This month’s prompt made me think entirely too much of the weather that’s been plaguing us of late. Houston has been hit with several days of rain, causing disastrous flooding around the city. So, rather than write something dark like I tend to do with images like this, I decided to write something more fun. And it just happens to fit with the book I started writing on Friday, so that helps…
Beep! Beep! Beep!
I reach for my cellphone on the nightstand, slapping blindly for the sparkly pink iPhone amidst the clutter of random shit. Except, I don’t knock anything to the ground, and that awful beeping doesn’t sound a thing like my alarm.
I bolt upright, sending blankets flying.
Where the fuck am I?
I take in the dark green comforter pooled around my thighs, the giant TV attached to the wall just above the dresser at the foot of the bed, the paintings I’d never seen before…definitely a man’s bedroom.
Flashes of the night before come back to me as I find the source of the beeping and shut off the alarm. The bar. Talking to Professor Frazier over drinks. Flirting with him. The shared Uber ride home. Oh, God. The sex. So much sex. So much really good sex.
I push a hand through my hair, wondering where the hell he’d disappeared to. Pulling up the sheets to cover my—oh my God, naked—breasts, I peer around the room, trying to uncover some clue as to where he could’ve gone. What I assume is the bathroom door stands slightly ajar, and if I know nothing else about Professor Frazier…Mark…he’s nothing if not appropriately behaved.
Until you get him alone. In his bedroom. Then, all bets are off.
The door to the bedroom is wide open, giving me a view down the hall into the living area. The gray light coming through the windows doesn’t provide much visibility. The storms that channel 2 have been predicting for the last three days must have actually rolled through. Score one for the weatherman. Unfortunately, that means it’s going to rain heavily, and Houston tends to flood when someone so much as spits on the ground.
Climbing out of bed, I begin to hunt for the clothes I vaguely remember Mark peeling off me the night before. When I hear a key being inserted into the lock at the front door, I freeze in place. All I’ve managed to gather are my socks, and those don’t do much to cover anything.
I think about diving for the bed to hide under the blankets, but if memory serves me, there isn’t much he hadn’t seen. Touched. Tasted. A shiver runs through my body at the images floating through my mind. Heat floods my core, and my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.
Should I get back in bed? Finish finding my clothes?
The front door opens and closes, bringing a flash of lightning and the sound of rushing wind with it. It’s definitely storming outside, and judging from the sound, it isn’t going away any time soon. I need to check the news to see if there’s a way I can get home–and out of this house–without drowning.
Deciding it’s better for him to find me still in bed rather than standing in the middle of his bedroom, clutching a pair of socks like a lifeline, I dive for the bed and fling the covers back over me. I can hear him setting something down on what I assume is the kitchen counter before the sound of his soft footfalls on the carpet alert me to his approach.
I want to look like one of those women on TV, who wake up with perfect hair and makeup. Who probably don’t have morning breath that taste of sour vodka and pizza. Who, in all likelihood, probably don’t have sore muscles from vigorous sex the night before. Which I definitely do. And oh, God, it’s a delicious ache.
Mark appears in the doorway, his feet bare and wearing low-slung jeans, a rain spattered t-shirt bearing his alma mater, his hair adorably ruffled and dripping, two coffees clutched in his hands. Is his hair still messed up from my fingers the night before? Or had the wind done that? I prefer to think he still bears the mark of my hands on him, but with the weather as bad as it was, the latter is more likely.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes sliding over me lying there in his bed. The heat in his gaze makes me shift, squeezing my legs together in an attempt to relieve some of the pressure his presence inspires.
I chew on my bottom lip before speaking. “Morning.”
“Good morning,” he says, almost shyly.
Is this really the same man who told me just last night, in graphic detail, all the delicious things he wanted to do to my body? Morning After Mark is almost as adorable as Professor Frazier. And I want to eat him up.
Walking to the side of the bed, he places the coffee cups on the nightstand and sits next to me. “You’re beautiful first thing in the morning. I wish I would’ve been here to see you when you first opened your eyes.” Reaching over, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear before tracing the outline of my bottom lip with his thumb.
My stomach clenches as a wave of desire slams into me. “I would’ve liked that.”
He leans closer to me, his lips hovering inches from mine. “Me too. But I know how much you like your coffee, and I didn’t have any. I wanted your morning to start off on the right foot.”
Professor Frazier—Mark has paid that close attention to me? I feel my heart leap in my chest when he closes the distance between us and takes my mouth in a possessive kiss. My hands fly to his chest, clutching the material of his shirt and bringing his body closer to mine as his fingers tangle in my hair.
All thoughts of the day’s plans go out the window when he yanks off his shirt, shoves his jeans off, and he grabs a condom from the nightstand drawer.
After, when he lies down next to me, he gathers me in his arms and holds me close. The minutes stretch into an hour, and soon we’re both beginning to doze. We’re both sweat slicked and sticky, but at this very moment there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.
Except I know that class starts in a few hours, and I still have to get back to my apartment and clean up. I need to leave now, or I’ll be as late as he usually is.
As I start to slide out of bed, he grabs my hand. “Where are you going?”
My eyes dart to the open bedroom door, into the living room where I’m certain most of my clothes are, and back at him. “I really need to go shower. Class starts soon…”
I don’t say that I need to distance myself from him, from this, because the class I’m going to be walking into soon happens to be his. It’s not a good idea for us to do this again, even with as fun as it was. There’s too big a risk—to his career, to my education—to continue this little tryst.
Mark pulls me closer to him. “It’s storming outside. So bad, I could barely see in front of me to get breakfast.” One hand covers my breast as the other grips the side of my hips and aligns my body to his. “We’re not going anywhere today, baby.”
I let out an ungraceful “Oomph” when he rolls us over so I’m straddling him. He shouldn’t be ready again. It’s too soon after the last time, but I can feel him as he begins to harden against me, and I can’t help myself when I begin gently grinding my core against him.
This is wrong on so many levels, but I don’t care. I’ve wanted this man for far too long, and now that I have him—even if it’s temporary—I don’t want to let go.
I reach into the nightstand I saw him get the condom from earlier and pull another packet from the box. It takes no time at all for me to roll it onto his length and sink onto him in one move.
The theme song to the old Batman TV show sounds from the other side of the bed and he groans.
“Something important?” I ask, slowing the pace of my hips until I’m barely moving, grinding on his cock while he’s still buried inside me.
It’s probably not fair, but when he grabs my thighs and pushes further into me, I don’t think he minds so much.
“My TA. I should answer that, but goddamn you feel so fucking good. So tight and hot and wet. You wanted this as much as I did, didn’t you? For as long as I did?”
The phone stops ringing as my affirmative reply turns into a long, low moan when he leans forward to capture my nipple in his mouth. His hands move along my sides, stroking sensitive skin that turns to gooseflesh in the wake of his naughty, talented fingers.
“Answer the goddamn phone,” I groan when it starts ringing again. “Tell him you’re busy being ridden into oblivion by your favorite honor student and to leave you alone so you can fuck me properly.”
A wicked grin crosses his face, and I think he’s tempted to say just that as he grabs the annoying phone from the other side of the bed. “What?” He growls into the mouthpiece, biting his bottom lip to presumably stop himself from moaning when I grind my hips just so.
I can hear the tinny voice of his teaching assistant asking about today’s classes.
“Have you seen outside, Ryan? It’s flooding. Class is canceled today.” His eyes nearly roll back in his head when I lean back, allowing his cock to sink deeper into me. “Tomorrow, too.”
Later, after he’s taken care of the mess we’ve made and we’re lying in each other’s arms listening to the sounds of the storm as it rages outside, I can’t help but wonder if this would’ve happened if not for the weather trapping us together.
Thank God for rainy days.
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Bronwyn || Jessica