Page 45 of Forbidden Professor

The softness of her moans…

And the image of her walking away from me, after I hurt her tremendously….

Swirling in torturous circles, my interactions with Eve seem to have dug in so deep my mind can’t help but replay them over and over.

It’s like she’s a ghost in my brain, drifting around from dark corner to dark corner, staying up all night long and turning on all the lights while I’m trying to sleep.

Will thoughts of Eve always haunt me?

Even here in my home, I can see her on the couch, walking through the door, staring up at me with expectant eyes…

I failed her.

She trusted me to be open enough to ask me to take her virginity, for fuck’s sake.

And I let her down, rejected her, turned a cold shoulder when she was already down.

The fact that I was a total and complete asshole was not lost on me.

I try to remind myself that it’s for our own good, but I can’t shake the shame of hurting her.

The thought of calling her, apologizing, groveling and asking her to let me come over and kiss away all of this pain is forefront in my mind. The strength to keep my phone out of reach is a hard thing to muster, but I try to focus on increasing my buzz until the thoughts that are torturing me relentlessly fade away.

What a way to spend my evening, I think. All alone and heartsick and not getting drunk fast enough to make it all go away.

I’m almost there, though, when my phone buzzes.

Pulling myself from the couch, I make my way to the kitchen counter to check it, more than half-hoping it’s Eve. But it isn’t. It’s my mother, the last person I really want to hear from.

“Come home on Saturday morning. I need to talk to you.”

This isn’t good.

My mother isn’t one for happy, feel good reunions. If she’s telling me to come home, it’s for a good reason. Or, most likely a bad reason.

“Fuck,” I mutter, running a hand through my hair. I pull the whiskey from the kitchen cabinet to aid in speeding up that much needed buzz, take a swig off the bottle and head for bed with it clutched in my hand.

By the time I’ve undressed and turned everything off and locked up, that buzz is forming nicely now. I throw out my intentions of not thinking about Eve in bed anymore, and opt for one last indulgent session.

I’m under the covers with my cock in my hand in no time, my eyes closed, my imagination working overtime as I try to pretend my hand is Eve’s hand.

It’s a poor substitute, no doubt, but I get there eventually and fall asleep hoping I’ll wake up with an entirely new thought pattern.

I need Eve out of my system, desperately.

Unfortunately, my dreams are filled with images of her.

Eve, spread-eagle and butt-naked on my bed, summoning me with a curled fingertip and a coy smile, begging me to take her virginity, once and for all.

In my dreams, I do just as she wishes and it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt in my life.

In my dreams, we reach mind-blowing orgasms together, our voices rising into the darkness like a sacred song the two of us are destined to sing together.

It’s all very magical, very delicate, very tender and intimate.

And all very, very fake.

The tragedy of this entire situation is that I really believe Eve and I could be good together but we’ll never get the opportunity to truly find out.

---