Kissing Tolstoy (Dear Professor Book 1) Page 12

  I gasped, then asked with forced lightness, “Oh? Really? You think you’ll like this area of my body?”

  “I do,” he said, looking wolfish. “But I meant your words, how you speak. This is why you are Natasha to me.”

  As he said this, his lips lowered to the bared skin of my chest. Branding me, he bit and licked a cherishing path, causing me to buck instinctively, even as he moaned his appreciation.

  The back of my head hit the door. Hard. I barely noticed, instead arching my back, offering more of myself.

  But Luca lifted his head, tilting his chin backward to evade me as I chased his mouth, and pinned me with the hunger in his gaze. Saying nothing, he scrutinized me, as though greedy for my response. Each of my labored breaths flattened my exposed breasts to his chest.

  “And this is why you’re Andrei,” I panted, allowing my frustration to bleed into the words, “you can take me, you can have your Natasha. But you hesitate.”

  Luca’s eyes narrowed as he trailed his hand upwards from where he cupped me, his palm pressing against my lower belly, and then slipped his hand into the waistband of my underwear, sliding his middle finger against my sensitive center.

  A light tremor passed through him, his eyes flickering, half blinking, and he ground his teeth. I whimpered, my hips tilting, offering more of myself, even as my knees were in danger of buckling.

  Maybe he sensed my weakness, or maybe he had his own agenda, but in the next moment he released my wrists, lifted my thighs, and picked me up. He turned, carrying me, and again conquered my mouth.

  Luca placed my bottom on his desk, the slide of his tongue attentive, drawing my bottom lip between his teeth. His kisses turned rich and succulent, deliberate and relishing, as though he were consciously forcing himself to be mindful.

  While distracting me with the sensuality of his lips and tongue, he divested me of my shirt and bra. His strong fingers hooked into my panties and he tugged, encouraging me to lift my backside, guiding them down my legs as he caressed light circles on the back of my knees and calves, sending jolts of deliciousness racing to my center.

  But he made no move to remove my skirt, preferring instead to lift it, bunching the fabric around my waist.

  Separating his mouth from mine, he trailed his gaze over my bare skin, his eyes now hooded, a dark indigo.

  It was then, in that moment, as he devoured my body with his eyes, that I experienced the first hint of self-consciousness. And with self-consciousness came the sobriety of doubt.

  Oh my God, oh my God, what the hell are we doing? We’re in his office!

  Abruptly, his eyes cut back to mine, as though he sensed the shift in me. Maybe he did sense it. Maybe my breathing gave me away, or the sudden fear causing my heart to stutter and then gallop.

  I swallowed, barely resisting the urge to cover myself with my hands. “Luca?”

  He shook his head, cupping my face and bringing my lips to his. Our mouths mated and again I melted, giving myself over to this new wave of yearning, heedless to anything that hovered beyond the periphery of right now.

  Luca stepped between my thighs, widening them, and grabbed my backside. He brought me to the edge of the desk, my legs dangling.

  I reached for his zipper, my knuckles pressing against the hard length of him, sending sensation ripe with anticipation singing through my veins.

  But then he caught my wrists and he lifted his head.

  And then he knelt on the floor.

  And then his hands were on my knees.

  And then he leaned forward.

  And then he kissed me. And licked me. And moaned.

  All the air left my lungs with a whoosh. I couldn’t catch my breath. My hands on the desk found no purchase. Uncontainable sounds—of arousal and surprise—tumbled from my lips. I was so confused by what was happening. Elated and confused, and maybe a little scared.

  My alarm only served to heighten the sensations caused by the skillfulness of his lips and teeth and tongue. Again his kisses grew rich and succulent.

  Mindless words spilled out of me as I threaded my fingers into his hair. Maybe I begged, perhaps I pleaded. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this feeling.

  My thoughtless words of praise served only to encourage and invigorate him, and when he slipped two long fingers into me, I fell back on his desk, and pushed the base of my palms into my eyes. My mind and body splintered into a thousand perfect pieces of anguished bliss as I came with embarrassing swiftness.

  I hadn’t quite recovered when he removed his mouth from my body. I couldn’t yet move in any meaningful way and I was still chasing my breath.

  But I did peek at him from between my fingers.

  I watched as he kissed the inside of my thigh, closed my legs, and placed another gentle kiss on my belly. He stood, his hands sliding from my knees to my hips. I saw him lick his lips, like he was tasting me there, and had to fight a shock of new arousal. His attention was on my skirt as he reached for the hem and covered me.

  His eyes flickered over my form once, still hot and covetous, and then he turned away, giving me his back.

  I removed my hands from my face, propping myself up on one elbow and covering my breasts with an arm. I watched his shoulders rise and fall. His head moved to the right and to the left, as though he was searching for something. Then he bent and retrieved the object.

  Or rather, objects. He’d picked up my bra and shirt.

  His gaze returned to my body and he set my clothes on the desk next to me. He paused, taking an expansive breath as his eyes again trailed over my form. As though just making up his mind about something, he bent, pushing my arms from my chest and lavishing my breasts with hungry, biting kisses.

  “Luca—”

  “I could do this all day.” He murmured against my skin, his fingertips sliding beneath the hem of my skirt and up my thigh once more.

  Unable to speak, I grabbed handfuls of his shirt and tugged, wanting it off. Wanting his bare skin against mine.

  And that’s when he stopped, shifting his body such that his face was buried under my jaw. He gathered another expansive breath, held it, wrapping his arms around me, and exhaled my name against my neck, sending pinpricks of shivering sensation racing along my bare skin.

  “Let’s eat,” he said, sounding regretful, pulling away.

  “You just ate!” I blurted before I could catch the joke, digging my nails into the fabric covering his biceps to keep him in place.

  A rumbly chuckle met my ears and I shivered again. I’d never heard him laugh before. He had an amazing laugh.

  Lifting himself, he gazed down at me, his palms on either side of my head, braced against his desk.

  “I want to know you, Anna,” he whispered, placing his hand on my bare shoulder. He traced the soft skin of my collarbone and neck as his eyes moved between mine. “Let me know you.”

  Part 17

  ** ANNA **

  I wanted a shower.

  As much as I’d like to be that girl who provides her guy an all-you-can-eat buffet downtown and doesn’t bat an eyelash about hoisting up her panties and running errands afterward, I was not that girl.

  Being fuzzy headed, floaty and loose after our sexcapades did not negate the need for a hose-down. Plus UTI’s are no joke. If I wanted him to eat at my buffet again in the near future—and I did—then the place needed to be spic and span.

  Now, I had to bring up the topic. Gracefully.

  …

  …

  …

  Try not to laugh yourself into apoplexy.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I glanced at Luca, finding him glaring at me with suspicion. We were walking to my car. Or at least, I was walking to my car. He was walking next to me as we were about to go grab a bite to eat and presumably get to know each other better.

  “Nothing.” My voice was too high.

  He released a frustrated breath, gritting his teeth. I could see he didn’t believe me and was likely jumping to t
he wrong conclusions.

  “I’m really, really good.” I placed a hand on his arm, stopping him so he’d look at me.

  “This is why Andrei didn’t touch Natasha,” he murmured bitterly, then lifted his hardened voice to address me. “It was too soon and you’re regretting it.”

  “It wasn’t too soon.” I flexed my fingers on his arm.

  “Then tell me what’s wrong.”

  “Nothing is wrong.”

  “Sure. Okay.” He gave his head a subtle shake, the dimming of his eyes communicating volumes more than his words.

  “Dammit, Luca.” I grabbed his other arm, frowning at him severely before lifting to my toes and whispering harshly in his ear, “I need a shower, okay? Are you satisfied? I was trying to figure out how to bring it up. And I didn’t want to be unsophisticated about it and say, I need a shower because it’s good hygiene after oral stimulation of the vulva and clitoris.”

  Luca’s body tensed, a short sound of surprise—maybe also humor—erupted from his chest, and his broad palms pressed against my lower back, holding me in place.

  “So you see,” I continued, “rather than discuss or make comparisons between the microbe content in human saliva versus—I don’t know—a dog, I thought I’d try to gracefully suggest we go back to my place to change.” I leaned away to catch his eyes, but not very far because he continued to press my body against his.

  The side of his mouth was curved in an appreciative but small smile and his eyes were once again bright, almost merry. All semblance of his earlier frustration now absent.

  “Don’t change,” he said, his gaze drifting over my forehead, nose, and lips.

  “But I need to change.” I grimaced. “Like I said, I need a shower.”

  “That’s not what I meant. We’ll go to my place, I’ll order in, you take a shower. Change your clothes, fine. But,” his eyes met mine and they looked distinctly hazy, “don’t change yourself. Never try to be other than you are. You are perfection, just as you are.”

  My eyes widened and my grimace morphed into something else, something plagued with worry. “Perfection is a lot of pressure. I can’t live up to perfect. Not even in mathematical terms.”

  “Mathematical terms?”

  “Like a perfect number. When the sum of its divisors—except the number itself—equals the given number.”

  His smile grew, though his brow furrowed. “You lost me. Math has never been a strength.”

  “Ah!” I shifted out of his grip, turning towards my car. “Are you telling me you can’t math?”

  Luca caught my hand before I moved too far away, entwining our fingers together as we walked side-by-side. The gesture made my breath quicken, my step falter, and my heart do wonderful, achy things. Perhaps even more wonderful than when his mouth had devoured my body.

  “No. I can’t math.”

  “Don’t worry, gorgeous. You still have your looks. And you’re well spoken.” I tried to maintain a serious expression but lost it when I spied his narrowed glare.

  He laughed at me and I laughed with abandon. Though my laughter was tinged with hysteria because, and I know this was odd, I’d never held hands with another person before, not even past boyfriends. It just never came up. Funny how such a simple, affectionate display could twist me into such devastating and beautiful knots.

  I sensed Luca study me again. “Still thinking about the shower?” he guessed, likely picking up on my odd change in breathing.

  I shook my head, deciding to answer with complete honesty this time. “No. I was just thinking how nice your hand feels.” I swallowed, forcing myself to meet his gaze, finishing softly, “How nice it feels in my hand.”

  An immediate grin split his features, which he quickly attempted to subdue, clearing his throat. “See? Was that so hard?”

  “What?” I asked breathlessly, still feeling winded by the sensation of his masculine fingers sliding against mine.

  Luca wrapped his arm around me and kissed my temple. He bent, nuzzling and whispering against my ear, “Being you.”

  I drove my rust bucket, following Luca on his motorcycle and enjoying every moment of the drive, especially when we hit two red lights and he was forced to straddle his bike.

  You straddle that bike, professor. You straddle it so hard.

  Heh. Good times.

  My ex-professor lived in a small two-bedroom house near the university, in one of the oldest areas of the city. The sidewalks were lined with giant, sloping trees and several of the houses had stained glass windows facing the streets.

  He explained, as we walked to his door, that his house used to be an outbuilding for the much larger, grander mansion on the next street over. But that the property had been divided over time so that more houses could be built and a neighborhood could develop.

  Despite being small, his home was exceptionally and tastefully decorated. The interior screamed sophisticated man-cave. You know, of the sipping cognac, classical music, and a smoking jacket variety. Basically, the room used by the host for Masterpiece Theatre (not theater, theatre).

  Worn leather sofa, ancient looking Kashmir rug, dark wood trim against white walls, antique furniture, and inset bookcases added to the overall ambiance of cozy elegance. Additionally, and oddly, the front room had a fireplace the size of a walk-in closet.

  “Nice fireplace,” I said automatically, unable to miss the massive, redbrick chimney, the hearth as tall as I was. It spanned nearly the entire wall. In fact, several of me could fit inside it.

  “Yeah, it’s unusual for a fireplace in America, I know. My sister—who’s the expert on these kinds of things—says this building might have been the servant’s kitchen. That fireplace was used to cook meals for hundreds of people. There’s another fireplace in the back of the house, much smaller.”

  I lifted an eyebrow at a bookcase to the left but still within the hearth, my gaze also snagging on the wall to my left which was inlayed with shelves from floor to ceiling, and each of those shelves was laden with hundreds of books.

  “That’s a lot of books.” I tried not to salivate, though my fingers itched to touch them, pet their spines and smell their pages.

  “It is,” he agreed evenly.

  I didn’t have to look at Luca to know he was smile-smirking.

  “I love you,” I murmured distractedly.

  “Pardon?”

  “Shh,” I waved Luca off without looking at him, “I was talking to the books. Maybe you could give us a moment?”

  A rumbly chuckle met my ears, followed by a sigh. I heard his footsteps approach just before his hands slid around my middle, and he placed a lingering kiss on the sensitive skin beneath my ear.

  His hot breath spilled over my neck as he said, “Sure. I’ll go get you a towel for your shower. Try not to molest my books while I’m gone.”

  “I make no promises.”

  I knew he was still grinning as he left and that made me grin, even enraptured as I was by the ancient tomes before me.

  Apparently, Luca owned every version of every piece of notable Russian literature ever written. In multiple languages. Beautiful leather spines in burgundy, navy, and forest green called to me, the gold leaf lettering glittering in the late afternoon sun filtering through stained glass windows.

  To me the room had the picturesque aura of what I imagined an old church or a monastery would possess, the quiet sacredness, the tranquil purity. How I would love to spend evenings curled up on the inviting sofa by a small fire, tucked under one his wool blankets, reading Chekhov or Pushkin. Or maybe Luca would read them to me in the original Russian.

  No.

  That was a bad idea.

  It was very likely I would trade sexual favors for Luca reading to me in Russian. And I’d enjoy every minute of it.

  “What are you in the mood for?” Luca’s voice reached me from wherever he was, presumably looking for a towel.

  “Poetry and fellatio,” I said under my breath, tracing my finger over the spine of Pus
hkin’s collected poetry.

  “I didn’t catch that.” Luca appeared in the doorway to my left.

  I released a pained sigh, turning to him. “I really like your books.”

  “Thank you.” He gave me a secretive smile, which widened the longer he studied my expression, which was likely wistful. “Let me show you where the shower is.”

  He turned, motioning for me to follow, which I did, somehow not surprised to find he’d placed—or someone had placed—a bookshelf along the wall and close to the ceiling. And there again, in the bathroom, I was met with more books.

  “This is the guest bathroom,” he explained, shoving his hands in his pockets as he lingered outside the door.

  “I see.” I took a moment to read several of the spines, all contemporary fiction, before turning to face him. “Thank you. I’ll try to be quick.”

  “Take your time.” He nodded tightly, his eyes moving quickly down and then up my body as he swallowed. “Do you have a taste for anything?”

  I considered him and his question, a traitorous your abdominal muscles, biceps, and thighs springing to my mind, but I knew he meant actual food. Not man food.

  Not. Man. Food.

  “I’ll eat anything,” I said on a rush, feeling a slow, creeping blush spreading upwards to claim my cheeks. Gripping the edge of the door, I pushed it forward, forcing him to take a step back. “And I promise I’ll be fast.”

  Behind the closed door, I released a heavy sigh and stripped. I was grateful to be alone so I could collect my thoughts and hormones, grateful for the shower for obvious reasons, also grateful I’d held myself in check and hadn’t (yet) thrown myself at Luca and his big . . . library.

  “You are completely insane.”

  “Because I make an argument for counter-enlightenment?” Luca’s elbow rested on the back of the sofa and he was biting the tip of his thumb, his wolfish stare twinkling at me, as though he was enjoying my display of temper.

  “Because you misrepresent nihilism as counter-enlightenment and are only doing so because you are attempting to irritate me.”

  Luca grinned, his eyes growing hooded as they dropped to my lips. “Are you irritated?”