Falling for My Dirty Uncle

I hug Delia. “Thanks so much. I really needed this.”

She kisses me on the forehead. “Of course, girl. We look out for each other.”

And Delia is so right. I can always count on her. Makes me feel bad about masturbating my way out of one of our coffee dates, but I bore no ill will when Delia made out with a boyfriend too long and missed one before. Shit happens.

You gotta do what you gotta do, right?

Emmaline

“You’re very fortunate, Miss Travers, to be in Dr. Wesley’s section,” Mrs. Simone repeats for, perhaps, the third time since I came to see her. The registrar is annoyed that I’m ungrateful.

What am I supposed to say? Sorry, I can’t be in this class because either I need to get away from him because I want to bang him, or I need to get out of his class so I can bang him? While both seem like totally valid reasons, I don’t think that I’m going to be able to pull one of those out for Mrs. Simone.

“Why would you want to change out of a class with a professor that’s foremost in his field, in your major?” Mrs. Simone gives me her best stern look.

Normally I’d feel the need to stick around for more chastisement; normally, I’d be able to simply tell the truth.

Today?

Today I have no fucking patience for this.

“Why would I expect you to simply tell me there are no other sections available when you could purport to be allowed in my business instead?” I barely recognize myself when those words come out of my mouth, holy shit. I don’t know if I should be horrified or proud, but my body is walking me out of the registration office anyway so that’s a problem for another day.

Because today’s problem is figuring out what the hell I should do.

I have to go back to class, and that’s the option I was trying to avoid. As it is, I don't want to be late, so I pick up my pace. My nonathletic sneakers have taken a real beating, but I’m grateful for their worn soles because my flats are in terrible shape right now. Even still, the pavement is harsher than normal as I hightail to Ethan’s class.

I sit in the already crowded lecture hall and let myself look. I mean, really look and drink Ethan in. The stadium seating means that he’s on a stage for me, like this, and I can see head to toe what a formidable, delectable man he really is. Fuck, a girl could lose her GPA, her mind, her scholarships over a man like this…and this girl might be me.

Today’s lecture begins with him writing a single word on the board.

GRATUITOUS.

Well, shit.

That’s so not the word that I want to watch him sprawl over the board. When Ethan turns around of course I don’t know whether to look at the strong muscles moving beneath his jacket or the gorgeous shape of his ass.

“When details are gratuitous, they detract, rather than add, to a work of writing,” Ethan begins.

I inhale. Sure thing. I start taking notes.

“For a quality piece of writing, you always want to direct your readers. Lead them to where you want them to be.”

Fuck.

I know that’s a bit of a reach…but I swear I see that little smirk Ethan made between my legs. Making me cum. That’s enough to make me shiver in my seat. But he doesn’t mean anything about us, he’s giving an English lecture for class.

“Too many distractions in writing prevent the climax, which destroys the purpose of all play in the writing,” Ethan continues and I have a hard time focusing on what he’s saying.

I know climax is a funny little word we hear in English, and now I just can’t un-hear his words or the way that they make my skin remember his mouth on me.

“All writing must climax. You build to it with delicate touches. Forceful touches. Give them what they need, and make it impossible for them to not come with you,” Ethan lectures. His voice is so smooth that I almost feel his lips as much as I hear their words.

I mean every damned word he's saying is more than just about the extra words he’s discussing.

“…Strong nouns can work harder than you expect if you conjure the right things in your audience’s imagination…”

Yeah.