Page 39 of Lessons in Touch

He makes me feel so desired, so cherished. Slowly, he leans in, giving me time to savor him.

Our lips meet, soft and tentative at first. This kiss is filled with all the longing we’ve held back. I feel whole, and nothing else matters but this moment. His hands cup my face, gently but firmly, and I taste him as if he’s a luxurious dessert. The kiss becomes more urgent. Our tongues touch warmly, in a slow, dangerous dance. I’m lost in him, and I know it.

He pulls back, but rests his forehead against mine.

“I’ll send you a note, Rose. To schedule our next… lesson,” he says.

“I can’t wait… Professor,” I tease him.

He kisses my lips lightly one more time, not to say goodbye, but to assure me that this is real.

I watch him grab his phone and walk away from me. I linger in the corridor for a moment longer because I feel like I could fly with happiness at any moment. After he disappears around a corner, I walk back to my dorm as well.

The taste of his kiss is still on my lips.

Is there anything sweeter in this world?

Chapter 14

Gabriel

The Egyptian wing of the Met hums with excited voices as my students scatter among the displays. I stand near the entrance, clipboard in hand, playing the role of the dutiful professor. But my attention keeps drifting to one figure weaving through the crowd.

Rose stands before a limestone relief of the goddess Isis. Her head is slightly tilted, eyes fixed on something beyond the stone itself. She’s fully absorbed. Her fingers hover just above the glass, as if tempted to trace the ancient hieroglyphs—but she holds back.

"Professor Thorn, what's the significance of this piece?" Cassandra's voice interrupts my observations.

She is standing near a golden sarcophagus, and clearly expects my full attention.

I walk over there, giving her the explanation she wants about Middle Kingdom burial practices. But my peripheral vision tracks Rose as she moves to the next display.

"The craftsmanship is remarkable," I tell Cassandra, though my mind is focused on Rose. "Each detail was carved with incredible precision."

Cassandra nods eagerly. But I excuse myself and move toward the center of the gallery. Rose has stopped in front of a painted wooden coffin. Her face is still, contemplative, and, I dare to say, perfect.

I approach her from behind, letting my presence announce itself before I speak.

"The Book of the Dead," I say, close enough that she'll feel the warmth of my words. "This particular version dates to the Ptolemaic period."

She turns slightly, knowing what kind of game I’m playing. These moments of public propriety hide something that only two of us know.

"The paintings are so intricate," she says. "How long would something like this have taken to complete, Professor?"

I step closer to point out details on the coffin's surface. My hand finds the small of her back. And I allow my fingers to spread just wide enough to span the curve of her waist.

The contact is brief and professional to any observer. But I can feel her subtle reaction.

"Months," I answer, my thumb tracing a circle pattern on her back before withdrawing my hand. "The artisans who created these pieces were masters of their craft."

Rose nods, but I catch the way her lips part slightly. She's trying to concentrate on my words while processing the electricity of that touch.

"Professor Thorn!" Another student calls me from across the room, asking me about burial practices. I give Rose a small, knowing smile before walking away to answer the question.

The afternoon moves along. I check in with the students, offering comments and answers, all the while adjusting my course to stay close to Rose.

When she examines a display of canopic jars, I position myself beside her to explain their purpose. My fingers brush her wrist as I gesture toward the different vessels.

"This is so fascinating," she whispers.