging vodka like it’s water. Like she needs it to live. Watching her legs bounce next to mine is all I can focus on instead of writing my speech. I should be doing that now. Speech: Hello, assholes, I don’t give a fuck. Thanks. Marley just brushed past me to go to the restroom, and her unsteady hand rested on my shoulder a beat too long as she made her way into the small aisle. Fuck, she smells so good. Like happy memories and sunshine all rolled into one. I almost want to follow her in there. Claim her body for mine.

“WAIT, WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU LOST OUR RESERVATION? I CALLED THREE DAYS AGO TO CONFIRM.” I’M livid, these buffoons cannot expect me to share a room with my student. “I’m sorry, sir. We have no record of your reservation,” the front desk clerk of the Hilton in downtown Chicago tells me. Her bright blue eyes are unapologetic as my anger boils. “Well, check again,” I snap, pointing at her monitor. “It has to be there. I have the confirmation number. Two rooms.” Her fingers tap against the keyboard of the computer she can’t seem to tear her eyes away from. “Oh, yes, here it is. Dr. Dale. One room, two queen beds.” I shake my head at her. “No, that’s not correct. I booked two rooms.” I hold up two fingers, hoping she understands me better, because, right now, this chick has no fucking clue. This is a nightmare. How can I share a room with Marley after seeing her

masturbating? I glance over my shoulder at her standing in the middle of the busy lobby, oblivious to the problems I’m encountering at the front desk. She reminds me of a movie star with her brown hair falling in waves past her shoulders. Her thumbs fly over her phone, texting. My mind drifts back to the plane. Pink panties. Her moaning my name. It's been a long time since a woman screamed my name, and maybe something I need to rectify, because my dick was hard instantly. Part of me wanted to step inside the bathroom and continue what she had started. The other part knew I could never do it. “Sir, I’m sorry.” The clerk pulls my attention back to her. “I only have you booked for one room.” “Ok, book me for two,” I demand. “I need two rooms. I have my student assistant with me. We can not share a room.” I tap my fingers on the marble counter to calm my frustration. Her eyes narrow back on the computer, and then she glances up at me. “Listen, we’re all sold out due to this medical convention. All the hotels are.” She plasters a fake smile on her thin lips. “So, I have one room for you. I’m sorry.” She's not sorry. If she were, she wouldn't be challenging me with her too thin eyebrows. But, there’s nothing I can do about it. “Fine,” I agree, sliding my glasses up to pinch the bridge of my nose. She enters my information and then hands me the key cards. I walk over to Marley. Her striking green eyes don’t meet mine as I tell her about the situation with the rooms. She hasn't looked at me since she returned from the airplane bathroom. Silence fills the elevator as we head up to our room. It’s late, and I need to prepare for my lecture tomorrow. The convention is one day of numerous conferences, and I’m set to speak at seven-thirty tomorrow night, during a dinner with some of the top doctors of the country. I just want it to be over already. Most men would be nervous. Hell, two years ago, I would have been petrified. But, now...nothing. If I thought the elevator was silent, the hallway is deadly eerie. The red and gold carpet is Marley’s focus as we approach our room. Maybe I would try to ease the uncomfortable silence if I wasn’t replaying the actions of her in the bathroom on the airplane. It’s wrong, but the sight of her flushed face mixed with the sound of her moaning my name won’t leave my mind. I may be her Professor, but... I am still human. I am still a man. And she is damn hot. The keycard clicks in the Ilco lock on the door. Stepping aside, I let her in first. She rolls her small suitcase to the middle of the tan carpeted room and stops, dropping her handbag in the green armchair by the TV stand. “Cozy,” she says, glancing around the small space. It seems even smaller alone in here with her. “Yeah, sorry about this.” The air in the room is uncomfortable, and she crosses

over to the thermostat and adjusts it. I wish I could ease the tension, well, not really. Coddling her isn't my priority. Instead, I toss my suitcase on the bed closest to the bathroom. “Guess I’ll take this one.” With her eyes still not meeting mine, she deposits her suitcase on the other bed, unzipping it. Only a foot apart will separate us when we sleep tonight. Which, let’s face it, I never sleep much anyway. “I’m going to take a shower,” she says, grabbing a change of clothes from her suitcase. She does it so swiftly, it's almost comical. Until I get a glimpse of white lacy panties in her hand. I loosen my tie. Why is it so goddam hot in here? Her face heats when she follows my gaze to the thin scrap of material in her hand. She pulls a toiletry bag from her suitcase and rushes into the bathroom. Closing my eyes, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I need a fucking drink. “I’m going to the bar downstairs,” I call out to the closed bathroom door. The hiss of the shower sounds. Is she naked? I need out of here. Five minutes later, I sip my scotch and stare at the liquor bottles behind the bar. This situation is fucked up. Never have I had to fight an attraction to a student. She’s showering right now. Fuck. My cock stiffens as thoughts of her soapy figure come to mind. She's shorter than my six foot frame by at least half a foot, breasts full enough to fill my large hands, and her ass is perfection. What I wouldn’t give to bust in through the bathroom door and take her from behind in the shower. But, I won’t. I won’t lose control ever again. I need control. My life is a fucking mess. And it’s all my fault. Shame fills me as I think about everything that’s led me to this point in my life. A failure. That’s me. I once lived and loved Chicago; a shining star, one of the top doctors in my field. I devoted my time to work and loved saving lives. So, why am I now a professor at NYU? Yeah, good question. It’s hard to pinpoint exactly when your life heads down the wrong path. One day you wake up and there you are—in a different state, doing a job you don’t really love. I hate teaching. And my students hate me. I'm aware of the whispers and rumors about me. Some have called me one of the hardest, most difficult professors on campus. I take pride in that. Life is hard, messy even. They'll have to learn the hard way. It makes me sick watching the students, day in and day out, enter my classroom, their hopeful hearts mesmerized by the dream of being a doctor. Once, that was me. Saving lives was my calling, my one true mission. Now? I’m a miserable has been.

Giving myself a cheers in the mirror behind the bar, I down the rest of my scotch and signal the bartender for another. Laughter catches my attention, and I spot a few of my old colleagues sitting at a table not too far from me. Shit. I try not to be seen, hoping like hell they don’t notice me. No such luck. “Dr. Dale, over here,” William calls out across the small room. His bulky frame presses along the buttons of his Oxford shirt as he signals his hand as if I can't see him. I lift my glasses and rub my eyes momentarily. Smiling, I grab my drink and head over. No avoiding the unavoidable. The three men, all bald, all older than me, sit at a glossy wooden table. Empty glassware overloads the table, and I laugh for a second before I take a seat. Elton John belts out a sad song about a candle or something from the sound system, and the ambience in the bar lets me know it’ll soon be closing time. Thank God, this torture should be short-lived. “Hello, long time,” I greet them. My voice is smooth, solid, not giving a hint of the animosity I feel. A long time has passed since I’ve seen these men. I silently wish it could have been longer. I’d rather be anywhere than here. Where I want to be is in the shower with my assistant. “Dale, how are you?” Gary, a prominent Doctor at Chicago Hope, asks. Here it comes. “My nose has healed, thanks for asking.” And here comes the rest. “I know you had a rough go, so I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt. Spoke to your father, I hear you’re teaching Anatomy over at NYU now?” I lean back in my chair, stretching my legs out, eyeing him over the crystal tumbler filled with Scotch. Downing it, I let the burn subside before I finally answer, “I owe you an apology. I'm sorry. But, that was a long time ago. And yes, you hear correctly.” Gary and William exchange an expression of pity, and already I want to bail. There's nothing worse than pity. The need to escape crawls up my spine and nearly lifts me from the chair. I have to get out of here. “NYU’s a great school,” Charles adds. “How’re you liking it?” When I worked at Chicago Hope, Charles was an advisor of mine. He's a good man, always looking for the positive that doesn't exist. One of the top neurosurgeons in the world, he can do miracles with the human brain. I’m halftempted to have him work on mine, so I can stop thinking about a certain naked student I have up in my room. I choose the lesser of two evils and decide I’d rather fight the temptation of my student than sit here another minute. Standing, I toss some bills on the table and finally give him the truth before leaving, “I fucking hate it.”

3 MARLEY MORTIFY-VERB-TO HUMILIATE OR SHAME, AS BY INJURY TO ONE’S PRIDE.

I SHOWERED, trying to wash away the embarrassment of the plane incident. When I finally went back to my seat, I couldn't even look at him. Luckily, he never mentioned it, because I don’t ever want to mention the details of that episode to anyone, ever. How foolish. This silly infatuation I have with him needs to stop. Slipping into a comfy pair of black pajama pants and pink tank top, I climb into my designated bed. Still a little drunk from the flight, I’m out as soon as my head hits the pillow. A sound awakens me, and I peek out from under my covers to see Houston unbuttoning his shirt. I don’t move, not a single muscle, as he removes the shirt from his broad shoulders. The pale moonlight enters through a crack in the curtain, outlining a solid six pack and defined pecs. What I wouldn’t give to lick them. His hands move to the button of his black slacks and my mind freezes. Professor Dale is about to drop his pants. I can’t believe I’m witnessing this. People would probably pay money to see the show I’m watching, and I have front row tickets. For free. He unzips his pants, and it’s a torturous descent. I wish he’d just rip them off already like strippers do. He needs those pants that fly apart at the seams. I almost giggle at the thought of asking stern Professor Dale if I can put some strip tease music on while he bumps and grinds. And then it happens, the moment I’ve been waiting for since this peep show started—he lowers them and lets them pool at his feet. Wow. His sculptured body is magnificent. I scan my eyes up his long legs, to his black boxer briefs. His oblique muscles point right to his cock, showcasing it. It looks mighty impressive bulging beneath the material of his briefs. His hand runs along his dick as he moves closer to his bed. He tosses back the covers and gets into bed. How anticlimactic. The show is over, and I didn't even get a lap dance. I drift off and dream about his body making me come over and over until a low groan wakes me again. My eyes open, and Houston thrashes in his bed, mumbling. I don’t know whether to wake him or leave him to face whatever is in his dream. Seems mean to

leave him in a nightmare. I toss off the covers and stand over his bed. “Professor Dale?” Nothing. “Professor Dale? Houston?” A sheen of sweat covers his bare chest, and his head shakes in denial on the pillow. “No,” he grumbles. “Houston?” I step closer to his bed. “Are you ok?” The bed dips slightly as I climb in next to him. Sitting up on my knees, I shove his shoulder. “Houston,” I say a little louder. He bolts upright, his eyes springing open. “What?” It takes a moment for him to focus on me. “What are you doing in my bed, Marley?” “You were having a bad dream.” His nightmare must’ve been epic by the way his chest rises and falls. But, it's his eyes that do something to my gut. They're wild, fearful, blazing with intensity. I want to hold him, comfort him. He scrubs a hand across his sweat soaked forehead. “Get out of my bed, now.” His demeanor is cold, haunted, and I wonder what he was dreaming about. A chill skates up my spine as I leave his bed. “I’m sorry. I was just worried about you,” I say in a soft voice. “I’m fine. It’s fine,” he says, turning on his side to face away from me. “Now get back to bed, or we’ll be late in the morning.” And, the next morning we are. We rush around, and the entire time Houston degrades me, saying it’s my fault for our tardiness. His harsh attitude never wavers during the convention and doesn't let up during the flight home. But, at least it ensures there is no repeat of the incident we shall never speak of again. After we retrieve our luggage from baggage claim, he stalks away, and I don’t see him again until Monday, when I wake up...late again. Shit. How is this happening? I'm never late. In record time, I get ready, grab a protein bar from the pantry and race out the door. As soon as I exit my building the bright sunlight hits me, and I drop my sunglasses down from my head to shield my tired eyes. Swiftly, I walk toward the subway and smack right into someone. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see you there,” I apologize, rubbing my hand down the firm chest I just walked into. “Miss Murphy, you should pay closer attention to where you're going.” I look up into the dark eyes of Professor Dale. I yank my hand away from his chest, completely mortified. My face burns with embarrassment. “Professor Dale, I’m so sorry.” He stands immobile, staring down at me. “The sun was in my eyes, and I was trying to get my sunglasses on, so I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking,” I ramble. His eyes sweep over my face. “You should be getting more sleep, Miss Murphy. That way you won’t always be rushing around late. Tardiness is unacceptable.” He looks down at his watch, then back at me. “You have twenty minutes until class

begins. If that's not enough time, then maybe you need to rethink being a doctor.” He adjusts his navy tie. “A dying patient won't appreciate your lack of time management.” With that verbal slap, he turns and walks briskly away. His long strides have purpose—belittle everyone in his wake. Get out of his way or be bulldozed into a pile of rubble at his designer shoe clad feet. Do I take his message and get to class? No. Instead, I stand frozen, biting my lip, checking out how great his ass looks in his navy pants. He stops and hails a cab, and as soon as he climbs in, I snap out of my sexual thoughts and rush to the curb to do the same. Normally I take the subway, but today I want easy. And maybe just a little bit to prove that I wouldn't let a dying patient down. I’ll be early. Screw you, Professor Dale. THE CABBIE DRIVES LIKE HE’S ON A MISSION TO WIN THE WORLD’S SLOWEST DRIVER AWARD. JUST MY LUCK, I hailed the one cab in New York whose goal isn't to scare the shit out of their passenger. Every light we catch. I bite my nails as I watch the cars whizz past us. “Could you maybe hurry? I’m late,” I say to the man behind the wheel. He smiles but doesn’t step on the pedal. After a small traffic jam, he finally pulls up to the college. I fly out of the car, with only a few minutes to spare. Please don’t let me be late. My shoes clack loudly down the abandoned hallway. Everyone is already in their classes like the good students they are. Meanwhile, I’m rushing to make mine. The door is seconds away, and I see Professor Dale through the window. Shit. He’s going to lock it. I grab the silver handle, my eyes pleading with his cold ones. Click. The sound of the lock echoes through the hallway. It’s deafening, and my mind can’t process his assholishness. I'm right here. My fingertips were on the handle. It was a tie, dammit. The side of his mouth lifts in a sinful grin, and he shakes his head. That’s the last thing I see before he slams the shade on the window down, blocking the classroom from my view. I drop my hand from the door. Well, tomorrow I'll be early.

4 HOUSTON MY THERAPIST SAYS WRITING IN THIS JOURNAL WILL HELP DEAL WITH MY “ISSUES.”

March 4th It’s not. The nightmares have been nonstop the last few weeks. I fucking hate Marley witnessed it. Marley. Now she is a new issue. But it seems to be helping my “issue” better than this journal. A distraction to help curb my thoughts. Thoughts that keep invading my mind. And I welcome it, encourage it, because it’s the first thing that’s given me a moment of reprieve from my “issue.” FUCKING IDIOTS. Looking out at the eager eyes of my morning Anatomy and Physiology class, I cringe. Eighty sets of eyes stare at me as if I’m speaking Japanese. We’ve been in this semester for a while now and already the class is doing horrible. Are they even studying? Every single one of them is struggling. The medical industry will soon fold if this is our future doctors and nurses. “Open your books,” I tell the class, rising from my seat. “Page three-hundred eighty-two. Section seven. Who wants to tell me what the answer is to option 5A?” Blank stares, from all of them. The Anatomy and Physiology book is a fivehundred-dollar book, you’d think these kids would glance at it occasionally. “Muscles?” Brian, a lanky ginger, answers from the front row. I push my small, black frames further up my nose as I glance at him. “There’s six hundred and forty skeletal muscles in the body.” I glance at the whole class, but only one student captures my attention. Marley. Thanks to the memory of her fucking hand in her pink panties. I turn on my overhead projector and go through the muscles in the face. “Miss Murphy, please come down,” I call out. She’s been avoiding any contact with me since we returned last week, so today I'm in the mood to toy with her. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy watching her become flustered around me. I turn around, slide my hands in my pockets, and watch her long legs descend the stairs. She stops in front of me, her eyes full of hesitation, hands tugging the edge of her green sweater. It matches her eyes perfectly. Which is something I really shouldn't be noticing. She turns around at my request to face the entire class.

“Smile, Miss Murphy,” I instruct her. My eyes rest on her full, pink lips, waiting. “Is it that hard, Miss Murphy?” I ask, raising my gaze to meet her cautious one. My cock twitches. It gets so hard when she’s this close. Finally, her mouth forms a smile. It doesn't reach her eyes. “How many muscles did you use?” “Five,” she answers, correctly. I nod, then reach out to trace my finger along her jaw. Marley’s face with her expressive eyes is a work of art. Her porcelain skin is incredibly soft. Softer than I imagined. “What’s this muscle?” Her long lashes blink. The slight shiver that passes over her doesn't escape me. “Masseter,” she answers with a slight waver in her voice. Continuing my exploration of her under the guise of teaching, I trail my fingertip along her neck and feel the erratic tempo of her pulse. Touching her causes mine to beat wildly. It feels foreign and gives me a rush of excitement. “Bonus question, name this artery.” “Carotid,” she whispers and I forget the entire class is even here watching. I drop my hand, snapping back to the present. “Return to your seat, Miss Murphy.” With only a few minutes left of class, I switch off the projector. “Ok, there will be a quiz tomorrow on the muscles of the face, so study up.” The drone of laptops being shut and students packing up fill the room as everyone leaves. Marley sits a few rows up in the auditorium style classroom, and my eyes catch hers. She quickly looks away. As she leans over to retrieve her bag from the floor, her legs part slightly, giving me a view right up her skirt. I try to turn away, but I can't. My heartbeat thunders when I see the white panties covering her pussy. What I wouldn’t give to dive right in there. The classroom empties except for Marley standing by her desk, texting on her phone, as she packs up the rest of her things. I need another high. I need to feel the rush of adrenaline she caused in me. “Miss Murphy?” I call out. Her head snaps up, locking eyes with mine. “Yes?” “Come here.” When she stands in front of me, I step closer. “I need your help.” “With?” Her lips purse as she chews on the inside of her mouth. She’s been my assistant for the entire semester, and, sure, I noticed she’s pretty, but my relationships with my students have always been strictly professional. Many eager young women have tried to slide beneath the surface with me, slide into my bed, but none have succeeded. For some reason, the image of Marley coming and the look of rapture on her face, has done what no other could accomplish. “Do you always chew on the inside of your mouth?” I ask her. Since the incident on the plane, I've begun noticing little details about her. “I guess? I've never really thought about it,” she says, as her eyes avoid mine. “Well, can you not, please. It’s distracting.” I’m forgetting why I even called her

down here in the first place. She stops, crossing her arms against her chest. Her tits lift. “Fine, what did you need help with?” “Just be here after your last class.” My eyes skate over her body. The short black skirt she wears makes my blood pump faster. I forgot what it felt like to have a pulse. It feels damn good. Exhilarating. And I want more. “Anything you say, Professor,” she sasses, walking away from me, her hips swaying from side to side. Her ass speaks to me, begging me to spank it. I shake my head and try to bury the thoughts of all the things I want to do to her. Before she gets too far away, I call after her, “Oh, and Marley.” “Yes,” she says, spinning around to glance at me. What I’m about to do could cost me my job. I inch up to the invisible line that bears a large sign warning not to cross it. And I take a bold step over it. “I think I like the pink better than the white.” Her eyes widen and her jaw drops. A crimson flush warms her cheeks as she regains her composure. “What do you mean?” Closing the distance between us, standing toe to toe, I glance down at her. For the first time today, I smell her perfume. Sweet, a fruity mixture of pears and peaches. I don't like that I love the smell of it. Or that I purposely breathe it in as I move closer to her lips. “Your desk is at eye level for me, and I can see everything. I have a bathroom in my back office if you’d like to reenact what you did on the plane.” Sure, I’m being a first-class asshole, not to mention totally unprofessional, but the rise I get out of pushing her buttons excites me. Her lips turn down as her eyes study me. I love how the vein in her neck pulses with anger. I love that she knows I know. And, I fucking love that she isn’t going to take me up on my offer of using my facilities. Because, there’s no way in hell I would be able to not rip the door down caveman style and rapture her body in all the ways I want to. Without a word, she turns and races out of the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

5 MARLEY ENERVATE-VERB-TO FEEL DRAINED OF ENERGY OR VITALITY.

A WEEK LATER, after he dismisses his last class and every student has left, I stroll over to his desk, dropping the papers I've been working on in front of him. “Done.” I almost want to add master, but I don’t. He glares at me, like full on glares. His dark eyes narrowed on me. What did I do now? He's been so irritable the last few weeks. The future doctor in me critiques his appearance. Judging by the dark smudges beneath his eyes, I'd say lack of sleep is fueling his tirades. Diagnosis: Assholeitis. This is becoming tiresome. A person can only take so much before they crack. I'm tired and grumpy, and all this responsibility is wearing on me. Not to mention, I still haven't forgotten the way he pointed out being able to see my panties. I have barely any fucks left to give. “Pfft,” is his response. That’s it. Just “Pfft.” Not even a word, just a sound. He lifts a brow, and his lack of satisfaction kicks my anger up a notch. I'm about to obliterate the eggshells I've been walking on around him. “I’m sorry, Professor, is there a wrong way to grade papers? Are they not to your satisfaction? Was I not fast enough for you? Grading papers isn't something I exactly enjoy doing.” He stands near his desk, with a nonchalant attitude that unnerves me. Calm isn't what I expected. “You want to be a doctor, right?” he finally responds. “You know I do.” Moving like a flash of lightning, his face is inches from mine. “Then get used to doing things you don’t plan on doing. Get used to surprises. Get used to being shocked.” His closeness causes me to step back a bit and become wedged between him and the edge of his desk. I lean back as his hot breath fans across my lips. He yanks my arm, spinning me around. Before I can even register what's happening, my head gets pushed down, my cheek connecting with the hard wood, and his hand makes a resounding connection with my ass. I gasp. He just spanked me. My blood rushes. His large hand makes impact a second time, and he growls.

The sound turns me on instantly. Wetness pools between my legs. I want another. He steps away, turning his figure from me. For a few moments, I stay frozen in my position. Slowly I push up, wide-eyed, wondering what the fuck just happened. Wondering why I'm not appalled. “I'll see you tomorrow,” I say, hiding my shock. Gathering my things, I don’t rush out of the room or have any kind of appropriate reaction, really. What’s appropriate in this situation, though? Probably not wishing he had used a ruler and certainly not giving a small smile to the authority figure who just spanked you before walking out the door, which is exactly what I did. Once a good way away from the door to his classroom, I lean against a wall for support. My butt cheek burns with the imprint of his large hand. My other cheeks burn with the knowledge he spanked me. Twice. And boy, did I like it. Ok, I may fantasize about this exact thing happening, but never would I have expected him to actually do it. My fantasy just became reality, and oddly enough, I don't feel grumpy or tired anymore. It's as though he spanked the cranky out. Feeling reenergized, I grab a coffee from the campus Beanery and walk the short distance to the library. Finding a table in the back, I drop my bag and wander into the library stacks searching for the medical journal I need. Maybe I'm in shock. This can't be normal to carry on with research after your professor spanks you. I mean, he spanked me. How will I face him after this? Do I just pretend it didn't happen? Well, I could always transfer to another school, but… I won't. Because, apparently, I'm ok with being spanked by my Professor. God, what is happening to me? I've always been the studious, hyper responsible sibling to my much more carefree older brother and sister. My brother Erik calls me the wise one. My sister Lexi calls me smartypants. I steer them down the sensible path, so how did I get on this road to Fuckedupville? Before I have time to think about it any further, a male arm reaches around me to slide the medical journal I can't quite reach off the shelf for me. Attached to that arm... is the hand that spanked me. Spinning around, my breasts press against the solid chest of Houston. “What are you doing here?” I ask. “I think we need to discuss what happened,” he says, not stepping away from me. My eyes dart down each end of the aisle, to make sure we’re alone. “I don't think that's necessary,” I tell him, stepping back. The shelf behind me prevents me from retreating further. He steps closer. “Marley…” He can't finish, because, without thinking, I place my finger on his lips to stop the words that are about to come out. He can't say them here. Not in public. Preferably not ever. “Listen to me,” I whisper. “It's fine, really. And this is not the place to discuss things that should not be discussed.” If anyone overheard us discussing what happened, the repercussions would be harsh and swift. Like his spanking. Again, I

check the aisle and thankfully it’s clear. What is he thinking? He’s not, clearly, and now neither am I, because he proceeds to make me lose any rational thought by sucking my finger into his mouth. It’s wet and warm. His tongue glides along my skin before he releases it. “Don’t shush me,” he says. “This is why what happened earlier happened at all.” I grab his hand and pull him behind me into a secluded corner of the aisle. “Are you saying it was my fault?” This corner was a bad idea, because now he’s pressed against me, his tall body encompassing the small space. His dark eyes bore into mine. “Yes,” he says, matter of factly. He’s refusing to whisper. What part of library does he not understand? “Shhh.” I peek around him and the aisle is still clear. His arms cage me in and he eliminates every inch of space between us. “Do not shush me again, Miss Murphy.” He dips his face down, close to mine. “Unless you want a repeat of earlier.” Well, I do want a repeat, but it’s probably a very bad idea. He leans close to my ear, brushing the hair away with his nose. “You want me to whisper, Miss Murphy? How’s this?” Goosebumps break out along my skin from the sensuous feel of his lips against the shell of my ear. This is so bad. So bad. Anyone could come around this corner and find us. And how did we get to this point? My fingers grip the edge of his pockets when he whispers again, “Do it once more and you’ll feel the sting of my hand on your ass, again.” A soft shhh escapes me before I can stop it. His teeth clamp down on my earlobe. “Fuck,” he whispers in my ear. “You probably shouldn’t have done that.” Oh, I know. I know. This is all spiraling out of control, and one of us needs to stop it. I hope he does, because I can't seem to. As if he heard my silent plea, he steps away from me. He gives me one more tease by adjusting the hard on tenting his slacks before he turns and leaves.

6 HOUSTON

March 16th Last night I had the same nightmare again. But, halfway through, it changed to Marley. She stood before me laughing, reaching her arm out for me to take it. To save me from my misery. That part of the dream was even scarier than my normal one of losing control. This isn’t working. She laughs in my dream, she laughs out of my dream. I wish I could do simple. I wish I could laugh with her, but I’ve forgotten how FUCK, Marley pisses me off. I still can’t believe I spanked her. Me, spanked her. It felt good, though. All the tension I’d been holding in was released onto her pretty round ass. A spark ignited inside of me. But, it flickered out the moment she left and reality set back in. I had good intentions when I went to the library, and then she had to shush me. Knowing she fucking liked the spanking makes the temptation of her even harder to resist. Not that I seem to be making much of an effort. Quite the opposite. I’m seeking her out. I feel like the school-aged kid, being mean to the pretty girl because he’s too afraid to get close to her. But, fuck it. There’s so many reasons I can’t get close to her. She’s my student, my assistant, and she’s too happy for me. I would dim the shining light inside her. The light that beams brightly day in and day out. All cheery and shit. To distract myself from thoughts of her, I grab a medical journal off my shelf and sink into my leather armchair. Sirens sound in the distance, and I move to the window to check it out. A light in a window across the alley catches my eye. And then, I stand frozen at what I see in an apartment of the adjacent building. A dark haired young woman crosses the room. Is that Marley? It can't be. I cross to the coffee table and pull up the student directory on my phone. It is. Tossing my phone down, I debate all of ten seconds before I pad across the hardwood floor in my bare feet and flip off the table lamp so I can hide in the shadows. Every ethical bone in my body screams for me to turn away, she’s my student. But, I don’t. For some reason, the fact she’s my subordinate turns me on.

Holy shit. Marley is spread out on her couch when I return. I have a front row seat to the most anticipated show of the century. Her building is close enough across the narrow alley that I can see clearly what she's wearing—nothing but a flimsy t-shirt and fuck, red lace panties. She’s stunning. Her hand travels down to the spot between her legs, and my erection grows strong. I’m going to join her. Have her beauty take me over the edge. Her perfection is unsettling, and I want to drink it up. Like champagne on New Year’s, I want the bubbly fizz to make me high. She spreads her silky legs further apart, and her fingers dip beneath the lace. The zipper of my pants goes down without me registering the action. I pull myself out, rubbing my hand along the heavy thickness. My mind’s in a haze. I press my forehead against the cool glass of the window and stroke my cock. She leans her head back, and I get a glimpse of her face for a moment. She appears to be enjoying it, but not like she should be. I know I could make her go wild. She should be screaming. I pump faster as I try to get a better look. I want to see more. To see what her pussy looks like. Rubbing the head of my cock, I spread the precum all over and beat off rapidly. Fuck, all I can think about is how wet is she? What does she feel like? Does her pussy taste as sweet as her scent? I want to feel her white hot heat explode around me. It’s been so long. “Fuck,” I moan out. My body’s on fire. There’s no stopping the attraction I have toward her. I glance back across the alley, into her apartment, into her privacy. I don’t care I’m invading on anything. For this moment, it’s between us. Meant for no one else. Is she thinking about me? Is she thinking about the way I spanked her? Her lips part as her other hand slips under her t-shirt. I beg the Gods, which I know don’t exist, to let her take the damn thing off. I’m falling apart. My body is at its peak. I want to tumble over the edge with her. I notice the moment she comes, her lips moaning, her body shuddering. It’s all I can do to keep from crashing down her door and claiming her body. My orgasm hits me as I picture her sweet body beneath me. I need to make a choice here. I’ve found a way to keep my mind occupied from things that are slowly killing any desire I have to be more than a walking cadaver. It's wrong to use her this way, but I'm beyond caring at this point. Do I listen to the voice deep inside begging me to fuck her? Or do I walk away?

7 MARLEY INTOXICATION-NOUN-THE STATE OF BEING INTOXICATED, ESPECIALLY BY ALCOHOL.

STUDYING, so much studying. What I want to study is the way his hand connected with my ass. Or the way he said my name, all low and sexy. Am I a closet submissive who gets off on the power he wields over me? Ugh, what am I going to do? I’m lusting after my teacher. And there really is no time for lust. The first year of med school has been intense to say the least, and I’m beginning to wonder if I'm cut out for this. I glance at the bottle of tequila on my shelf. Tequila makes everything better. No. No drinking. I tap my finger on my lip, debating. Tomorrow is Saturday, though, and what’s one shot? I’m sure you’re thinking I’m some lush who can’t handle her liquor. But, I work damn hard day in and day out to deserve a break every now and then. When I first started school, I never went out, isolating myself to these four walls. I’m still isolated with no friends. All I do is work and study. So, a drink, or few, on a Friday night shouldn’t be a cause for concern. I’m an adult, dammit. And, as an adult, I can do what I want, no judgies. Besides, it’s St. Patrick’s Day, why wouldn’t I have a drink to celebrate my ancestors? Top of the morning to ya, Miss Murphy. It’s decided. I grab the bottle and a shot glass, fill it and toss it back. Another won’t hurt, I decide. The burn tears at me, but it's all good. The next shot goes down easier, and I slam the tiny glass down on the counter before cranking some music and dancing around my apartment. How sad my Friday night is being spent dancing and drinking alone. A Kelly Clarkson song comes on and it makes me think of Texas. Which then makes me think of Houston. I should call him. He would want me too. I grab my phone, dialing the number I have for him from being his assistant. It rings, and my heart skips a beat. It rings again, and I giggle. “Marley?” he answers, his voice a sexy blend of sleepiness and husk. My throat goes dry. “Professor Dale. Hellooo, Hi.” I should have planned better. “Marley, are you drunk?”

“Drunk, skunk.” I giggle. Oh, come on, that was funny. “I’m hanging up now,” he says all sexy and manly. I traipse down the hallway. “No, don’t go.” “Marley, I have things to do in the morning.” The door to my bathroom comes out of nowhere, and I slam into it. “Ow, shit.” It doesn’t stop there. I knock into the adjoining wall and trip over the corner of the runner covering the wood floor. I go down, hard. “Marley? Are you ok?” The phone falls from my hand and skitters across the floor as my ankle throbs with pain. I scramble for it, pressing it back to my ear. “Houston, we have a problem.” He sighs in my ear, probably rolling his eyes. “Never heard that one before.” “I think I twisted my ankle. But, I’m ok.” “I’m coming over. Can you make it to the door to let me in?” My eyes go wide. It’s late. I’m drunk. He’s going to touch my foot. Oh, God. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, really. How do you know where I live?” “I’m your Professor. I know everything.” “Really, I’m ok. Promise.” But, he’s no longer on the phone. HOPPING TO THE DOOR IS NO SMALL FEAT. HE GOT HERE QUICK. I OPEN THE DOOR, STANDING ON MY GOOD foot, and smile wide. “Happy St. Patty’s day,” I say to him. “Oh boy.” He stands tall at my door, and I take in his blue shirt and sweatpants. He isn’t wearing any green. My hand flies to his arm and I pinch his bulging muscles. He drops his head, his eyes on my fingers still clenched around his skin. “Do you mind?” His strong arms wrap around my waist, hoisting me up, sobering me a bit. He smells so good. Like sleep and man, with a hint of mint all rolled into one. His hair is a frumpled mess and the stubble on his jaw tickles my forehead. He brings me to my soft, blue couch and sets me down. “Let me see it.” His skillful fingers press against my tender ankle, and although I love his hands on me, the pressure of it hurts. He’s in serious doctor mode, and I try not to giggle at his concentration. “Does this hurt?” I want to be strong, say it doesn’t. But I don’t. I speak the truth, “Yeah, a little.” He stands and heads into my kitchen. “Where’s your aspirin?” I point to the cabinet above the sink in my galley style kitchen. He pours a glass of water, and after a minute or two, he returns. He lifts my leg onto his lap, applying ice to my ankle with an impartial doctor’s touch. Two Advil and the glass of water are shoved at me when he's done. “Here, this’ll help.” I smile. “Thanks.”

Aw, a knight in shining armor, rescuing the princess from a great fall. But, I shake off that idea. I’m no princess, and this is not a romantic fairy tale. If it were, he’d probably kiss me. I glance at his lips as he focuses on my ankle. Soft, full lips. I want them all over me. The couch holds me close as I lean back against it. Mixed emotions tangle up inside me. I want to move away from him, and I want to straddle him all at the same time. Lick the skin along his neck, just a little innocent lick. He stares at my shirt, the words ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’ in green print across my chest, and he grins. “Nice shirt.” I tug at the material. “Thanks.” He leans in, brushing his lips against mine in a feather-light kiss. My breath catches. Pulling back, he gauges my reaction before colliding his lips with mine. All of the emotional turmoil I've been feeling pours out of me and into this kiss. This kiss is all I have to show him how much I want him. My tongue swipes along his lips and he opens to me. His hands fly into my hair, grabbing, twisting, and clinging onto every strand. I moan into his mouth, my body’s message to him to take things further. If this wasn’t so wrong, I’d invite him to my room, lie on my bed and beg him to touch me. But, as if Houston can read my thoughts, he breaks the kiss. His hands trace down my jaw in apology. “I need to go before I can’t stop.” I want to plead with him not to leave. It's horrible wanting something you're not supposed to. ‘Don’t stop,’ ‘Keep going,’ are words I want to shout. But, fear keeps my mouth shut, my eyes wide with wonder at the way his lips felt against mine. He kisses the corner of my mouth, his tongue swiping along my lower lip. “Let me get you to bed.” Score. I want this. He cracks a smile at the excitement on my face. “To put you to sleep.” He sweeps me in his arms and carries me into my room. “Nice room,” he says, glancing around at my collection of handbags and medical journals strewn haphazardly everywhere. He drops me on the bed, my fluffy, purple comforter cool against my skin, and the room spins for a moment. I let him drape the covers over me, and he rubs my ankle once more through the blanket. “Sleep well, Marley.”

8 HOUSTON

March 18th As the day approaches I become a mad man. My thoughts and actions have gone out the window and I can’t control them anymore. I THROW ON MY TIE. Damn, I don’t want to do today. Last night, rushing to Marley’s house was an easy decision for me. She was drunk, she was hurt...but why did I kiss her? Good question. Her lips spoke volumes to me, begging me to kiss her. I’d never wanted anything, or anyone more. If I don’t stop, Marley could potentially be kicked out of school. But I don’t care about any of that. Why? Because she’s different. A force has come out of nowhere causing my actions and reactions to misfire. I grab the PATH train into Princeton, I dread seeing my parents. It’s always the same thing with them. Pity. Sadness. Pain. Emotions I’m growing sick of. Emotions I wish would go away. And, every day I try to force them out. Who needs feelings? The train pulls into Princeton, and I grab a cab to my parent’s house. “Hey, Mom,” I greet her as I enter the happy home I grew up in. And again, I feel nothing. “Hey, you,” she says, beaming. She hugs me. I hug back. My father strides into the large entryway and smiles. His posture is strong, and his dark hair mirrors my own. “Hey, Dad,” I say, releasing my mom. It was a mistake to come here. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. I love my parents so much, but sometimes they just don’t understand. No one does. “Go sit down,” my mom says. “Lunch will be ready soon.” Dad leads me into the living room. Natural light pours in through the great bay window, and I smile at the cheery atmosphere it creates. My mom is sunny, like the room. Her personality exudes from all the furnishings: the yellow couch standing

strong in the center, the bright multi-colored rug covering the hardwood floor, the paintings dripping with bright reds and yellows. And here I stand, the dark thundercloud in her colorful world. Dad eases down into the large, brown leather recliner and we pass the time with small talk about sports and superficial topics until my mom interrupts. “Let's eat,” she beckons. She smiles the endearing smile that always made me feel safe as a kid. The smile whenever I was hurting from falling off my bike, or afraid of the dark, made me feel better. Right now, it does neither. I follow my father into the large kitchen. The stainless-steel appliances gleam and fresh flowers peek out from glass vases on the granite countertops. The warm and inviting ambience is a psychological trick my parents always try to accomplish whenever I come to visit. “How’s NYU treating you?” my father asks, pulling out a chair at the oak kitchen table. I shrug, taking a seat. The sun’s rays filter through the blinds on the French doors making me sweat. “Same as always.” Of course I don’t clue my family in on Marley or my questionable attraction for her. “This looks great, Mom.” The sounds of eating and more superficial pleasantries fill the room until my taste buds go numb at my mom’s next words, “I saw Jennifer while she was visiting her family. She says you won't return her calls.” I stop mid chew and look over at her. “I really think you should talk to her.” She appears nervous as the words leave her lips. And she should be. My mind shuts down. My expression turns cold. “Ok, maybe.” I have no intention of calling her, ever again. We finish our lunch but it's overshadowed by the tension filling the air. My parents both have something on their minds, but they’re too afraid to ask. “Just say it,” I finally tell them. They exchange a glance, and my mother turns to me. “We just want what’s best for you,” she says, her hazel eyes filled with concern. “We want you to be happy.” “I’m as happy as I am going to get,” I lie. I don’t need my mommy and daddy to kiss away my boo-boos. I don’t need anyone. My father coughs before speaking, and here it comes. I feel the words slice through me before he even says them. It’s always the same thing. “Houston? Why won't you call her?” I close my eyes, wishing the world away in this moment. “I don’t know.” My goto answer. The chair hits the wainscoting as I push myself from the table. “I need to go.” “How are the appointments going with the therapist?” my father asks the words, but I’m not really listening as I zero in on the front door. I’ll walk to the

damn train station if I have to. Escape is so close as my father grabs me by the arm. “You need to face this. You can’t continue on this way.” I stop, dead in my tracks and turn to face him head on. “Are you kidding me? I don’t need you or anyone telling me how to deal with things. I’m fine.” My voice is low, with an edge of distaste. “I just think…” I cut him off. “I don’t care what you think. I’m fine.” My mother stands between us, rubbing my arm as she tries to stop the words. “Houston, it’s ok. Let me take you to the station. Harold, just drop it,” she pleads with her husband. “Carol, I just want him to understand,” my father says. That’s it. I’ve had it. “Understand? It’s you who needs to understand.” I point my finger in his face. “You have no idea. You think you can lecture me and it’ll make everything all better? It doesn’t work that way.” He steps back. “You need to move on.” “Move on? Fuck you. You have no clue.” Never in my life have I ever spoken to my father like this. I can feel his hurt he wears in his expression. I shake my head and rush off down the steps, my mother trailing off behind me. The ride to the train station is a silent one. She doesn’t offer any advice. As I leave her car, she hugs me and tells me she loves me. “Houston, go easy on your father,” she says, after I kiss her on the cheek. “Mom, I just can’t anymore.” On the train ride home, I think of nothing but Marley’s green eyes. Mesmerizing and magical. When I stare into them, I completely lose myself. And I like being lost.

9 MARLEY IMMACULATE-ADJ-(ESPECIALLY OF A PERSON OR THEIR CLOTHES) PERFECTLY CLEAN; FREE FROM SIN.

TWO DAYS LATER, I woke still a confused mess with the imprint of Houston’s lips still burned into mine. His kiss changed things for me. I’m deeper in like. Now I know the sounds he makes when he's turned on. The intensity he kisses with. The look in his eyes when passion consumes him. I'm fucked. How can I forget those things? How can I not want more? It’s like I’ve fallen down the rabbit hole, and now I don’t know what to do. It's almost laughable I think I can go into psychiatry when I can't even tell myself what to do. I feel like Alice wandering an alternate universe. Maybe, like in Wonderland, there are no logical answers here. I'm searching and searching for answers that don't exist. Maybe it just is. I’ve always thought of Professor Dale in an unattainable fantasy capacity, but, the man who pressed his solid body against mine, not to mention his hard cock, was real. He was full of emotions and desire for me. Is that so wrong? All day yesterday, I couldn’t erase the kiss from my mind. I sat my Saturday away with my ankle iced and thoughts of Houston running rampant. A little part of me was disappointed he didn't call. Now, it's Sunday, and I'm resolved to not waste another minute analyzing. It happened, and it was a great kiss. A really, really great kiss. I have more important things to do besides wonder if he's thinking about me too. Like laundry. My ankle feels better while I gather my laundry, only a slight twinge of discomfort. When I get to the laundry room, of course every machine is out of order. Dragging my laundry bag, I walk to the Coin Clothes Cleaner the next block over. It’s slightly outdated, but it'll have to do. Finding a machine in the back of the empty laundromat, I toss my bag onto the large folding table and pull out my clothes. I throw my first load in as I sort through more clothes. “Marley?” I freeze when I hear the voice that has been playing over and over in my head. I turn my head to him and smile. “Hi, what are you doing here?” I ask. His hands are empty, so clearly not laundry. Besides, Houston doesn't strike me as the type to do his own laundry. He's too polished. I imagine all his clothes sorted by color,

brand, and occasion in his closet. Most likely sorted by sexy. Even his jeans and worn Van Halen t-shirt are as sexy as his professional attire on campus. It's a different sexy, and one I like just as much. Giving me a half grin, he answers, “I had a quick meeting this morning with Anna Tompkins to discuss some research she's working on.” Oh. I school my face into one that I hope resembles not jealous. Because honestly, I'm a little jealous. Anna Tompkins, Microbiology professor, is the female Houston. “We were getting coffee next door. I saw you and decided to check in on your ankle.” That's nice and all, but what about the kiss? Did I not cross his mind at all? A little knot ties itself in my belly that she is his peer and perfectly acceptable to fraternize with. I'm a dirty little secret, which he's clearly going to pretend didn't happen. “Ah,” I say, shoving my clothes in the machine. “I've heard she's brilliant.” “She is,” his deep voice says behind me. “I should go. She had to run a quick errand and then I've agreed to accompany her to the library.” Well, isn't that perfect? He doesn't have to hide with her in a corner or feel guilty about crossing any lines. I turn to face him. His grin falls when he looks down at my hand. Pink panties dangle from my fingers. I ball them in my fist and bring it behind my back. “So, how's the ankle?” he asks. “Barely hurts at all,” I tell him, turning back to my laundry. What does hurt is the way we’re apparently going to pretend the kiss didn't happen. Well, that suits me fine. This is too complicated anyways. You know what? Fuck that. I spin around, panties still in hand, ready to address what happened the other night. But, before I can, he leans in and whispers against my ear, “Let me see them.” My eyes widen as I cling to the material in my hand. “See what?” His hand touches my neck and travels higher, fingers splaying into my hair. “Let me see my favorite pair.” My mouth goes dry. His favorite pair. Face it, I can’t say no to him when he’s so close and touching me. His full lips lift as I bring the panties from behind my back. I open my hand, and he snatches the panties from my palm. “Mine,” he asserts, his deep voice dropping an octave. “Um, no. Houston.” I say, reaching for them. “Let me have them so you can get going.” The tip of his tongue glides out, wetting his lips. “Start your machine, Marley,” he instructs me, sliding my panties in his pocket. Part of me thinks it's hot he’ll have my panties in his pocket while he's researching with Anna Tompkins. The other part is afraid they'll fall out, and somehow everyone will know they're mine. “Start your machine,” he demands again, this time in his husky authoritative voice. “I want to show you something.” “Show me what?” I ask, turning to start the machine. When I turn around, he leans in, his nose running along my neck. He nips at my collarbone, and I take a

quick glance around to ensure we’re alone. We are. Thank God. When my attention focuses back to him, he’s already hoisting me up onto one of the machines. “Did you know these machines give the perfect stimulation to your clit when they vibrate?” He steps between my legs. I want his hands all over me, and he grants me my wishes. It feels so good as he runs his hand under my shirt. “Houston. What are you doing?” I take a deep breath, hoping he doesn’t stop. “Risking my career.” He grabs my chin, crashing his lips to mine. “Don’t stop,” I moan. Oh fuck. The machine rocks gently beneath me sending a vibration to my clit. He’s right. The sensation is temporarily overshadowed by his warm hand sliding inside my bra. What if someone sees us? What if Anna Tompkins sees us? My hardened nipple doesn't care about the repercussions if we get caught. It wants to be squeezed and it gets what it wants. “Does that feel good?” he asks, nipping my earlobe with his teeth. “Yes,” I answer, tilting my head to give him access. My legs find their way around his waist, pulling him into me. Now my pussy is lined up with his cock perfectly. “You know this is wrong,” he whispers against my ear. “I don't care,” I whisper back. It's foolish not to care. Years of school tossed away for an orgasm? I know the answer, yet, I'm still doing it. Still grinding myself against his cock. Still craving him, despite the risk. Funny how we can want something so much we throw every ounce of sensibility away. He's no better, he has more to lose than me, and yet, he's still slipping a finger inside my panties. Risking his career to run it along my bare lips, dipping it inside. We groan at the same time. “Fuck, you're so wet,” he murmurs against my skin. “I need my cock buried inside you.” The machine beneath me hits the spin cycle and the vibrations drive me faster against his hand. He slips another finger inside me and bites down on my shoulder. A biter. Fuck, it's hot. I've wanted him for so long, my orgasm is already looming, tightening in my belly. The pleasure is overwhelming when I rock along his hand, and his fingers pick up speed. “I’m so close,” I grind out. “I want to see your face when I make you come.” He leans back a bit, his fingers never slowing. The machine vibrates faster beneath me, and he brings me to the best orgasm I’ve had in a long time, or ever. After, he kisses me gently, I see it in his eyes. Regret. Not again. My phone rings, and I slide down from the machine and away from his turmoil. “Sorry,” I say, wanting to crawl inside the washing machine to escape the look on his face. “I have to take this.” I point to the phone in my hand. He opens his mouth to speak and then snaps it shut. Why are men so difficult?

Whoever said men speak what's on their mind was wrong. “Go ahead,” he finally says, giving a nod toward the door. “I've got to get going.” Once again, I have no appropriate reaction. He just finger fucked me, and I don't know what to do besides let him go. So, I give him a smile and a tiny nod in agreement. Houston looks relieved and gives me a reluctant grin before turning and striding out. Sadness settles over me. “Hey,” I say into the phone. “Hey, you,” Erik says. “I’m in town on a layover. Come meet your brother for coffee.” He gives me the details and when I hang up, a text comes through. Professor Dale: Ice that ankle.

10

HOUSTON

March 18th Madness steeps in like a ghost in the night. My thoughts are not my own. The days blur together and nothing seems real. It’s as if I’m in a dark tunnel and Marley is the light at the end. I can’t explain the thrill I get when I touch her. The spark which ignites when I feel her. I’M WELL PAST the point of no return with Marley. The fear of losing my job isn’t even a factor in my mind. The thought she could get into trouble, however, is. I need to walk away from her. But, can I? When I left her, Anna Tompkins called to reschedule her research for another time. Her cancellation suited me fine, because although I agreed to her request, spending hours helping her locate what she needed is the last thing I wanted to be doing. When I get home, my phone rings and it’s my sister, Katy. I’m sure she’s calling to yell about the way I spoke to my father yesterday. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Hey, I’m not saying anything. I’m just calling…” she hesitates before continuing, “because I know it’s getting close.” My couch swallows me whole as I listen to her. She continues on, like a broken record playing the same tune as my parent’s words. “Yeah,” is my only response. “Have you been sleeping?” she asks. “Yeah, a little.” “Don’t lie to your little sister.” She knows me too well. Truth is, I haven’t been able to sleep in a long time. But, I tell everyone what I think they want to hear. “I’ve been sleeping better. I’ve met someone.” I shake my head, wondering if I should have opened my mouth about Marley. Saying it out loud makes it real. “Go on.” Her voice is lighter, happier as I contemplate on how much to tell her. I tell her how Marley makes me feel better when I’m near her. How my mind unravels around her. How I can’t stop staring at her. I don’t clue her in on Marley being my student or that I keep running away from her. I'm tired of running. “Houston, I want you to be careful. It sounds like you’re using this girl as a

crutch for denying everything else.” I sit up straighter. “Katy, what do you want from me?” “For my big brother to be himself again,” she whispers into the phone. “I don’t know who that man is anymore.” That man is long gone. I cut the conversation short, pretending to need to take another call. The four walls of my apartment close in on me. I need a walk, fresh air. It’s a chilly day in the city. The wind whips through the streets, the sun hiding behind the tall buildings, and I step off the curb to head in the direction of nowhere. The streets are alive with people and traffic, horns blaring occasionally in frustration. The noise of the city temporarily drowns out my thoughts. It's not long before Marley infiltrates them again. My fingers can still feel her gripping them when she came. What I wouldn't give to bury myself in her pussy. She's so fucking cute with her wide-eyed wonder when she looks at me. I hate to admit it, but I smile a little thinking of her. Good thing no one is around to see it. And then my blood boils. What the fuck? My steps come to a halt when I glance in the window of the Tasty Bean Coffee Shop. Marley and some asshole sit at a corner table. They laugh, sitting close. Who in the hell is he? He leans in, putting his arm around her small shoulders, and she lets him. How could she allow me to touch her and then be out with this jerk off? For the first time, possessiveness grips me. Does she date? I’ve never seen her with a guy before, and I don't fucking like seeing it now. He needs to get his hands off her. I should confront her. Confront this stranger. The stranger who now has his arm wrapped around her. But what right do I have? She appears happy. Her long, dark hair dashing around her face as he leans in to tell her a joke or something. I fist my hands at my sides, wanting nothing more than to go grab her and take her back to my place. Show her no man will satisfy her like I can. An older woman pushes past me as she tries to enter the coffee shop, and I don’t move. I can’t. My feet are cemented to the sidewalk watching them. “Excuse me, sir,” she says. Finally, I step free of the door. Like rigor mortis setting in, every muscle in my body stiffens as I try to walk inside. No, my obsession with her needs to end. The fact I even touched her today needs to be a one-time ordeal. No big deal. So, what? I fooled around with a student. It won’t happen again. He hugs her again, and I decide it’s time to leave. Tomorrow I’ll make sure I never touch her again. I’ll protect myself.

11

MARLEY DAYDREAM-NOUN-A SERIES OF PLEASANT THOUGHTS THAT DISTRACTS ONE’S ATTENTION FROM THE PRESENT.

SEEING Erik was exactly what I needed to regroup. I miss my family more than I realized. It was good to laugh and forget all the turmoil for a while. But, I can’t think about any of that. I have exams to prepare for, material to learn, and a professor to stop fantasizing about. Well, let’s not get crazy. He’s one man I can’t seem to forget. The next morning, I arrive to class a few minutes early, because I want to talk to him privately. The look of regret on his face bothered me all night. I want him to know if he's feeling guilty about me being his student, or feeling he's taking advantage of me, he shouldn't. I'm fully aware of the consequences of my actions. “Good morning,” I say, approaching his desk. He looks extra handsome today with his blue button down shirt clinging to his muscles and his grayish-blue tie. “If you say so,” he says, sharply. I stop in front of his desk. “Miss Murphy, this isn’t elementary school. Go find a seat,” he barks. Ok. His attitude gives me doubts about whether I should bother trying to talk to him, but, I’m slightly used to his mood swings. “Well, I wanted to talk to you about yesterday.” “What about it?” He shuffles some papers and then focuses his deep eyes on me. “What happened at the laundromat,” I say in a hushed tone. Even though the classroom is empty, I still worry about someone coming in and overhearing. “And?” His expression is so impassive, I wonder if all those muscles he’s constantly teaching us about have suddenly disappeared from his face. “Well,” I start, then hesitate. Then I continue, “you and me.” This is so awkward. “You and me? What would you like me to say?” He raises his brows, and I remain silent. “Whatever little image of happily ever after you’ve envisioned in your head is not part of my plans.” And there you have it, folks, the brush off of brush offs. He repeats for me to find my seat, and this time I do, because somewhere in this traitorous body is pride. Embarrassment is front and center, most of all. But, anger is a strong contender to knock them both out of the top spot.

Chatter fills the air as students file in, and I shake my head in disbelief at his dismissive behavior as I climb the stairs to my seat. His eyes clock me as he speaks to the class. Two can play his game. I decide to give him a little show of what we did yesterday. A show of what he just dismissed. When he glances up at me, I slowly spread my legs beneath the desktop giving him an open view of my red panties. His words falter just a bit before he resumes the lesson, eyes pinned on me. Chewing on the tip of my pen, I trail my fingers up my thigh, not breaking from his stare, then snap my legs together. He turns away abruptly with his back to the class. “Use the last fifteen minutes to study,” he barks out, stalking over to his desk. Study? Yeah, right. As if I could focus on anything. I stare at the text, and my mind wanders...and wanders. Class ends and I gather my things and head for the exit. “Miss Murphy.” Stepping out of the jostle of students leaving, I glance over my shoulder at Houston. Making my way over to his desk, I brace myself for the inevitable. He watches me, not speaking. My heartbeat hammers as his stare burns through me. When the only space between us is his desk, I blurt out, “What Professor Dale? I have another class.” By this point, the room is empty and he rolls his chair back, stretching his legs. “That’s one hell of an attitude you have,” he says, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “Attitude? What you think you’re the only one who can be commanding, and I’ll bend to your will?” I ask, my confidence coming to surface. “Oh, you think I’m commanding?” He leans back further in his chair, and I decide I’ve had enough. “Sit up straight, Professor. I’m in charge now.” I grab the pointer off his dryerase board and pull it open, snapping it down on the desk with a loud whack. He grins and complies. “Sorry.” “That’s what I thought. Now, what is your problem with me today? Why are you being so cold?” I stalk toward him, circling his chair with the pointer resting on my shoulder. “Stand up, and bend over the desk.” “What?” he scoffs. “You’ll listen to me and do as I say,” I whisper near his ear, right before I slap the pointer down on the desk for a second time. He surprises me by slowly standing. He doesn't bend over, so I slap the pointer along his ass. He growls, loud. I rake the pointer down his chest. My other hand grabs his tie, fisting it in my tiny hand, and I yank him closer. “You going to be a good boy for me?” I ask him. He swallows hard, and I lick the tip of his nose. “Yeah, I’ll be whatever you want me to be.” “Very good.” I can’t believe how turned on I’m getting. Releasing him, I climb the desk, crawling along the top on my hands and knees. Houston breathes deep as I glance over my shoulder at him. “You like spanking me,

don’t you?” “Yeah,” he breathes. “Do it. Do it hard.” I stick my ass in the air, my short skirt riding up my skin, baring my cheeks for him. “Do it.” “Miss Murphy, did you have a question?” Houston stands at the front of the class, his arms folded across his chest. His dark eyes stare at me. Along with everyone else in the room. “What? No,” I mutter, my cheeks blushing. “Stop daydreaming, Miss Murphy.” What? It takes me a moment to register where I am. My thoughts of spanking him with his pointer fade. “You're supposed to be using this time to study. Not daydream,” he barks out. I stiffen in my chair. Did I moan out loud? “Yeah, she’s daydreaming about me,” a red-haired guy a few seats over says. He laughs with his friends for a moment, and Houston’s anger multiplies. “I have no doubt you would like that.” His eyes glance at the guy, then back at me. “Marley, whoever you’re daydreaming about, you need to stop right now. Are you going to daydream when you’re operating on a patient?” “No,” I deny. He really does need that pointer across his ass. If I could give him the finger, I would. Since I’m not quite that brave, reaching down, I grab my bag, put away my things, and walk out.

12

HOUSTON

March 20th A hard Monday. Some days get harder than the last. I don’t know if I can keep doing this. The anger inside is too much to bear. AFTER MY LONG day at NYU, I head to the sanctuary of my home. I need to brood in silence and take out my frustrations over a bottle of Jack. As soon as I walk inside, I grab a highball from the counter and watch as the two ice cubes clank against the glass. The amber liquid runs over, and, for a moment, I get lost in the tranquility of the motion. This day was not how I envisioned. Marley infuriated me. Her daydreaming, probably about the asshole she was with yesterday, upset me. Fuck. Pouring another glass of Jack Daniels, I fall onto the couch with a loud thump, the liquor sloshing on me. Shit. I need to get my act together. Fooling around with a student was never on the agenda. But neither was what led me to this situation. And for some fucked up reason, she tampers it down. After a few shots of Jack, I pace my apartment, fueling my anger. Who does Marley think she is? It's her fault. She tempted me with her sexy body, and I was helpless to control myself. My anger gets the best of me as I fist both hands along my sides. I won’t let her get away with the spell she’s trying to cast on me. Somehow, in my drunken stupor, I make it to her apartment building and pound against her door until she opens it. “Houston? I…uh,” she says, her hair mussed from sleep. I smash my lips to hers to shut her up. She's not allowed to talk until I’m good and ready to listen to what she has to say. And right now, I need silence. I move her into the living room with our lips still connected. She tastes sweet. My hands move through her silky hair as her fingers dig into my back. I want her to dig deeper, cut me open and let all the ghosts bleed out. Her eyes are wild with desire when I break the kiss to tell her, “Don’t ever tease me during class again, got it?” “Don’t ever treat me like a second-class hooker, and I won’t,” she bites back,

sharp and ferocious. By the looks of it, her heart beats just as fast as mine. “What do you want from me, Marley?” “Nothing. I don’t know. I don’t like the way you treated me today. You treated me like a …,” she trails off. “Slut?” I finish for her. “Yeah.” No longer drunk from the liquor, but intoxicated by her raw beauty, I stalk closer, pulling her chin closer to my mouth. “You’re nobody’s slut but mine.” Her eyes widen at my words, and her tight-lipped expression fills with fury. She wiggles free from my hold. “You’re drunk.” “No,” I retort. “I can taste the liquor on your tongue.” She steps back two paces, and I follow her. Stealthy and determined. “So. Who was that man you were with?” I’m angry at what she may say and I wrap my fingers around her tiny neck. “What?” She tries to wiggle free, but my grip tightens. “The man at the Tasty Bean?” Answer me. She stares right through me. “That was my brother, Erik.” Relief floods me and I draw closer, releasing my grip. “Do I frighten you?” “Right now, a little.” She crosses her arms over her chest and the action causes her shirt to bunch around her breasts and showcase her cleavage. “Good, Marley. Be very afraid.” A spark ignites in her eyes. “And what are you going to do?” she challenges. “Test me and find out,” I demand. All the emotions that have been bottled up for so long claw beneath my skin, trying to tear themselves free. “If I didn't know better, I'd say it almost sounds like you want me to.” “I do.” I want her to run. To fight me. Claw me. Mark me. Make me hurt more than I already do. Give me a new pain, so I know I'm alive. “Help me, Marley.” Her eyes flit over my face and then something flickers in her eyes, recognition of what I need from her right now, and she gives it to me, willingly. “You sure?” “Yes,” I say. She licks her lips, determination flaring in her eyes. She thinks she can fix me. She can't. A few seconds’ pass before she gives a little nod and then says, “Fuck you.” In a flash, she runs from me. Good girl. My blood heats. Even half drunk, I'm faster. She lets out a squeal, elbowing me, when I grab her around the waist and haul her over my shoulder. The harsh slap of my hand on her ass causes her to claw at my back. She's perfect at this. Carrying her to the bedroom, I toss her onto the bed. Our panting fills the quiet room. There is no fear in her eyes, only lust. Lust that matches my own. Her pink

pajama pants are removed in a quick pull. “Yes,” she screams when my hungry mouth connects with her panty-covered pussy. The damp material moves along my lips, the lace tickling my chin as I push my face further into her, my fingers clenching her thighs. Her hands fly into my hair and she tugs, hard. Hard enough to sting, and it feels so fucking good. That's what I need. “Give me your hate, Marley,” I growl against her pussy. “Show me how much you hate me.” She can't hate me more than I already do. Sitting up, I trail my fingers along the contours of her thighs and when I reach the black lace of her panties, I yank them down her smooth legs. Her body arches beneath me as she closes her legs together. “Don’t hide from me.” “You want more?” she whispers, her pants making the sound of her question so fucking sexy. “Give it to me,” I answer. “Resist me.” “Don’t tell me what to do.” Her small foot connects with my chest, sending me back. She scrambles, but I'm still faster. Grabbing her ankle, I pull her back and spread her legs. “Open for me.” “Fuck, this is so hot,” she says. Her pussy glistens with her arousal. She's a perfect student for this fucked up lesson in what I need from her right now. She reaches out to stroke my cock, and my head falls back as I let out a groan. She knows just how to drive me insane. Push me to the edge, and then pull me back from the fall. Removing her hand, I seek the refuge only she can offer me. A moment of reprieve where I don't need to think about the hell my life has been. The only thing that matters right now is making her come all over my tongue. Sliding down between her legs, I bite the inside of her thigh and then lap at her wetness as she cries out for more. My tongue dips inside her, and I fucking love the way she throws her legs over my shoulders, grinding her cunt against my face as my hands reach under to cup her ass. “Oh fuck, Houston don’t stop,” she wails. And, I don't plan on it. Circling her clit with my tongue, I draw a finger through her pussy, then slip it inside her, making her squirm even faster. Her fingernails deepen in my scalp as her body loses control, and the taste of her orgasm coats my tongue. As soon as her body calms, I rise. My cock is in my hands within a second, pumping roughly as she watches. “You make me so fucking hard, Marley,” I groan as her eyes watch my hand squeezing my dick. I lift her shirt and grab at her tits with my free hand. Her nipples pebble, and I clench my teeth. The moment my orgasm takes over my body, I slam my eyes shut. “Fuck, baby. I’m going to come all over you.”

“Do it,” she pleads. Scooting up higher, so my cock is positioned right above her tits, I gaze into her eyes. She bites her lip and it’s my undoing. My orgasm shoots through me, and I release myself all over her round tits. She moans, her hands smearing it over her nipples. So fucking hot. As soon as my orgasm fades, Marley smiles and I turn my head away. I can't look at her sweet smile. “Fuck,” I murmur, the guilt hitting me with a force so fierce I can't hide from it any longer. Tucking myself back into my pants, I get off the bed and walk out of the bedroom. “Houston?” Marley calls out, trailing behind me. As I move from her living room toward the front door, she grabs my arm. “Will you talk to me?” she pleads. “What was this?” “This was a huge mistake,” I say, slamming the door behind me.

13

MARLEY DELIRIUM-NOUN-WILD EXCITEMENT OR ECSTASY.

WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED? I plop down on the couch, letting out a sigh, and run my hands into my hair. This man has serious issues. You don't have to be a board-certified psychologist to figure that out. One minute he’s making me come, the next he’s slamming the door in my face. Actually, I may be the one with the issues. I'm letting it happen. Well, no more. This push and pull with him has gone on long enough. So, I decide to do what I should've done when he got here—I’m going to confront him. I dress quickly in yoga pants and a hoodie, throw on some sneakers and head out. When I reach the street, I find his address in the directory on my phone. Oh. Well this won't take long, he's right next door in the building next to mine. I cross the marble tiled lobby in his building and take the elevator to the second floor. When the doors slide open, I grip the handrail and let them close. And ride back down. I didn't say this would be easy to confront him. At least I’m making an effort, trying to be an adult about this. Which is more than I can say for him. The elevator doors open, and I close them and ride back up. Fuck. I ride back down. Maybe I’ll be an adult tomorrow. When the doors swoosh open, Houston stands before me. “What are you doing, Marley?” he asks, holding back a grin. “What are you doing in the lobby and not in your apartment?” He holds up a bunch of white envelopes. “Checking my mail. Now what are you doing, Marley?” All my courage evaporates when I step out. “What do you mean?” “Well, I’ve been watching you ride up and down the elevator for the last five minutes.” And then it happens. I get a full smile, and it’s dazzling. “You just used five muscles,” I whisper. “I didn’t think yours worked fully.” And then something else happens. He laughs. Well, more of a chuckle, but the transformation is stunning. I’ve never heard him laugh before. What is going on in that gorgeous head of his that keeps him closed off? Thinking back to our trip to Chicago, I remember his bad dream and the terrified look in his eyes. What demons is he hiding underneath his cold exterior? “They’re only rusty,” he says. “Why are you riding my elevator, Marley?” His voice lowers, “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

And then I give the most honest answer I can, “Not physically.” “Fuck, I’m sorry.” He looks up at the ceiling, briefly closing his eyes, then back at me. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of you. I was drinking and…” “Stop,” I cut him off. “No more excuses, ok? You need to tell me what you want from me, because this back and forth is getting on my last nerve.” He pushes the elevator button and ushers me inside when the doors open. “Let’s go to my apartment and talk in private.” “Ok, but just so you know,” I tell him on the short ride, “I’m not letting you escape this time.” The doors open. “Noted,” he says, leading me down the hallway to his apartment. When he lets me inside, I’m not surprised by what I see. His apartment is sterile, no warm decor or pictures lining the walls. It’s large and airy and spotless. He gestures to the leather sofa, dropping his mail in a square white box on the counter, and I shake my head. “Listen, I’m not sure what’s going on between us,” I pause, “but you said it was a mistake. And I didn’t like being referred to as a mistake.” He scrubs his hand across his jaw. Obviously, I’m making him uncomfortable with my directness but too bad. “Marley, I’m not going to beat around the bush. I’m not a conventional man, I can’t give you the things you want.” My eyes narrow on him. “And what is it you think I want?” “I don’t know. Dates? Girly stuff?” He shakes his head. “I’m your fucking professor, Marley. I can’t do those things with you.” “I know.” I look down at the oak floor and then back up to him. “I never said I wanted those things.” “Eventually you're going to want them.” His teeth rake across his bottom lip. “Somehow you've infiltrated my head.” He steps a little closer. “You drive me fucking insane with lust, but I can't offer you more than sex.” Lust. I'm in like. He's in lust. The middle ground there is heartbreak. “You mean like no-strings?” My stomach flips. I'm so not a no-strings type of girl. Not by any stretch of the imagination. Every sexual relationship I've had had enough strings to make a rope. He's right, I will want more eventually. That's how most girls work, unable to separate the act of fucking with making love. And then my brain does that funny thing where it scrambles to make this work anyways. It finds all the denial tools it can, grasping onto his offer. Well this would work, because I really don't have time for anything more. Maybe it's time to grow up and stop equating sex with love. Those spanks destress me. He's hot. He’s one of the smartest men in his field, and that’s sexy. His laugh was magical. Silence fills the room as we stare at each other. I turn to leave and give him my answer before I walk out, “I'll think about it.”

THE NEXT MORNING, I DO THE UNTHINKABLE. I SKIP CLASSES AND HEAD OFF DOWN THE BUSY STREETS OF Murray Hill. I haven’t ventured out much since I’ve moved here, and the nice weather makes me want to explore. Just being out in the city is exciting. A bookstore catches my eye, and I cross the street to head inside. The door jingles as I step over the threshold, and the smell of new books tickles my nose. “Hello, dear,” the older gray-haired store clerk says. Her smile is bright and infectious, and it makes me feel not so alone. “Hi,” I respond as I spot the romance section. Wow, so many abs. Rectus abdominus in anatomy terms. See, this is like being in class. One book catches my interest, and I pull it from the shelves. A young woman and older man with his shirt open, his abdominal muscles on full display. He even has a nice set of obliques. Total learning experience. Looking at him, my mind goes immediately to Houston. He’s a few years older than me, ok maybe quite a few. Thirty-two to my twenty-four. I read the blurb… I thought I could tame him. I was wrong. Like the mountain he lives on, he's wild and untamed. When he kidnaps me, I'll do whatever it takes to escape. One touch of her body and I had to have her. She can't escape me. She's mine. Oh my. I think back to Houston’s hands on my body. Do I want to keep letting him touch me? I really do. But, I like strings. They make me feel connected. And, I like Houston. A part of me wants to picture a normal relationship with him. The part that grew up believing in fairy tales. The part that wants more. But, he says he’s incapable of it. So, do I do it? I laugh a little as I glance at the cover of the book once more. I think I’m already too far in. At this point if Houston wants no-strings, then I will give him anything he wants. I just hope my heart can handle the repercussions. After purchasing Kidnapped By The Mountain Man, I leave the shop and wander the city well into the evening. My mind careens over my life. Am I happy with the way things are going? For the most part I am. I’m in one of the biggest cities in the world, achieving my goals, and trying my hardest not to fall for one of the most complicated men I’ve ever known.

14

HOUSTON

March 21st The more I’m around Marley the better I feel. I can’t offer her the world, but I can offer her a piece of my world. MY FEET MOVE to her apartment of their own volition. Not even remembering the walk over, I stand on her doorstep. She wasn't in class today, and I didn't like the thought she might not be back. She opens the door and takes my breath away. “What are you doing here?” she asks. “I'm here to help you decide.” “Ok,” she whispers. “I've decided. Yes.” “Marley, are you sure?” I need her to be positive. She nods as her tongue swipes at her bottom lip. She doesn't realize how seductive the action is. How it makes me want to suck her lip into my mouth. I hoist her up into my arms, her legs instinctively wrap around my waist, and I storm down the hallway. Flinging the door open, and then doing the same to Marley on the bed, I brace myself above her. Her legs spread for me to fit perfectly between and I shoot a low grin at her. “Houston? Should we be…” Placing my finger on her lips, I quiet her before she can continue. Her full lips curve into a smile as I lower myself to remove each shoe from her feet with precision and care, then move up to her skirt and slide it down her long legs. She’s sex and sweetness all rolled up into a nice little package, and I want to take my time to unwrap her. Once she’s completely naked, I step back and run a hand along my jaw before removing my clothes. She’s breathtaking. Which part of her do I want to touch first? Her lips? Her tits? Her fucking pussy? I want it all, like a stark raving lunatic loose from the confines of his own personal agony within his mind. I need the release. The bed dips under my weight as I lick a trail up her toned stomach. Her skin is like silk. “Fuck, you taste so good,” I say as I press her tits against my face. I suck along

her breasts and then pop one nipple into my hungry mouth, encasing it between my teeth. She cries out, and I lick away the sting. Her hips buck against me, and I sit up, stroking my cock just a bit, and stare down to take her all in. “You’re so beautiful,” I say as I position my body over her full tits, rubbing the head of my cock between them. Desire fills her eyes and she pushes them together, capturing my cock. Oh fuck. She leans her head forward to lick the tip as I pump between her breasts. My head falls back, my abs clenching from the effort it takes to not come all over her face. When my balls are heavy with need, I reach over and remove a condom from my jeans. “Houston, please.” No need to beg, this is for sure happening, and I smile as her eyes watch my dick as I roll the condom along it. “You want this?” I ask, motioning to my cock in my hands. Her tongue dashes out along her lower lip, slow, drawn out. So, fucking sexy. I press the head of my cock against her entrance and catch her doe-eyed expression, blindsided by everything they represent—innocence, beauty, intelligence, and a hint of feistiness I find irresistible. I fumble momentarily, entranced by the emotion in her eyes. This is just a fuck, nothing more, and I need to remember that. The moment that fact is completely embedded into my brain, I slam inside her as she moans. Fuuuuck. It's been so long, and she feels so good wrapped around me. Tight. Hot. “Oh God, Houston,” she cries as I relentlessly pick up momentum. Every thrust becomes more powerful than the last. She clings to me as I plunge deep into her pussy. If I could only fuck her hard enough, rough enough, maybe for one goddamn minute I could forget the past. I fist my hand into her chestnut hair. My rhythm picks up, my speed unmasked. I feel like a fucking beast on fire. She bucks beneath me as I fuck her mouth with my tongue. God, she tastes like cherries and cream. Thoughts of her being my student enter my mind, but the demons deep within chase them away immediately. “Damn, you’re so tight.” “Houston, I’m going to come.” “That’s right, baby. Come on my cock.” My own orgasm isn't far away, and I want to hold off a bit longer. I don't ever want to stop fucking this girl. Visions of her, tempting and teasing me every day in class, fire off in my mind as I slam inside her, nice and deep. Her body trembles as the first signs of her orgasm shakes her. Through hooded eyes, I lean back a bit to catch the curve of her lip as she moans. Her back arches off the bed, and her nails dig so deep into my back, I know she left marks. “Fuck, yeah.” I need it, my own personal vice to take away the pain of the past two years. “Houston, Oh God,” she wails, her eyes squeezing tight. “That’s right, baby, come all over me.”

The moment her tight little pussy clamps down around me, my own release shoots from me. I can't control it. Can't contain it any longer. Her orgasm causes my own to explode from me. When we both crash down together, we lie in bed. She wraps her arms around me, and my mind fills with the darkness that resides there. She hums a little sigh of satisfaction, and I try to relax. I kiss her head and then roll away to clean up. When I enter back into the bedroom, she’s fast asleep. I watch her for a long while, her chest rising and falling with each breath. Leaning against the doorframe, I cross my arms and wish I could give her what she deserves. A happy life. A man who can make her happy. That’s not me.

15

MARLEY HEURISTIC-ADJ-ENABLING A PERSON TO DISCOVER OR LEARN SOMETHING FOR THEMSELVES.

THE EMPTY SPOT in my bed doesn't surprise me when I wake up and stretch my sore body. This is what no strings means. Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined that Houston and I would have sex. Alright, maybe in my wildest dreams, but nothing I thought would actually happen. It was by far the most amazing sex I ever had. The way my body reacted to his touch, needy and greedy. The way he moved with such practice and knowledge. It was clear not only did he know what he was doing, but what he wanted. And he wanted me. And damn, it was fucking hot. After we had sex, my body felt more relaxed than I could remember, and I fell asleep. I don’t know how long Houston stayed, but with school this morning, I’m not shocked to see him missing. School. I jolt up, in a panic. “Oh fuck,” I whisper to myself. With everything that happened last night, I didn’t finish my Anatomy assignment. After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, and yes, spending a bit more time than normal on my hair and makeup, I decide the truth is best with Houston about why I didn't finish—I was fucking him. And it's not like this is an ordinary occurrence with me; I'm very studious. For the first time, I'm actually excited to get to Houston’s class. When I arrive at the Anatomy building, I rush into the classroom, hoping I’m the first so I can tell Houston without other ears around why I didn’t get my assignment done. What a relief the classroom is empty when I enter. Houston’s back is to me as he writes on the dry erase board. My nails scraped down that muscular back last night. I'm realizing Houston likes a bit of dark in his sex, and I was a little shocked at how much I like it too. “Good morning, Houston,” I say with a smile. He spins around, looking me up and down, before crossing his arms. Not really the reaction I expected. But, when does he ever give me what I expect. I close the distance between us. “I wasn’t able to get my assignment done last night, but I’ll have it to you first thing tomorrow.” I tuck a piece of hair behind my ear. “Don’t bother, it’s an F.” Seconds tick by as I let his comment sink in. “What? Obviously, you know why I

didn’t get it done, Houston,” I tell him in disbelief. “Professor Dale,” he reminds me. “I don’t know why you didn’t do it, Miss Murphy, and I honestly don’t give a shit. Take your seat,” he commands before looking down at the papers on his desk. Screw the fact he's now my ‘no strings’ lover or that's he's sexy or any of that. “I can not get an F,” I state. He looks up at me, and I see a flash of something in his eyes that disappears quickly. “Are you telling me what grade you get, Miss Murphy?” We are in the battle of all stares. “I'm telling you, due to unforeseen circumstances, my assignment wasn't completed. And I can not get an F.” He nods. “Yes, you're telling me.” He cocks a brow at me, driving his point home. “You need to understand, you get no special treatment inside this classroom. Why don't you reword your request before I spank your pretty ass?” Well he should've said that in the first place. “Professor Dale, would you be so kind as to allow me to give you my assignment tomorrow?” He smiles. Sort of. It's just enough to make my heart slam against the cage holding it back. “Good girl,” he says. The door opens, and our moment dissipates. “Take your seat.” After I settle in my seat, my phone vibrates. I fish it out of my bag and read the text. I think I'll spank you anyways tonight. THE PAST FEW WEEKS HAVE BEEN EXCITING AND FUN. YOU HEARD ME RIGHT, FUN. BEING WITH HOUSTON relieves all the stress built from medical school. During spring break, we spent most nights having wild sex by the moonlight. Now, being back to school, my mind is still on that break mentality. I need more Houston. This no-strings thing has really been a godsend, but there have been moments where I catch a glimpse of something from him. A caress after his orgasm, a look of longing during mine. Or maybe that's wishful thinking on my part. Shh, I promise I’m not developing feelings for the man. Sitting in the library, I go over my patient notes in a quiet corner. Papers line my table, and I highlight questions for a patient study I’m working on. The chair next to me slides across the wood floor, and I look up as Houston takes a seat. “What are you doing here?” I whisper. I've become hyper paranoid that our secret relationship is obvious. Realistically, I know it's not. We don't fuckernize in public. “Saw you sitting here,” he says, leaning in to look at my papers, “so, I thought I’d see how you’re getting along with the assignment I handed out.” I roll my eyes. “Well, you could have picked something easier. But, I think I’m almost done.” A few eyes glance to us, but no alarming stares are cast our way. I am his

assistant, after all, and we aren’t doing anything wrong. Houston leans back in his seat, a smile on his face. “Let me have ‘em.” I tilt my head. “What? My patient questions?” He gave us all a project to complete: design a comprehensive case study of a patient, and ask the patient questions to successfully diagnose. After spending my whole day in the library, my eyes are ready to turn cross-eyed. I smile, leaning over to whisper. “You really want me to ask you my questions?” “Sure, I’ll be patient X. Ask away.” He sits up, leaning closer to me. His voice is louder than a whisper, and my instinct is to shush him. “Shhh. Okay, I’ll ask you.” He cocks a brow. “Did you just shush me, again? You know how I feel about that, Miss Murphy.” I tap my textbook with the tip of my pen. “Yes, I know, but you really need a lesson in library etiquette.” Amusement crosses his face. “This is a whisper,” I tell him, lowering my voice. “This is not,” I say, my voice rising. A grin lights up his face. “Ok, ready?” He leans forward, getting closer to me than he should in public. “Ready,” he whispers. It sends shivers up my spine, and I shake them off as I grab the papers in front of me. “Question one: State your full name and date of birth.” “Skip those questions. Get to the good stuff.” He’s back to not whispering, and I glance around the library, but no one is really taking much notice of us tucked away back here. I blow out a breath. Reading the first question, my eyes go wide. I can’t ask him this. Fuck. “Um, do you have difficulty urinating?” My face heats bright red, I just know it. I can’t even look him in the eyes. He laughs, and the rich sound is something special. “No.” Focusing back on the pages in my hand, I clear my throat. Oh, my God, who wrote these questions. Oh, right I did. I should have really thought through them better. “Are you sexually active?” He smiles again. Speaking in a low voice, he says, “Yes, but only recently.” I clear my throat. My cheeks are on fire. “Do you have any difficulty,” fuck, how could I have written out these questions, “getting your penis to...um…” He cuts in, “Yes, Miss Murphy? Do I have any difficulty getting my dick to…” He’s mocking me. My mind goes blank. My eyes can’t even focus on the page in front of me. “Boner,” I blurt out. He laughs, then shushes me. “Oh Marley, you’re going to pay for that one.” “Erection was the word I meant, not boner.” This interview is a disaster. “I’m sorry, Professor.” He reaches his hand across the tiny table, and brushes my arm. “It’s fine. Any more questions?” I feel defeated. “No.” How can I read him anymore of these dreadful things.

“Diagnosis?” he asks. I smile. “Horny?” “Very. How would you go about treating that?” I lean closer, running the tip of my pencil along his arm. “I can show you tonight.” He growls, low and deep. “I’ll be waiting.” Releasing a breath, I smile. “Ok, I like that.” “Hi, Doctor Dale,” a student says as he walks by our table. Houston straightens his posture and pushes his chair back. “Very well, Miss Murphy. Carry on.” He winks to me as he walks away. Trying to push away the embarrassment, I continue on with my studies well into the night. I've not forgotten my lesson about no special treatment. And I would never expect any. Hours later, I’m awakened, my face lying in a pile of papers, by someone touching my arm. “Marley. Marley.” Houston’s voice sounds far away as he tries to get me to sit up. He packs my things into my bag while I stand and stretch. It’s late, and the library’s empty as he ushers me through the front door. “I can’t believe I fell asleep.” I’m tired, groggy, as he leads me to a waiting Uber. He opens the door, and I slide into the back seat. He walks around to the other side and nestles in next to me. “Here,” he says, spreading his arm across the back of the seat. I lean my head against his solid chest and close my eyes. “Marley?” Houston lifts me from the car, into his strong arms. He carries me into my building and into the elevator. I’m so exhausted I can barely register what’s going on. Since Houston and I made our agreement, my already full days and nights are bursting at the seams. Sleep is all I had left to sacrifice. He stands me by my door, and I lean my head on the cool concrete of the wall. He fishes out my keys, opening the lock and helps me inside. We’ve been together intimately a few times over the past weeks, but having him bring me to bed is something new. I almost want to ask him to stay. But, I won’t do that. He helps me into bed, kissing the top of my head after he pulls my shoes off. “Good night, Marley. Sleep well.”

16

HOUSTON

April 10th No strings is supposed to be easy. No strings. No feelings. Right? Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work? So, why am I feeling this way? MY DAYS ARE an endless onslaught of errands and menial busywork, leading me back to the one place I want to be. In the evening, I knock on Marley’s door. Her breath catches as she steps aside, letting me in. Her body calls to me, and I want to obey. I want to touch her in ways I never have before. I need this release. My pent-up emotions directly correlate to my body’s need for an orgasm. It’s as if my mind and dick are at war with one another. The pleasure I seek from her should be just that...pleasure. Nothing more. She’s pure and wholesome. And, there’s nothing I want more than to corrupt her, bend her to my will, and tutor her in the craft of satisfying me. I grab the back of her neck, my fingers digging into the base of her scalp as I claim her lips. She melts into me. Soft, sweet skin heats up under my coarse fingertips. Her shirt is over her head as soon as I break the kiss. “Houston, wait,” she moans, pushing me back against the wall. “Shh. Don’t speak,” I instruct her. I teach her. Our bodies move together to her bedroom. The curtains sway, leaking soft moonlight in. It fills the room, highlighting Marley’s body. The soft curves turn me on. Her striking green eyes, gazing at me like I’m the only man on Earth, make my heart heavy. I’m one step closer, one moment nearer to feeling everything. I push her back, and she falls to the bed under my touch. “Remove your clothes,” I whisper. Marley opens her mouth to speak, and I tsk her. “No, speaking tonight. Unless I tell you to.” She nods her head, understanding my simple request. She has an uncanny ability to know what I need from her. Her pants are removed while my fingers unbutton my white, pressed shirt. I let it fall to the floor.

The descent of my zipper teases her as it slides down before I remove my pants and boxers. Sprawled out on the bed, she plays with her tits at my request. “Help me forget everything,” I say on a whisper. She nods, her green eyes spearing me open with one glance. I turn my head, not wanting to meet them with my own. It’s too painful. I push any ounce of emotions aside. “Play with your pussy for me. Imagine it’s my tongue eating you up.” She does as told. A good little girl. An obedient one. I fist my throbbing cock, pumping up and down the shaft. Fuck, it feels good. I suck in a deep breath, releasing the tension plaguing me. “Tell me you’re ready for me to teach you, to instruct you.” “I’m ready for my lesson, Professor,” she coos, and my cock damn near explodes. “I’m going to show you the art of dirty talk. I want to make that pretty little mouth of yours filthy.” She stretches her body against the soft cotton sheets of her bed, twisting and turning as I watch her in her black lace panties and bra. Naughty girl. “I’m yours to teach.” She smiles, arching her back off the bed, the white sheets caressing her sweet body. “Lie down and tell me, using the filthiest word you can think of, how wet you are.” I step closer to the bed, my cock still in my hand, pumping slowly. I love the way she bites her bottom lip, her eyes roaming over my body, landing on my dick. “My cunt is slippery wet for you. I’m drenched.” “Good girl. Now spread your legs and show me. Use your fingers.” She does exactly as she's told. Her hand slips between her long legs, disappearing underneath the lace of her panties down to her sweet spot. “Houston,” she moans. “Keep calling me, Professor.” I arch a brow, gauging her reaction. “Professor,” she says in a whisper. Her fingers rub along her pussy as my hand on my cock picks up speed. “Good. Now tell me what you want in that sweet mouth of yours. Make it dirty.” I reach my finger up and tug on her bottom lip as I drown in her soft eyes. “I want your cock.” “You can do better than that.” I pinch her lip and release it between my fingers. “I want you to fuck my mouth with your cock.” I lean my head to the side, contemplating if her words are dirty enough to my liking. “Nastier,” I demand. She breathes in deep, her hand still working her tight pussy. “I want your thick cock to slam into my hot mouth and fuck it hard. I want you to come down my throat while you pull my hair.” I grin, leaning my head back, my eyes closed, thinking about doing just that. “You want me to come along your tongue?”

“Yes.” She removes her panties from her legs and tosses them to me. I catch them with my free hand, bringing the lace to my nose and inhaling her succulent scent. “Damn, baby, what else do you want?” She gets up to her knees, a wicked gleam in her eyes. Never have I wanted anyone more. “Professor,” she seduces me, “I’ve been a naughty student. I didn’t do the assignment you assigned. Punish me.” Hot damn. Who knew Marley Murphy, timid, shy, Marley Murphy, could say such filthy things to get me riled up. “Talk dirty to me, baby.” My cock is once again in hand as I rise from the bed, ready to act against her. Having her dirty mouth is just what I need tonight to not think. About anything. My life, my future, and definitely not my fucking past. I slip a condom on and line myself up with her needy pussy. “Baby, you want me?” I ask as I slam my cock deep inside her. Fast, punishing strokes consume me as I thrust with everything I have. I don’t stop, the feelings are too much. Her sweet pussy engulfs my cock, and my head spins. She moans and groans with every pound of my dick, making me reach my release that much quicker. “Do you like the feel of me deep inside you, spreading you open, making you come all over me?” “Yes, Professor,” she screams as her orgasm shakes her body against me. Fuck, she feels like she was made for me. I chase after her orgasm with my own release, closing my eyes and my mind to any thoughts of having her for the rest of my life. I can’t have those thoughts, even if I’m beginning to want it.

17

MARLEY DELIRIUM-NOUN-AN ACUTELY DISTURBED STATE OF MIND.

NO STRINGS ARE DEFINITELY NOT WORKING for me. Sex with him is amazing. The last few weeks since I agreed to this, I've tried everything to not fall deeper into like —keeping my eyes closed, doggy style, reverse cowgirl. Anything to keep from seeing the look in his eyes when he's in the throes of passion. Nothing works. I'm so deep in like, I'm drowning. Sex changes everything. There is no way to have that type of intimacy with someone and not develop feelings. Right? We’ve been very careful with our sneaking around. In class, we’re professional. Professor and student. Well for the most part. There have been times when I dropped something off at his desk and his fingers traced up my thigh in a promise of things to come. My first inkling the strings were attaching happened at the campus coffee shop two days ago. After a great night of sex, the next morning I stopped for a coffee and a chocolate croissant. Houston’s dark hair stood above the throng of people in line. Before I could sneak up and surprise him, maybe save some time and cut in line, I saw her. Caroline Parker, professor of Organic Chemistry. They stood engrossed in conversation, his dark eyes pinned on her, and jealousy sliced through me as I eased in line. It's not fair. He's allowed to fraternize with her in public, but not me. Whatever she was saying probably didn't call for the huge ass grin on her face or her perfectly manicured hand on his arm. At that moment, the first string shot out and attached itself to me. His eyes found mine in the crowd, and other than a sultry millimeter of a smile, I received no acknowledgement. None. You'd never know he spent the night before coming on my face. Which is fine. I get it. We’re “taboo.” “Forbidden.” And even if we weren't, he's been upfront about what he's capable of giving. They left as I stared straight ahead to avoid looking at her leaning too close to him, trying to create chemistry...organically. Another string shot out and looped itself around me when he gave my hand a slight brush with his pinky as they passed by. And the tightest of all strings wrapped around me when I got to the counter and the cashier pushed a caramel cappuccino and chocolate croissant to me, bought and paid for by Professor Dale. It made my heart pinch that he’d noticed I brought this in sometimes before working with him.

Tonight, he's coming over, and I've decided to throw something else into the mix besides our bodies. Pizza and a movie. It's very string like, but everyone needs to eat. I ordered plain so it doesn't look so alarming to him. Less toppings, less strings. Hands on hips, I survey the set up at the bar countertop that serves as my kitchen table. A large cheese pizza, wine, wine glasses, and real plates. Very very string like. I quickly stack the plates on top of each other and slide them back in the cabinet and pull out the paper plates instead. Perfect. I don’t have time to switch the wine glasses out, because there’s a quick rap on the door and he’s here. “Hey, you,” he says when I open the door. I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way he looks in jeans and a t-shirt. “Hey,” I say, smiling. “Don’t panic,” I tell him as he steps inside, “but I have pizza.” His eyes bounce to the countertop and he doesn’t look like he’s ready to run screaming, so that’s good. “Ah, you broke out the fine china,” he says, crossing to the countertop. “Only the best for you,” I tease him. We settle in, and he grabs a slice of pizza. “How are you liking school?” he asks. “It’s a lot of work, and sometimes I’m not sure if I’m cut out for it.” “Why do you think that?” He sips his Shiraz as his questioning eyes pin me with curiosity. “I don’t know really. I’m just worried I’m not cut out for psychiatry.” He scoots his stool closer. “When I first became a doctor, I was terrified.” My eyes widen. “I don’t believe it.” He cracks a smile. “Well, believe it. My first week, a gsw came rolling into the ER, and I froze.” I listen as he recounts the details of the gunshot wound victim. “He never made it, and I was so upset that I lost a patient,” he whispers. I lean my head to the side and reach my hand out to touch his. “I’m sorry.” His eyes soften. “It’s fine. But, I remember Dr. Charles Abernathy took me to the side and told me sometimes you win some and sometimes you lose some.” He shakes his head. “Wise man. You can’t save everyone.” He moves his hand from mine, shaking off my words. “Yeah, I guess not.” “I’m sorry, Houston.” “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Marley you’re a smart woman. I think you’ll go far.” Heat washes over me, and I smile. Two slices of pizza and a glass of wine later, we settle on the couch, and I feel comfortable enough to spring the other on him.

“Ever seen Gross Anatomy?” I ask. “Never heard of it.” I gasp, and he chuckles. “Of course, I have. I think every future doctor should see it.” “I knew I liked you for something other than your superior sex skills.” I smile as I put my feet up on the coffee table and lean back into the sofa. “I thought we could watch it.” That sounded very string like. I almost think he's going to say no, because he chews the corner of his lip sizing me up. Probably wondering where I keep the scissors so he can cut the strings and escape. “Well then, fire it up. It’s a must-see.” The movie starts and sometime during the middle, his hand makes its way to my hair, toying with it. That's the last thing I remember before I wake up with my head in Houston’s lap. He sleeps soundly, and I carefully push up from him to check the time. He stirs and his eyes open, dazed from sleep. “Shit, I didn't mean to fall asleep.” “Go back to sleep,” I tell him before I think about what I just offered. I can tell he’s uncertain what to do with me now, but I’m not an idiot. I know he wants to leave. This is how it always goes. “It’s ok, you can go home,” I say. “Fuck,” he whispers, scrubbing his face. I need to stop fooling myself that he will want more. He stands and heads for the door. “Thanks for a great night, Houston. Once again,” I say, a tinge of bitterness creeping into my voice. He stops at the door and turns to me, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know it might feel fucked up, but it’s best like this. No one can get hurt, right?” he asks. I’m not sure if he’s trying to convince me or himself. I nod my head, agreeing with him. “Yes.” Someone is already hurt. Me. It's my own fault. I want his love, and I can’t stop myself from it. All the pretending in the world won't make this only about sex for me. Houston’s phone chimes from the coffee table. “You forgot this,” I say picking it up from the coffee table. And I see the preview from someone named Jennifer: Call me. I want to see you.

18

HOUSTON

April 26th And so, it begins... “WHO’S JENNIFER?” All the balls I've been juggling come crashing down. “Excuse me?” She fidgets. “Who’s Jennifer?” she asks again, quieter this time. I run a hand through my hair. She holds my phone out, and I walk over and take it from her. “A message came through…” “And what? You think you have a right to know?” I lash out. “What? No. I was just…,” she fumbles for words. “How many no strings deals do you have?” God, damn it, tears fill her eyes. Please don't cry. “Houston, I can't do this anymore,” she says. “It's too hard.” “What because of a message?” Please don't do this. Can't you see I need you? “If I wanted to talk about her, I’d tell you. Don’t you trust me?” “Trust you? I don’t know anything about you. You won’t talk to me.” You won't like what I have to say. You won't have that look of I can do no wrong on your face anymore. “You’re ridiculous,” I tell her. She stands and her pinky wraps around mine. “Houston, talk to me, please.” “Talk to you? What you think you’re a psychiatrist now?” Freeing my hand, I stalk to the door. “You think you can fix me? Isn't that what it's always about? Fixing what's broken.” I open the door. “I’m incapable of love?” I could love you if things were different. I'm probably halfway there. “No one’s incapable of that,” she whispers. “I am.” I leave without another word, and head off in the opposite direction of my place. Somewhere I’ve always been able to think. A place I feel at home. The Langone Medical Center beckons me with the fluorescent lights shining within, and I step through the sliding doors. The emergency room is packed, but I glide on past the sickness and suffering to the second floor and wander the halls looking for the chapel.

When I step into the dark room, a priest sits in a pew upfront. I take a seat near him, and bow my head. I pray. But, like always, God doesn’t answer my prayers. He never does. Does he even hear me? “God works in mysterious ways,” the priest says to me. “Yeah. I guess.” “Someone you know sick?” His bald head shines in the candlelight, and I offer a tight smile in his direction. “Yeah, me.” “God will take care of you.” I want to tell him to shut the hell up, that he doesn’t know what he’s talking about, but I don’t. I nod instead. “Yeah, maybe he will.” “What do the doctors say is wrong with you?” he asks. “I’m the doctor, and I say I’m slowly dying.” “Aren’t we all, son.” I laugh off his words. I’m not sick; actually, I’ve never been healthier. Which, right now is a shame. It’s been two years. Two long years of wishing for death. A death which has never come. He works in mysterious ways? And, all I can think is what did I ever do to him? They say doctors have the worst God complex, and maybe at one point in my life I did, too. Now, I spend every day knowing damn well, I’m no God at all. “AND HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL,” MY THERAPIST, DR. GAIL FLANIGAN, ASKS. “It makes me feel frustrated.” I told her about Jennifer calling and about my parent’s nonstop pestering about my life. “Ah, maybe you should see what she wants. It may be good for you.” I glance around her office. I’ve been coming here for almost two years. A plea my mother made and I finally relented. Gail tries to get me to face my issues, but I’ve never wanted to deal with it. My reasoning? Maybe if I didn’t, it would just go away. It was Gail who suggested I teach instead of practice medicine. An idea I have come to appreciate. I wouldn’t do any good trying to save lives if I have no desire to save my own. “Tell me about the girl? Any more interactions with her?” I lean back in the chair. Everyone thinks you lie on a comfy leather sofa when in therapy, but no, I sit on a yellow pleather chair next to a window I constantly glance out. Gail has no idea Marley is a student. She would never have been able to tell anyone, and I would trust her not to, but it’s still something personal I don’t want to divulge. For Marley’s privacy. “I think that’s over.” “Why do you say that?” Her black hair is pulled back tight and it reminds me of

Jennifer’s. “I fucked things up. I don’t know. I just don’t want to get too involved.” “I think that’s smart. You have come a long way, Houston. I’m proud of you, but you still have a long way to go.” A long way to go. Maybe I don’t want to reach that destination. Maybe I just want to continue down this desert my life has become. Travel down the dusty roads in my mind and lose myself in the forgotten plains of everything. Gail thinks she can fix me. Marley thinks it too. But, maybe I don’t need to be fixed. Maybe this is my life now. “Yeah, maybe,” I say to her, rubbing my hand along my stubbled jaw. “Houston, I want you to think about calling Jennifer.” I nod. “Ok.” I watch the clock waiting for the session to end. Every second feels like an eternity, and I beg the universe to hurry up with it already. Gail notices my discomfort and smiles. “We can end early today. I think you have a lot to think about.” I stand, stretching my long legs. “Thanks.” April 26th I didn't sleep at all last night. Memories flooded me. I don't have Marley anymore. I miss her. April 27th How long can someone go without sleep? I know the answer to this. I'm a doctor after all. Two-hundred and sixty-four hours. The nightmares are relentless. I saw Marley sizing me up in class. I wanted to beg her to help me make it go away. But nothing can. April 28th And so, the day is here.

19

MARLEY VIA DOLOROSA-NOUN-A DISTRESSING OR PAINFUL JOURNEY OR PROCESS.

I’M SO MAD. It’s like fighting fire with fire. Houston is fine when he doesn’t have to open up about anything personal. Maybe he’s right, maybe he can’t love. Maybe he can’t give me what I want. But, oh how I want it with him. I want it so bad. But I can't keep wishing for things that will never happen. Why wouldn't he say who she was? But, technically, what right did I have to ask? No strings means being free from answering to anyone. Free from emotions. I’m not supposed to care. And I do. So, it's best to end it. The cold night lingers on, and I grab my Anatomy book to do a little studying before class tomorrow. My phone pings with an incoming text, and I pull it out of my bag. Professor Dale: Can you stop by and pick up the tests for tomorrow’s class and teach it for me? As his assistant, it’s not unheard of to teach a class or two. But, he has never asked. His control over everything usually has him there every morning. Something isn’t right. He's been off ever since we cut the strings. I throw my hair into a ponytail and change into a pair of skinny jeans with a long purple sweater. Racing down the front steps of my apartment building, I worry myself with what I’ll be met with once I enter Houston’s home. I rap my knuckles on the wooden door. After a few minutes, there's no answer. Nerves take over my system as I wait. I knock a bit louder this time. Still nothing. Reaching out, I twist the knob. It's unlocked. Should I enter? Yes, he could be hurt. When I step inside, the blinds are drawn, casting shadows. “Houston?” I call out. Nothing. A cloud of dust motes drift around a candle flickering in the distance. I inch closer. On the floor, between the couch and coffee table, sits Houston. Scattered along the wood are papers and pictures. A half-empty bottle of bourbon sits atop picture after picture of things I can’t

make out yet. “Houston?” His bloodshot eyes gaze up to me, and in his hand, he clutches a plush blue teddy bear. “Go away.” His gravelly voice cracks on the last word. Like hell I’m leaving. This man is everything to me. I won't walk away. He reeks of bourbon and despair when I lower myself to sit next to him. “Houston, talk to me, please,” I coax him. “Take the lesson plans and get the fuck out.” No way I'm getting out. His words don't phase me, clearly, they come from a place of hurt and pain. I scoot closer. My heart thumps as I slide my eyes to the pictures strewn all over the table. A young boy with dark hair and eyes the same as Houston smiles back from a picture. My eyes zero in on him. My shaky fingers grip the film, and I pull it closer. Oh, God. I grab another picture and another, frantically trying to connect the pieces of Houston’s past. A happy family in one. Another with the same child on Houston’s shoulders. Another of the little boy with a birthday cake and a dark-haired woman kissing his cheek. Picture after picture telling the tale of Houston’s life. “Jennifer,” he whispers. “I’m sorry.” “That’s Jennifer in that picture right there. She’s my ex-wife.” He points to the photo in my hand. “Oh.” I gaze at the picture, seeing the woman and her child. She has short dark hair and it’s apparent she’s happy. “Do you know what it’s like?” I release the breath trapped inside me. “What what’s like?” I ask, gently. “Losing a piece of you.” A tear trickles down my cheek. “Is this your son?” He nods with a grunt. My heart breaks at the painful half sob that escapes him. “What happened to him?” I ask, terrified of the answer. He clutches the teddy bear as his eyes well up. “He’s dead.” With that admission, he jumps to his feet almost tumbling over in the process. His drunken state does not help him walk as he stumbles down the hallway. I set the pictures back down and race after him. “Houston?” Fuck. He lost a child. Before I stepped through his door, I wanted more than anything for him to open up to me. Now, I’m not sure I can handle the truth. He stops, turning around in a hurry. His eyes are on fire, and the tears streaming out do nothing to put out the flames. “What? Is this what you want Marley? You want the truth. You want me to open up to you? To bear my soul to you?” The hatred in his voice rocks my bones, shaking them in his wake. He clutches onto my shoulders. My tears match his as I shake my head back and forth. He drops to his knees, his arms wrapping around my legs, the anger turning to

sorrow. He weeps, and I lower myself to the floor. My fingers run through his thick hair, consoling him, as he cries harder. Then, my arms wrap around him, rocking him against my chest. We stay like this for a while. Neither of us letting go of the other. He holds me so hard, and it makes me cling tighter. His sobs wreck me, and my tears follow. I don’t know the whole story of his son, but right now I don’t dare ask. I just hold him. And listen to my heart break alongside his already broken one.

20

HOUSTON

May 28th 2015 It’s been a month since Nathan died. Dr. Flanigan says keeping a journal will help. I doubt it. Life without Nathan has become unbearable. Jennifer won’t even look at me anymore. She blames me. I blame me. It was my fault. Chicago holds no purpose for me anymore. Nothing does. May 30th 2015 Jennifer tried to kill herself last night and went to live with her mother. She needs help. I kind of guess we both do. I’m supposed to be the strong one. The one who holds the family together. But, we’re not a family anymore. I decided I’m moving back to New York. How can I be a doctor when I can’t even save my own son? MARLEY HOLDS me as I break down. A complete loser who can’t keep his shit together. Two years ago, today, Nathan was taken from me. My tears have subsided. I don’t know how long we’ve been on the floor, nor do I care. I’d stay here forever if it took the pain away. But, it doesn’t. Nothing does. Nothing ever fucking takes the pain away. The guilt. The sorrow. The gut-ripping sensation of losing a child. They say a parent should never have to outlive their own child. I never truly understood that until Nathan died. “Marley.” I lean my head back to gaze into her soft, green eyes. She doesn’t speak, and I appreciate her silence. My mind is all messed up. I can’t form the words to tell her my story. But, I want to tell her. I want her to know me. I wipe away the tears. “I’m ready to tell you.” Again, she doesn’t speak, she just keeps her arms around me. “Can you imagine loving someone more than yourself? Loving someone to the point if you were both hungry, you’d be sure their belly was full. Loving someone to the point if the ground was on fire, you’d carry them through it.” The tears threaten to fall and she stares at me with no judgement. “Loving someone so

much, that if you could, you would gladly give your life for theirs.” “No,” she whispers, honestly. “He was my baby. My pride and joy. My life changed the moment he was born. I was given a mission to protect him at all costs.” I cling tighter to her. “And, I failed him.” She pats my back, running her nails against the cotton of my shirt. Stuff any woman who loves a man would do. I scoff at the notion. She could never love me. No one could. A man who does not protect the ones he loves is no man at all. “How?” she asks, jarring me from my misery. I sit up a little and scoot out of her arms. The wall holds me up as I run my fingers through my hair. “I was running late. I was so focused on work. Being a doctor is hard work. That morning my alarm clock didn’t go off. It was my turn to take Nathan to school. Jennifer had a meeting at the high school where she taught. We fought in the kitchen over who would take him.” Marley moves closer to me and leans her back against the wall. “And then what happened?” My eyes meet hers briefly. “We fucked up. I asked Jen to have the neighbor take Nathan to school. I kissed him goodbye and rushed out the door.” I shake my head, the memories of the mornings events getting the best of me. She wraps her tiny fingers around my arm, supporting me to go on. “I was at work for half an hour before he was wheeled in. You see, I worked in the ER department. It was like any other morning. Just a typical day, only it wasn’t.” My eyes close, remembering the nurses telling me a child involved in a car crash had been brought in. I thought nothing of it. Opening the door, seeing his red Spiderman t-shirt first. Thinking my son has the same shirt. Seeing his dark hair as I stepped closer. Realizing it was my son on the gurney. The events that followed are still foggy in my mind as I try to recount them to Marley. She listens quietly as I try to piece together how I wasn’t able to save my son’s life. How I broke the glass in the waiting room as I tried to find a quiet place to process everything. How his tiny, limp body looked as I held him for the last time. So, peaceful. I didn’t cry after he died. I was furious. Anger consumed every part of me. As I explain this to Marley, her eyes never waver from mine. She accepts my story and offers her hand as I continue on well into the night. After I tell her the tragic death, I recount his life. How he was born two days early. How I held him for hours on end, never wanting to put him down at night. How when I would read him his nighttime stories, I’d linger in his room until I was sure he was sleeping. And, then, I’d watch him sleep a while longer. I tell Marley all the plans I had for my son. How I wanted to be a father like mine. Teach him to drive a car, tie a tie, maybe even teach medicine. Basically, teach him to be the best man he could be.

Marley listens as I go over every boo-boo, every detail of his favorite things, every funny story of his terrible twos. “Nathan died two years ago, today. And he died a few days before his sixth birthday.” The tears have all dried up, but as I glance to Marley, she has fresh ones. I pull her close to me and wipe my finger over her cheek, catching the tears that have fallen. “Houston, I’m so sorry.” Her glassy-green eyes gaze at me with pity. I can’t bear to see the pain in them and feel the same pain mirrored in my heart. I grab her face, my fingers digging into her soft skin and ravage her lips. I taste her sweetness and beg her to take the pain away with my tongue over her lips. I need this. All the tears I’ve shed over the past two years has broken me to a point I don’t know if I can ever be whole again. But, every time Marley holds me close, her moans escaping into my mouth, she pieces me back together. My heart beats. My blood pumps. My cock hardens. I continue the kiss as I move her further down the hallway. I never let go of her as I lower her to my bed. In this moment, she knows me. And I want her to know all of me. Everything. Every messy detail. And I want to know her. “You’re the only thing that has helped me forget.” I take her clothes off as slowly as I can, savoring every bit of her alluring body. The curves of her skin, the lines of her gorgeous face, even the way her hair flows like the ocean against the white of the sheets. Everything about her is perfect. I slide my hand up to her full breasts, pulling and tugging on her hardened nipples. She moans to let me know she loves my touch. I growl to let her know how turned on I am. It’s a song and dance while I touch and she feels. We move our bodies together, syncing perfectly. I fit myself inside her. She takes every inch of me as our eyes never lose contact. I’m falling for her. Hard. And, there’s no stopping the descent. I wouldn’t even want to if I could. I move in rhythm with her, our bodies colliding into each other. Her tits press against me, making me seek my release. I grip my hand in her hair as her nails cling to me, never wanting to let go. “Marley, I don’t ever want this to stop.” Tears lay on the edge of her eyelids, threatening to fall at any moment. I pull her closer as I sink my length deeper inside her. I sweep my lips along hers, demanding she open her mouth for me. She does, and I take a moment to hover myself against her, breathing into one another, giving life back to one another. We come together, wrapped up in each other’s arms.

Ragged breaths. Beating hearts. I brush the tear that escaped down her cheek and plant my lips to hers. “Thank you,” I whisper. She moves from the bed and smiles as she slips her clothes on. Before she walks out, she turns to me, “Houston, maybe you shouldn’t try to forget. Maybe you need to remember.”

21

MARLEY SUADADE-NOUN-A FEELING OF MISSING SOMEONE.

I OPEN my puffy eyes the next morning, exhausted from all the crying. What courage it must have taken for Houston to open up to me. I want to hold him, help him. I left his apartment late last night, wanting to give him space after he bore his soul to me. The cheerful sunlight pouring into my room does nothing to lighten my mood. How could it? With the idea of being there for him fresh in my mind, I get dressed and call Houston to check on him. No answer. I go over to his place before school, but he isn’t there. My phone pings with a text. Professor Dale: I won’t be back. Me: Where are you going? For how long? Professor Dale: Forget me. And, just like that the idea fades. “MARLEY, I'M SURE HE’LL CALL EVENTUALLY,” LEXI SAYS, BEFORE TAKING A SIP OF WINE. SHE ARRIVED this morning for a quick weekend visit. It's a “let me make sure you're ok’ visit disguised as a ‘Surprise. I'm coming to visit because there are some things in New York I need to buy.’ Hanging with Lexi always cheers me up, so I'm glad she's here. She’s the yin to my yang. I spilled my guts to her as we dined over pizza and wine. A nice Pinot Grigio, King Estate, Houston’s favorite, which sours my mood as my mind drifts to him. I scoot off the barstool, grabbing our plates. “Maybe,” I say. “I’m not sure.” It’s been days since I found out the truth about Houston. He found someone to take over his class, and we were informed he would not be returning this semester. I’ve literally stalked his apartment, wondering if he’d return. I’ve called him a few times with no answer. It’s as if he’s vanished, right out of thin air. “The school didn't say when he would be back, nothing?” Lexi asks while I rinse our plates and then place them in the dishwasher. “No. I’m worried,” I tell her, moving to the couch.

She sits beside me. “Come here.” Her arms wrap around me, a cocoon of comfort. “I just don’t know what to do,” I say, pulling away. “Listen, he needs to deal with it on his own terms,” Lexi says, wiping a tear from my cheek. “You can't fix this, Marley.” I sigh, slumping back into the couch. “You might be right.” I look over at her. “But, I want to be there for him.” “Aww, I know you do, sweetie.” After I'm all talked out, we throw in some chick flicks and drown our sorrows in a tub of ice cream. Why does ice cream always make me feel better? After a while, she drifts off to sleep and my mind won’t shut off from Houston. My days have turned into an onslaught of homework and me feeling sorry for myself. I feel guilty for feeling sorry for myself. There's nothing I can do to make this better, except be there for him. But he won't let me. And I get he needs to work through this, so how can I be mad at him for disappearing? What kind of selfish person would I be? I'm human though, and I want to know he's ok. Is he sleeping? Is he crying? That hurts my heart the most. I care about him. Deeply. His loss explains so many things about him, his need for control and the way he's closed himself off. His incessant hatred for tardiness. Now I can't help but wonder if he used me as a tool to help him forget. And that's when you know you're in deep, I don't even care if he did, because if it took away a little bit of his pain for the short time he was with me, then I'd do it over and over again. THE NEXT DAY, LEXI AND I HIT THE STREETS OF NEW YORK, SIGHTSEEING. EMPIRE STATE BUILDING. Statue of Liberty. Times Square. All of it. We end up in Chinatown, perusing all the handbags. “Oh, my God, there’s so much of everything I want here,” Lexi says. She bounces from vendor to vendor, running her hand over the different fabrics and textures. The crisp spring air chills my bones as I try to feign happiness. There’s still a sinking feeling in my gut. Why won't he call? When our arms are loaded with Lexi’s purchases, we head back. “Marley, I want to say how proud I am of you. Look at everything you’ve accomplished,” she gushes on the walk back to my apartment. I roll my eyes, smiling at her praise. “Yeah, big accomplishment. I’ve slept with my professor.” Lexi stops and people filter around us. “Marley, you can't choose who your heart wants.” I want the sidewalk to open up and swallow me whole. “I'm a real winner, huh?” She hooks her arm through mine and starts walking. “Listen to your big sister. Don't think like that,” she chastises me. “If you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.”

I laugh. “You didn't just say that.” She smiles. “Don't make me sing it,” she says. “Seriously, you live in one of the greatest cities in the world. You've learned the subway system, and you haven't been mugged. You’re in med school, and you’ve fallen in love. Yes, love sucks, but apparently, it’s supposed to be grand.” “Grand? Are you high?” I laugh as she smiles. She swats my arm. “Just high on that gorgeous purse I bought. No, I’m excited for you. Just think of all the free therapy I'll get from you. And, don’t fret over Houston. When he’s ready he’ll come back. You’re an amazing girl,” she says, navigating through the crowd of people. I narrow my eyes to hers. “Ok, what have you done with my sister?” She bumps me with her hip. “I’m serious.” Her smile cheers me up, slightly. And only slightly. “Let's not go back yet. I've got more shit to buy.” We walk the streets of New York, shopping, laughing, and eating. I’ve missed my sister. We grab a hot dog from the stand, and Lexi makes jokes of its phallic resemblance. “Want to see a show on Broadway or something fancy bitches do?” Lexi asks. I laugh. “Yeah, sure. Let’s go walk around Central Park.” Later in the evening, when Lexi is passed out from walking around the city and overstuffing her face with hot dogs, I glance to Houston’s apartment across the alley. No lights. No life. The window is etched in my mind as my last memory of him.

22

HOUSTON

April 29th Maybe I don’t need to forget, maybe I need to remember. And, that’s what I strive to do. LEAVING MARLEY WAS HARD. Watching the teardrops race down the window of the path train as I head to my parent’s house in Princeton, I press my head against the glass closing my eyes to think about my life. My so-called life. The life I stopped living once Nathan was taken from us. I’d like to say Jennifer handled his death better than me, but she traveled along this same dark road of despair. I wished for death. After Nathan died, I begged for it. They say when you die that your life flashes before your eyes. But, what if all of this is the quick flash and I’m already dying? And if it is, then this is the slowest crawl toward death.

AS THE TRAIN PULLS INTO THE PRINCETON STOP, I TAKE A DEEP BREATH. I called my sister to pick me up, and as I walk out of the station she waits, resting against her silver Mercedes. “Hey, Katy, what’s up?” I say, striding over to her. “I should be asking you that big brother. You don’t look so hot.” She smiles, her brown eyes sparkling. Her arms wrap around me. “I’m actually doing better than I have in a really long time.” She gives me another squeeze before releasing me. We drive down US-1 to the home I grew up in. We don’t speak. There's no need. She understands me more than most. A comfortable silence, and everything is spoken between us. She knows I’m trying. Damn, I want to live a normal life where I don’t think about Nathan every second of every day. I miss everything about him. And, I’ll never forget him. Yet,

sometimes, I need a break from the memory of him. She parks the car in the long, cobblestone driveway. Glancing to the colonialstyle home in front of me, I wipe my palms on my jeans. It’s now or never. Katy opens the door, and my parent’s stand near the entrance. The smell of hydrangeas tickle my nose. The foyer is filled with fading flowers in memory of yesterday. The anniversary of Nathan’s death. They lost him too, and sometimes I'm so buried by my own suffering, I forget theirs. My father steps forward, and I whisper, “I’m sorry.” “You’re forgiven, son.” He wraps his strong arms around me, pulling me closer to him. For two years, anytime anyone mentioned my son, I would snap. Pushing my family away became my specialty. Once my father and I were closer than ever; we had a relationship I always wanted to have with Nathan. My father’s forgiveness means everything, and as he holds me tight against his chest, I weep. My father weeps too, and next to me, mom and sister cry as well. I lift my head and spread my arms to encase them in the hug. A good family cry. And, it’s exactly what we need. After a while, my mother herds us into the kitchen. She makes dinner while playing soft music on the radio. “Houston, will Jennifer be there?” my father asks, his eyes holding concern. “I hope so.” And for the first time since Jennifer and I divorced, I want to see her. We eat dinner, and it feels like old times. After, my father pulls me aside. “He’ll always be your son. You don’t need to forget him. There is no right way to grieve. And, I’m proud of you, son. You’ve been through more than I could ever handle.” “Thanks, Dad,” I say, hugging him again. “Nathan adored you. You were his shining star, but your light dimmed. I don’t think he’d want that for you.” “Yeah.” I rub my hand along the back of my neck. “You need to find your light again.” “I want that too,” I tell him. I stay the night at my parent’s house, and the next morning Katy takes me to the Newark Airport. BOARDING THE PLANE TO O’HARE, MY CHEST BURNS WITH ANTICIPATION. JENNIFER AND I MADE A PACT TO visit Nathan’s grave every year on his birthday. Last year I never showed up. When I make it to Chicago, spring is in the air, but you can’t tell by the chill in my bones. Leaves crumple under the harsh pounding of my footsteps, each one

bringing me closer and closer to my destination. With my hand, I push the wrought iron gate and step through the grass. The cloudy sky sheds its sadness over me as I wander the cemetery on this gloomy afternoon. My hands are deep within the pockets of my leather jacket as I head toward his grave. Melancholy entrenches me. It consumes me because it knows it owns me. I glance around, looking for the marble headstone I know is just a few feet away. When I see it, I drop to my knees. It’s as if this cemetery knows me. Watches me cry. I glance to the headstone, the one with Nathan’s legacy. A tear falls, I swipe it away as I say a quiet prayer. The reverence makes my breath catch. The serenity makes my eyes water. A light mist falls from the sky, threatening to open up into a downpour, but it doesn’t phase me. “Happy Birthday, buddy.” A tear drops. “Nathan, I love you. I miss you every day. I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry.” I crumble, my breath coming out in pants. It never gets any easier. As time goes by the memory never fades. Maybe it never will. “Hi,” I hear her voice say. She steps next to where I sit, and places a Hot Wheels toy car on his headstone. “Hey, Jen.” She kneels beside me, her familiar perfume wafting through the air. It brings back all the memories of what I once had. “How are you? I wasn't sure if you were going to show up.” It’s awkward between us, and I’m sure she feels it too. “Yeah, I'm sorry. It was just too hard last year. Things are getting better, though.” I run my hand over his headstone, still unable to look at her. “That’s good. Houston, I’m getting married.” Her words don’t shock me. I turn to face her, laying my eyes on her for the first time in a long time. Her hair has grown longer, and she appears happier. Her eyes still hold a deep sadness which mirrors mine. One that I don’t think will ever fade. “Is he a good guy?” “Yes. His name’s Stuart. He’s helped me a lot.” I smile. “That’s good.” I take a deep breath. “I should have taken him.” “What?” “That morning, I should have driven Nathan to school myself.” My shoulders slump as I gaze back to his tombstone. Jennifer grabs my arm, directing my attention back on her. “No, you can’t do that. You can’t blame yourself.” “It’s my fault.” Another tear falls. “It’s no one’s fault. For a long time, I blamed myself. I blamed everyone. He was my baby boy, Houston. And there isn’t a moment that goes by that I don’t miss him.” She sobs into her hands, and then lifts her tear-stained cheeks. “I was his mommy.”

I wrap my arms around her, pulling her close. “It sucks.” She pulls out of my embrace and wipes her nose. “It really does,” she pauses a moment before continuing, “I called you because I have some things of Nathan’s I found and thought you might want.” “Ok.” We sit in silence a while longer, letting the afternoon clouds roll by as we both silently pray to our little boy. As we walk back toward the parking lot, a red-haired man with a beard rests against a silver sedan. He smiles when he sees Jennifer, and she rushes into his waiting arms. A cool breeze sweeps in as they both direct their attention on me. “You must be Houston,” the man says. “I’m Stuart.” His smile is warm, friendly. He extends his hand as his eyes meet mine. He passes the handshake test. A solid hand shake while staring the person in the eyes is very admirable. “Hey, nice meeting you.” I shake his hand. Jennifer whispers to him to pop the trunk of the car. The way they gaze into each other’s eyes is heartfelt. It makes me want it. Want that happiness. I want it with Marley. I want to experience life with her. To remember what it’s like to be free from guilt and pain. My therapist said one day, when I’m ready, I would move on. It would be a slow process, but I would want to discover life again. I think I’m there. Stuart kisses her cheek before reaching inside the car to release the trunk. She calls me over and pulls out a box, placing it in my arms. I glance inside and tears well up. We say our goodbyes against a vibrant orange and pink sunset in the distance. A soft breeze follows me as I slide into the cab to head back to the hotel. I hold the box tight, waiting until I get there to see all the treasures hidden within. As I step through the doors, I place the box on the bed and pull out the baseball glove first. So, small. Memories of little league practices and me coaching him through his first game wash over me. I grab his baseball cap out of the box next, a tiny red hat, and I cling it to my chest. I miss him, so much. So damn much. I drop to the bed, my shoulders slumping as I pull the box closer. Noticing a blue piece of construction paper at the bottom of the box, my fingers grip the edge and I hold it up. It’s a letter from Nathan, something I never saw before. I read it. I laugh, then cry. Scribbled on the paper in black and purple crayons is the sentence: My daddy is the best dad in the whole world. My daddy loves me and I love him. My son knew I loved him. I clutch the note tighter to my chest and smile.

23

MARLEY RESUSCITATE-VERB-TO MAKE SOMETHING ACTIVE OR VIGOROUS AGAIN.

ANOTHER WEEK GOES by and then another, and the idea of ever seeing Houston again fades with each passing moment. After Lexi left, I threw myself into my coursework, stopping only to sleep. But, sleep isn’t an easy task when you miss someone. On my way to class one mundane morning, I take my normal route via the subway. The mindless chatter and hustle and bustle of travelers blocks out my thoughts. The walk to campus is the same as every day, robotic. When I reach the door to the Anatomy building, my breath catches. He's back. My heart cracks when he steps closer, and I see his eyes. A twinkle of hope lies in the depths of his dark orbs. His hands hide in his pockets, and a small smile paints his face. I want to run my fingers through his hair which has grown a few inches in the past weeks. “Houston,” I breathe. “Hello, Marley. I know you need to get to class.” He has an air of vulnerability about him, as if he’s out of his element. “I just wanted to ask you something.” I have so many questions for him. But I don't ask. Instead I listen. “Go ahead.” My ears prepare for whatever it is he could possibly want from me. He shuffles on his feet, his hand reaching around to rub at the back of his neck. “I know I have no right to ask, and I know I always said I never wanted dates. But, will you come over tonight? I have something important I want to show you.” My response is immediate, “Of course I will.” I want to hug him. To kiss him. But, he walks away. Later in the evening, with my nerves on high alert, I venture to his apartment. I dress in a little black dress, with my red heels and silver hoop earrings. The gloss on my lips is smooth when I press my lips together out of nervousness. He lets me in, and a smile is plastered on his face. He looks happier, lighter. It stays in place as I enter into his well-lit apartment. It’s so different than any other time I’ve been here. I glance around and see photos of Nathan lining his fireplace mantle. I step over, running my fingers along the silver frame. “This is a great picture,” I say, admiring the photo of Nathan on a horse.

“He was three, he was so scared to get on that horse. I remember holding him close, telling him everything would be ok.” He gets a bit teary-eyed, but holds his composure together. I’m proud of him for not shutting down. I step over to another photo and see two more on a shelf near his kitchen. “These are great, Houston.” “I want to remember everything. Every single detail of every day of his short life.” I hug him. I hug him with everything I have. He fills me in on where he's been the last few weeks, and I'm glad he and Jennifer are coming back to life. “I think it’s great,” I say, a small smile playing at my lips. “You look happier.” “Marley, I haven’t been happy for a long time.” He steps closer. “But, I want to be. I'm trying.” He reaches for me and leans in, dropping his forehead to mine. “I want to try to be happy with you.” My lips meet his in a passionate kiss, tongues twirling together. I lean back. “I want that too.” He cocks a brow, smiling a boyish grin. “Besides, someone needs to make sure you stay in line.” I smile, sheepishly. “Oh, is that right? And what happens if I don’t?” “Spankings. Lots and lots of spankings.” He pulls me closer to his strong chest. “Marley, one thing I’ve learned is life is short. I want to make the best out of every day, and I want you to be there with me.” He doesn't have to ask me twice.

EPILOGUE HOUSTON

TO SAY the past year has been easy with Marley would be a lie. But, I strive every day to be strong for her, for me. I returned to medicine, my one true calling. Working at the Langone Medical Center in New York has been a dream come true. Some days are still hard. Some days I want to curl in a ball and never wake up, but Marley is always there helping me to be better. She’s a natural in her studies and works hard day in and day out to succeed. Her beauty, her strength, and her heart are a few of the things I admire most about her. Who knew she’d be the one to heal my soul. Who knew my soul was even worth saving? I love her. It was an easy decision to be with her. One I had no problem admitting when I finally came around. My therapist has noticed a significant improvement in my life, and now I only see her every other month. I still write in my journal daily. And there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t celebrate the life of my son, Nathan. WE PULL UP TO THE CEMETERY, AND I GRAB MARLEY’S HAND. WITH A DEEP BREATH, WE PUSH PAST THE iron gates and head toward Nathan’s plot. Jennifer and Stuart sit side-by-side at his grave. A line of Hot Wheel toy cars sit atop his headstone. We say our hellos, and I introduce Marley to them. We kneel in the plush grass and, I notice Jennifer’s belly. “How far along are you?” I ask. “Seven months. It’s scary,” Jennifer says with a smile on her face, rubbing her hand over her protruding belly. Stuart places his arm on her back, running his fingers up and down, and Marley squeezes my hand. “I think it’s great.” I drop Marley’s hand and lean in to hug Jennifer as a fresh

tear escapes me. The sun hangs high in the sky as the leaves on the nearby trees rustle in the wind. Such a serene place for my son to rest until we can all meet again. A while later, after Jennifer and Stuart have left, Marley hugs me and says she’ll wait for me by the rental car. A moment alone with my son, and I pull out the note he wrote me before he died. I clutch it in my hands as I gaze at his grave. “Happy birthday, buddy. I miss you so much.” I walk away knowing that I was an idiot for ever trying to forget him. No, his memory will never fade. As I see Marley leaning against the car, my heart beats faster. I wrap her in a hug, and kiss the top of her head. “Thank you for coming into my life when I needed you the most.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you for reading Study Me. This book was a challenge for me to write, but I enjoyed it and hope you did as well. One message I want to stress with this book is to hug the ones you hold dear every day. Love the people you do every day, and don’t ever let an opportunity to let them know how you feel pass you by. I have many people to thank for helping with this book. First, Paula Dawn, thank you so much for all your help and guidance in bringing this story to life. Your tireless efforts are much appreciated, and you deserve all the praise in the world for this book. Obi Wan, thank you for all your help in creating a perfect backdrop to bring these characters to a new dimension. To my personal assistant, Donna Marie, thank you for keeping me on track and put together. You’re a pleasure to work with and I have loved every moment. I appreciate all you do to help spread the word of my works. To Jessica Green, thank you for just being you. You’re a great friend and I appreciate your madness AND your words of wisdom. Thank you. To my fabulous street team, you ladies are amazing. I appreciate all your hard work and efforts. To Judi Perkins with Concierge Literary Designs for your friendship and your help on a great cover for the Sex Me Novellas. To everyone who picked up this book and loved it please leave a review. Thank you so much. I have quite a few places you can stalk me at: FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS | INSTAGRAM You can also come hang out with me in my reader’s group: Logan Chance's Dark Side OTHER BOOKS BY LOGAN CHANCE

LIKE A BOSS | LOVE A BOSS | DATE ME BOOKS COMING SOON SAVE ME | BREAK ME Also, check out Behind the Making of Study Me releasing March 20th. Deleted scenes, behind the characters and bonus scenes. ALSO, included will be the first chapter of Save Me. Available soon on Amazon

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Logan Chance enjoys the simple things in life. Star Wars, music, and pretty girls. Always in trouble at school, he was made to copy the dictionary while the others played. This began his word fascination. With a love of words, he then realized he loved stringing those same words together to create stories to inspire all. From Boston, and relocated to Florida, he lives out his days writing, reading, and avoiding the beach. Not afraid to tell it how it is, Logan is definitely a man of his own.