“Yes,” I say, turning back. “Hopefully, I didn’t do anything wrong.”
A warm, genuine smile lifts onto his face as he strokes his hand over the top of his beard. “I have to know what made you pose today. You’ve been so quiet all semester.”
Quiet is probably an understatement. I’ve worn the same color as the wall some days, just hoping I blend into the background enough not to be noticed.
“I think I lost my mind. My cousin called me last night and got in my head about my college experiences and I realized I’m graduating this month and I’ve had zero.” I exhale as nerves tighten my throat. “It’s dumb. I shouldn’t have listened. She’s much wilder than me. She loves dancing and bonfires. I love horses and books. Well… and drawing.”
“I’m proud of you,” he says, turning to busy himself with cleaning the space. He folds a few easels and stacks some sketchbooks in the corner of the room. “It takes a lot to come out of your shell like that.”
I follow behind him, helping gather pencils and supplies to wrap into a cloth that we set on the edge of the table.
“I don’t mean it the way Bethany said it,” he says. “You make a much nicer subject than she does.” He clears his throat. “If it’s any consolation.”
My heart squeezes. Itisa consolation, and I’m not sure what I’m hearing, but I’m immediately reading into it. “She’s beautiful,” I finally say. “Her lines are sharp and pronounced. Mine are—”
“If I may,” he says, dragging his finger along the lines of a canvas that’s been left behind. It’s hard to look at… me… in my natural state. It’s funny what you think you look like and what other people see. “Someone like Bethany is all straight lines. Sure, they’re sharp, but they’re… boring. You, on the other hand…” he drags his finger along the outer rim of the drawing. “You’re curvy. Your body tells a story. It’s more enticing,” he pauses, and his gaze meets mine, “to draw or paint, I mean.”
My heart races as I look toward him. This is the part where I should excuse myself for the afternoon. Class is over. It has been for twenty minutes now and being next to Professor Hill has my body wanting to do things it shouldn’t want to do. My mind isn’t much help either. The longer we’re alone, the more he says, and the more confused I get.
I shuffle forward, ready to run back to my dorm, and twist on the vibrator I’ve kept tucked under my pillow.
“Raven,” he calls, smooth and even. God, I’m a mess. I’m officially a complete and utter mess.
I twist back, studying his oversized frame again with a hitch in my breath. He’s perfect in this light. The late afternoon shadows and a bit of darkness on the left highlight his tattoos, though I can’t see clearly what any of them are.
“Tomorrow, you’ll finish your pose.”
“Oh, no. Thank you, though. That was a once in a lifetime kind of mistake.”
He grins. “I have a class of half drawn Ravens that need to be finished for final grades.”
I’m not sure what to tell him. I’m definitely not in the headspace to strip down again and let the whole class see me naked for a second time, but I did start something. Something I should’ve thought through better. I mean, of course this would be a two-day event, if not more. I have no idea how long it takes to sketch a person.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, heading to the door in a hurry. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
The second I’m in the hall, air finally filters through my lungs with ease. An ease it hadn’t since Professor Hill walked in on me posing for the class.
I swallow the lump down in my throat and walk toward the campus center. Maybe mom was right about the city. It changes people. Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I’m one ofthosegirls. The girls that do risqué things with older men like the books I read. I’m not usually into student-teacher stuff, but the thought of Professor Hill telling me my curves were nicer than Bethany’s straight lines is probably going to make my year… maybe my life.
It's just three more weeks. Three weeks until graduation and then I’m free. Free of his drug, free of this addiction, free of the intoxication of Professor Hill.
Trouble is, I’m not sure that freedom is all it’s cracked up to be.
Chapter Two
Gage
I take a swig of beer and settle the glass bottle onto the table as I stare at the sketchbook in front of me. I’ve drawn what I could from memory, but my view was brief and fleeting. If I’d known she was posing, I’d have made my way back to the art room sooner. Then again, I left the class alone today just to give myself some distance from her after a dream I had last night.A dream.Reality is much more… real.
Shaking my head, I dig my palms into my eyes and groan. “Fuck.”
I’m crossing lines even thinking about her. I knew it the second I saw her. She’s so quiet in the back of the classroom, so timid. She’s unlike the other girls, who flirt needlessly and require endless amounts of attention. Raven doesn’t want that. I’m not even sure she’d know how to flirt, or what to do with the attention once she got it. She’s too innocent, too sweet.
My eyes close and I imagine her the way she was in the studio today. Her pale white skin was nearly translucent against the light as her long, dark hair swept against her bare back. Her pink lips pouted naturally and parted slightly as she bent forward, grasping the sheet like her life depended on it. Oh, and the small nuances of her face, like her scar above her left eye, and the freckle right beside it. And those dark eyes,fuck.She’s gorgeous. Gorgeous and natural, with an eye for composition and shading that makes even the dullest of objects appealing.
I could watch her draw forever. I could watch the tip of her pencil slide between her full pink lips as she decides where to put the next line and where to shade.
My cock straightens, but reasoning kicks in before my mind goes further with the fantasy. I’ve never thought about a student like this before. Hell, it’s been ages since I’ve thought about anyone like this. Thank God this is my last year of teaching. Maybe I can… no! I can’t. Even if she’s not my student, she’s still fifteen years younger than me. I have no business messing around with a young girl.