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He sits up abruptly, his hair askew, eyes flaring wide as recognition seems to occur. “Summer!”
“Xander?” I whisper.
“What are you doing?” He scoots back on the bed, putting space between us.
“What am I doing?” I mimic, feeling like a parrot. I can feel my face coloring in embarrassment at his rejection. “What are you doing? You’re the one who was wrapped around me when I woke up!”
His gaze darts around the room as if the answer lies somewhere in the periphery, then back to me. “I’m sorry.” He stutters, shoving himself up and off the bed, his arousal still apparent. “I couldn’t get comfortable on the couch, so I came in here to sleep.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Just sleep.” He reiterates. “I didn’t mean for that—” He waves a hand over the bed where I’m sitting, “to happen. My body was on auto-pilot.”
I frown. “Why are you fighting this so hard? It’s not like we haven’t already slept together? The rules have already been broken. You obviously want me as much as I want you.” I dare to nod to his swollen length, still bulging under his jeans.
“You know why.” His tone firm. “You are my student now. You weren’t then.”
“I’m a god damn adult. Then and now.” I retort. “Not a child in high school, or even college. This is graduate school. I think at this point we’re mature enough to understand consent and all that it implies.”
He’s silent for what feels like forever. “It’s against the University’s policy for a professor to sleep with a student, no matter their age.”
“So?” I shrug, challenging him. “You’re suddenly the prince of morality?” I scoff. “We both know better.”
He lets out a growl, an actual growl, his head falling back onto his shoulders. “Do you think this is easy for me?” His deep blue gaze locks onto mine, desperation in his voice. “I’m trying to do the right thing here, Summer.” He shakes his head. “And believe me, it doesn’t happen often, but you deserve more than me.”
“Why don’t you let me decide who and what I deserve?” I chide. “The only thing wrong here is the fact that you continue to treat me like a child.” My hands clench into fists. “Like a little girl.” I remind him of his favorite nickname for me, my mouth in a grimace.
“You are most definitely not a little girl.” He grumbles.
“Then stop treating me like one.” I plead.
“Summer, what exactly is it that you want from me?” He paces a few steps closer to the bed. “Sex or a relationship? Because, I don’t do relationships. I haven’t in a very long time.”
“I assumed sex was the only option.” I state, doing my very best to look him straight in the eye with all the fake confidence I can muster.
“And therein lies the problem.” He scoffs, shaking his head, pacing again. “You aren’t the kind of girl to have casual sex, Summer. Especially with the likes of someone like me.” He chuffs again for good measure. “No matter what you may try to make yourself believe.”
“I believe I’m perfectly capable of having sex without a relationship.” I defend.
His nostrils flare, one side of his mouth curling into a feral grin. He prowls around the end of the bed, his eyes gleaming and dark as he stares at me, stopping when he’s directly beside me. He leans down, his hands landing on each side of me, his arms caging me in, his face an inch from mine. I rear back until my head hits the pillow, a small gasp of shock escaping me. He looms over me, staring at me with an intensity that has me fidgeting beneath him, the heat from his body radiating.
“Is this what you want?” He taunts, closing the last inch between us, using his teeth to nip my bottom lip, his tongue swiping over the sting. I whimper in delight. His eyes dart to mine, as I nod my consent.
“Say it.” He demands. “Tell me you want me to fuck you.”
I inhale a sharp breath, then stammer out my plea, feeling like a beggar. “I, I want you to have sex with me.”
He shakes his head, eyes hardening as he pushes away from me. “You can’t even say the word fuck, let alone handle me doing it to you.” He stares down at me, blinking twice, his mouth set in a firm line. “Get dressed. You need to eat something.”
“But—” I protest, but he puts a hand up.
“Enough.” He turns and storms out of the room. “Enough for now, Summer.”
I stare dumbfounded as the door slams shut behind him. At a loss, I do as instructed and get dressed, pulling on the leggings I was wearing last night, but leave his t-shirt on. It’s comfy and it smells like him. I check my reflection in the mirror hanging on a far wall, trying to tame my hair, staring at the bruise on my cheek. I need a hair tie, but of course, without my bag, I have nothing. I guess I should consider myself lucky that I at least still have my phone, and only this bruise. It could have been so much worse.
I realize I need to pee, so creep out of the bedroom as quietly as I can and tip-toe to the bathroom. I can smell food cooking, and my stomach grumbles in response. I hate that he was right. Again. I am starving and need food. I go to the bathroom, do my best to cleanup with the brush and soap I find in a drawer, and then venture to the kitchen.
He pauses when he sees me, his gaze sweeping down my body, one corner of his mouth crooking down as his nostrils flare.
“What did I do now?” I glower back at him.
He shakes his head. “Nothing. Come sit.” He motions to one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
