Aaron pressed his lips tenderly against Lana’s, and she let the kiss deepen, thrusting her tongue eagerly against his, mimicking the erotic movement of his hips with hers.
“You need this,” he breathed in her ear as he unbuttoned her blouse.
“Won’t someone find us?” she murmured.
“No.” He slid her shirt off her shoulders and revealed the lacy white bra underneath. “Besides, if I took you somewhere else it would give you time to change your mind.”
He had a point. Lana reached for the hem of his polo and pulled it up, allowing him to finish the task when her hands stopped to explore his hard, hair-roughened chest. As if of their own accord, her fingertips followed the lines of his muscles down, grazing the trail of hair that disappeared into the front of his jeans. Aaron sucked in a breath as her hand continued and hesitantly cupped the bulge rebelling against his zipper. He tilted her head up and kissed her passionately, grinding himself against her hand.
The sudden sense of control sent a rush of wet heat through her body, and his palm against her bare skin sent shivers down her spine. She reached back to undo the clasp of her bra and give him full access to her small, supple breasts. He cupped them in his hands and grazed her nipples with his thumbs before replacing them with his mouth. Lana threw her head back and moaned, involuntarily bucking her hips, feeling the loss when he stopped to remove his jeans.
Lana followed suit, kicking off her slacks, but she still hesitated at removing her white thong. Aaron paused to gently caress her cheek with his thumb. His eyes burned with desire, but he was patient. She needed that. He took her bare hips in his hands and pulled her against him, reminding her of how badly she wanted this.
“Don’t be nervous,” he whispered, nuzzling her neck.
She relaxed into him, and he led her over to one of the classroom tables, pinning her gently between it and his hard body. He nibbled her earlobe and kissed the sweet spot behind her jaw. Lana was suddenly very aware that the only thing between her and Heaven was a flimsy piece of fabric. Aaron thrust against it, and she matched his movement, craving deeper contact until he finally hooked his thumbs into the sides of her panties and pulled them roughly down her thighs.
Her breath came in shallow gasps and Aaron trembled, impossibly tense as he struggled to keep control. Lana had never had this effect on a man. She felt empowered. It turned her on. He reached down to touch her, to feel her warmth, and she knew he would find her drenched with wanting him. He slipped a finger between the folds of her womanhood and plunged it deep within her. She arched her back, an unashamed whimper escaping her lips. In response, Aaron pressed his thumb against her clit, rolling it and wracking her body with a whole new pleasure.
He met with no resistance when he pushed her back onto the table and positioned himself over her. He kissed her passionately and nudged at her opening, easing into her. She undulated beneath him, moaning into his mouth and finding reassurance in his lips until he rested fully inside her. Her body trembled, and her breath came in short gasps, every nerve on fire.
“Please,” she whispered.
That was all the encouragement he needed. Slowly at first, then faster, Aaron pumped in and out of her welcoming warmth. Lana had never felt so much pleasure in her life, and she met him thrust for eager thrust.
“Oh, God,” she moaned, feeling herself crest higher and higher toward beautiful release.
Aaron’s brow furrowed with concentration as he tried not to lose himself inside of Lana. She rested her wanton eyes on his. The emotion she found there was so real, so honest, that she was taken aback. It wasn’t love, but the possibility was there, and she had no doubt that the same look was on her own face. The connection she felt to this man she hardly knew was unreal. But, God, it felt good.
Lana closed her eyes and dug her fingernails into his back. She was vaguely aware of her moans increasing in volume and intensity, urging Aaron to pick up speed. He gave in gladly to her carnal plea, and she moved her fingers to grasp his hair, giving him the last erotic sensation he could handle. He cried out her name as he came inside of her, and her muscles clamped down immediately in response. Together, they rode out the ecstatic wave and collapsed in a sweaty, breathless, and blissful tangle of limbs.
But Lana cut the afterglow short, reality checking in as she remembered where she was. Her face felt hot, and she couldn’t look at Aaron. She’d never done anything that adventurous before. They’d moved so fast in such a public place. She didn’t regret it, but she wasn’t without shame.
Aaron moved next to her, pulling on his clothes as she donned hers. When her shirt was buttoned and she was in the process of fixing her hair, he cupped her chin in his hand and turned her lips towards his. He kissed her gently and searched her eyes.
“Is everything okay?”
Lana took a deep breath and pushed the what if’s and shoulda coulda woulda’s aside long enough to answer the question honestly. There they were again—a flock of butterflies fluttered in her stomach, and her smile was genuine.
“Yes. Everything’s perfect.”
He returned her smile and put and arm around her waist, leading her out to his car to drive her home.
The next day, Aaron walked among his students, viewing their work and making suggestions. When he came to Lana, he leaned down to pretend he was taking a closer look at her painting.
Lana hesitated. Was she ready for this? She had to admit yesterday had been different from anything she’d experienced before, but it had felt undeniably right. And, after much contemplation, she’d come to class to see him again rather than hiding at home. That had to count for something.
“I can only look at these pretty butterflies for so long,” he murmured.
“Yes,” she answered quickly.
He smiled and said his next words aloud before moving on to the next student. “Nice job, Lana. You’ve really brightened up your work.”
“Thanks, Aaron,” she replied, playing along as if a romantic interlude had never taken place on the table five feet away.
Yes. She would let this continue. Because along with her art, her future had also become brighter. She glanced at Aaron’s handsome face and smiled to herself before adding one more butterfly to the canvas.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
Lana was determined not to act like a stupid, giddy teenager, during the next class, no matter how much she felt like one. Whenever Aaron came near, time seemed to slow. She was suddenly very aware of everything about him, from the way his breath tickled her arm when he examined her work to the veins in his muscular forearms. Her face was continually flushed, and she felt a stirring in areas of her body she thought she’d been perfectly happy neglecting.
She would have hated him for distracting her this way, but he seemed to be suffering as much as she was. When he showed the girl next to her how to mix a certain color on her palette, his fingers trembled. When he glanced her way during a lecture, he stumbled over his words.
It was too much too soon.
At the end of class, Lana hurried to grab her things so she wouldn’t have to deal with Aaron or her unexpected feelings for him. However, her plan was foiled when, half way down the hall, she realized that she’d forgotten her purse. She turned to go back into the room, hoping he’d already gone home. He hadn’t.
“You left this on my desk,” he informed her, holding the blue bag by its strap.
She took it and looked at him suspiciously. “I didn’t go anywhere near your desk today.”
He grinned, and she realized what he’d done. “Stealing’s a crime, you know. This is the second time you’ve lied to get me up here.”
He ignored her and took the opportunity to step away from the desk and put his arm around her waist, pulling her closer. She could easily have escaped, but it was as if some unseen force drew her towards him, keeping her from running like a part of her desperately wanted to.
“I never got a kiss goodbye yesterday,” he told her softly, his dark eyes suddenly irresistible.
“Look,” Lana began, her face flushed, her feelings disoriented. “I’m not sure—”
“If you’re ready for this?” he cut her off, becoming serious.
“Or do you think I’m not ready for you?”
His expression was a mix of passion and concern as he waited for her answer. Lana was overwhelmed. She couldn’t deny the connection between them, but she was scared. She was hurting. And she couldn’t put all of the emotional baggage her ex-husband had caused her on Aaron.
“I don’t even know if I’m ready for me,” she admitted softly, his insight taking her by surprise, forcing her to be honest instead of resorting to her usual cynicism.
Tears pricked her eyes. She turned her head away to keep him from seeing and to give herself a chance at composure. He let go of her and walked away. She’d blown it. This art class was supposed to keep her mind off of the divorce and the changes that had come with it. Maybe she’d had it all wrong. Maybe she shouldn’t have been trying to stay away from men. What would be a better distraction than an affair with the teacher? The attractive, sensitive, attentive teacher. Why was she worrying about complications that were only probabilities? Why was she letting the pain of her ruined marriage interfere with her present relationship? Possible relationship. Impossible relationship.
Though her face was turned in the opposite direction, she’d heard his footsteps move toward the door, and she’d heard him close it behind him. A tear fell, and she was surprised when a pair of smooth lips brushed her cheek and kissed it away. Immersed in her thoughts, she hadn’t realized he’d only walked away to give them more privacy. She turned to him, startled and grateful. She felt like she’d been given a second chance. He leaned down, and, finally, she gave in.
Sunday, March 24, 2013
He grabbed his suitcase and held the classroom door open for her. He drove them to the same café where she’d eaten with Jane, and he did most of the talking. He was thrity-four, had been working at the college for seven years, loved The Da Vinci Code, etc. She ordered a mocha and let Aaron pay for it. He got a coffee.
“Wow, $3.75?” he commented, looking at how much a mocha was on the menu. “You’re an expensive date.”
He was only teasing, and Lana smiled a little to humor him. Or was she really smiling? She couldn’t tell. They chose a table in the corner of the small dining area.
“So,” he began casually. “What are you angry about?”
Lana raised her eyebrows, unimpressed by the personal question. She took a sip of her drink, and replied just as casually, “I suppose I’m angry about my ex.”
He seemed surprised. “But you can’t be more than, what, twenty-five?”
“Twenty-three,” she corrected with a wry smile. “Got married right out of college, and it only took a year his dick to decide it needed some excitement outside of the marriage.”
Aaron didn’t seem fazed by this new piece of information, only thoughtful as he took a sip of coffee. But Lana was not ready for her messed up marriage to be their topic of conversation.
“Look,” she began after a moment. “This is a date, right?”
“I was hoping,” he replied.
“Then this isn’t something we should be discussing. I may have been out of the dating loop for a couple years, but I know exes aren’t a great topic for the first date.”
He took the hint and changed the subject.
“I like you,” he told her matter-of-factly, making eye contact both to express his sincerity and to gauge her reaction.
Lana wasn’t sure she liked this topic any better than the last one. But a blush rose to her cheeks and she felt flattered in spite of herself.
“You don’t even know me,” was all she could think to say.
“Yes I do,” he replied with a cocky grin.
She remained silent, daring him to continue.
“I know your name is Lana Monroe,” he said in a low voice, so only she could hear. “You’re twenty-three and jaded—”
“I just told you that,” she pointed out. “It doesn’t count.”
He smiled, once again finding her cynicism amusing, but otherwise continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
“You have perfect pink lips that frown too much and adorable freckles on your nose. You have auburn hair,” he reached out to touch it, and she let him, her defenses failing, “soft auburn hair, and gorgeous green eyes that, lucky for me, tell me everything you’re feeling.”
Lana could think of nothing to say. The fact he’d studied her so carefully and gotten to know her so well in just four days made her uncomfortable yet strangely happy. She took a sip of her mocha, and another butterfly was resurrected.
Friday, March 22, 2013
On the first day, Aaron asked the class to take their paints and experiment with the canvas. “Just feel,” he had told them. When he walked around to inspect his students’ work, he suggested Lana brighten her painting up a bit.
“The black makes the painting seem dark and angry. Some viewers might think the artist is unapproachable.”
Before Lana’s marriage and subsequent divorce, she might have found his dark, curly hair charming. She might have gotten lost in the depths of his soulful brown eyes. And she might have even melted a little when he showed her his perfect, unpretentious smile. As it was, she simply took a paintbrush, dipped it in bright pink paint, and wrote I AM ANGRY across the canvas—with a smiley face underneath. Aaron raised an eyebrow, his expression showing only amusement, and continued on to view another student’s work.
The next day, Lana caught Aaron staring. When she scowled, he laughed and turned to help another student. The more she tried to be “unapproachable,” the more intrigued he seemed to become. The day after that, he found an excuse to help her perfect her technique by holding her hand with his as she painted. Somehow, no one else in the room seemed to notice the extra attention he paid her. Lana did her best to appear merely tolerant, but the smell of his musky cologne made it difficult.
Still, she wasn’t quite ready to admit she was attracted to him until the fourth day of class, when he asked her to stay after to discuss the project she was working on.
He paused. He’d expressly asked the class to call him Aaron, so she’d purposely done the opposite. His eyes were curious and, for once, his grin was uncertain. He was nervous. Why was he nervous?
“I was wondering if you wanted to get a cup of coffee.”
Lana immediately opened her mouth to decline the offer. This had nothing to do with her project at all. It was highly inappropriate for him to lure her to his desk under false pretenses. But then she felt it. A butterfly. There was only one—the feeling was faint—but it was there. And she’d missed that feeling.
“Okay,” she agreed.
“Great. But you know it might be awkward if you keep calling me Professor.”
Wednesday, March 20, 2013
If you're excited about Cheerios, check your homophones!
Butterflies is one of my very first short stories. I wrote it about six years ago and submitted it to The Erotic Woman, which said it was well-written but not erotic enough, and to New Love Stories Magazine, which said it was too erotic. So, basically, it's just been sitting in a digital folder for years, and since I'm not doing a lot of exciting new things at the moment (except typing away, of course, which you guys don't get to see!), I thought I'd offer it as a serialized story on my blog. So here's part one.
Butterflies: Pt. 1
After the divorce, Lana moped. She was forced to move back to her parents’ house until she could find a job that would support her without the help of her husband’s income. She spent most of her days reflecting on her short marriage and wondering why the hell she hadn’t seen the signs he was cheating on her. The fact that her mother continually pointed out she had been able to see the signs did not help improve Lana’s mood.
“You should get a hobby,” her best friend, Jane, suggested.
Lana rolled her eyes. They sat outside at a local café, eating salad and catching up. “Show me something cheap that isn’t full of children or retirees—or men, come to think of it—and I’m in.”
Jane grinned. “Actually, there is an art class being offered at the community college. Mostly college kids trying to get their core requirements filled. They’ll be close to your age, but if you wear your hair up and throw on a blazer, you’ll look older. They’ll leave you alone.”
Lana shoved a forkful of lettuce into her mouth, savoring the taste of fully-fattening ranch dressing. She remembered trying to make the marriage work: dieting, spending hours analyzing her imperfections, having sex when she didn’t feel like it. But those days were over, and now she could indulge. She could do what she wanted. Like take an art class.
“Maybe you’ll find it therapeutic. You know, get all your anger and aggression out. Splatter some paint. Could be fun.”
Lana went with Jane, who was taking master’s classes, to sign up the next day. She figured it was easier than wandering aimlessly around campus until she found the registrar’s office, possibly giving up, and ending up right back where she started—listening to her mother’s lectures and looking through the paper at jobs she was either over or under qualified for.
“Professor Aaron Michaelson?” She looked suspiciously at her friend as she glanced over the course description.
“Oh, he’s old and ugly.” Jane waved her hand dismissively. “Just write your name on the line and give the lady her money.”Lana did as her friend said, but she quickly learned that Professor Aaron Michaelson was not old and ugly. He was all of thirty-five and, unless Jane was going blind, drop dead gorgeous.