Page 21 of The Art of Professing Love

I didn’t argue with him. I wanted this as much as he did, if not more, and each thrust brought us both closer to the edge. The water pelted my back, leaving a wave of redness where the heat permeated my skin. I could hardly feel it, having gone numb to the sensation minutes earlier when Sylvan was all that I allowed to occupy my mind.

His hair fell in limp, wet waves down his shoulder, drooping around the points at the tips of his ears. I could almost make out where I ended and he began in the hazy view that I had without my glasses, but the longer I tried to make sense of the two of us, the less sense it made at all.

I thrust again, and again, Sylvan’s muscles tensing tighter with each movement. It didn’t take much more effort from me to send him over the edge with a cry of pleasure. He was vocal, I could say that with some certainty now. I drove my cock in one more time, climaxing inside him with all the fanfare of a rapidly cooling shower of water overhead.

I placed my hand on the wall to steady myself as I struggled to regain my breath, one hand still resting on Sylvan’s hip, keeping him upright too. If there had been more room in the shower, I might have knelt down right there and allowed myself a moment to rest, but as it was, the water was cold now and we both needed to get out and dry off.

“Thank you,” Sylvan told me as we stumbled out together, wrapping towels around our waists for warmth if not modesty, which had long since been no consideration to either of us.

“No,” I smiled, “thank you. I had no idea sex could be this good so early on in a relationship.

“That’s what you get when you match with a fae.” Sylvan winked and led me over to the bed, which was still unmade while the sheets lay in a damp pile on the floor. “Here.” He tossed me a large, gray knit sweater, which I pulled over my shoulders. “It’s not much, but it’s better than no blanket at all.”

Together, we curled up on the mattress, stretching the sweater over both of us to quell our shivers. Sylvan’s body was warmer than mine, and I snuggled up against him so tightly, I worried I might suffocate him, but he said nothing. Before I could ask if he wanted me to move, he was fast asleep.

17

SYLVAN

This was what perfection looked like. Never in a million years did I imagine a college professor would be my ideal match, yet here we were. Irving’s clothes, now dry, were still draped over the back of a chair. A bird chirped outside on the windowsill, reminding me it was time to get up and start the day. I wasn’t ready yet. I wanted to stay in bed with Irving as long as possible.

The bird chirped again and he stirred, blinking his eyes a few times to adjust to the bright morning light.

“Good morning, sleepyhead.” I smiled and stroked Irving’s tousled black hair out of his eyes.

“What time is it?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Oh, around 8.”

That seemed to wake him up enough for him to jolt upright in bed and throw the oversized sweater off of both of us.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “Fuck, fuck fuck.”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, snatching the sweater before it dropped to the floor and draping it back over my lap.

“I’m late for class.”

“Again?” I sighed and let my head fall back onto the pillow. “Really, Irving, is it that important? You’re already late, why not forgo your morning class entirely?”

He paused, and for those few silent seconds, I worried that he was going to take offense at my suggestion. He certainly would have a few weeks ago, or even a few days ago.

“You’re right,” he said quietly, sinking back into bed. “I do deserve to have a late morning, don’t I?”

I nodded triumphantly. “You most certainly do. And you know what that means, don’t you?”

“That I need to email my students and let them know 8:30 class is canceled?”

“No. Well, that too, but it means we can spend the morning together – just the two of us.”

I smile spread across Irving’s lips. “Yes, of course, just the two of us.”

He tore the quilt away from me again, and this time I let it fall into a heap on the floor. There was no need for pretenses anymore. His hands found themselves around my waist, pulling me on top of him. He moaned as I kissed along his jawline, nibbling at his neck, the soft skin speckled with stubble.

“Mmm, wait a moment,” he said, moving my hand so he could slide out from underneath me.

“Why?” I protested. “We were just getting started.”

“My students,” he reminded me. “I need to email them before I forget and it’s too late.”

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