One Plus Two Minus One Ch. 03

The next day, Ethan turned up at five to six. Beth had waited for him at the lift.

"We should go somewhere," she said.

"Okay."

She'd been thinking about it. She couldn't think of anywhere that was really safe except her place, and she'd resigned herself to taking him there.

"I live two minutes away," she said.

He nodded.

"But any shit. Any weird crap at all, and I call the police, then call security too."

He seemed surprised, but said, "Yeah, fair enough."

She took her laptop and her bag, and he offered to carry something but she said no, it wasn't heavy.

"Let me," he said.

"It's fine."

He tried to take it, and she held up her hand, looked at him, annoyed. He shrugged, let it go.

He tried to hold her hand in the lift, but she snatched it away. Tried again as they cut across the sports fields, but it there were still people around and she said, "Fucking stop it."

"I can't believe how much you swear."

"Oh, fuck off."

The air smelled of cut grass and heat and summer. Dry still air, filled with the buzzing of cicadas.

They walked in silence. Beth knew she was being too hard on him, but was anyway.

*

Beth lived in a townhouse one street over from the campus. She rented because she'd wanted something near, immediately. That close to the university she couldn't have afforded to buy, and part of her was a bit scared by the idea she could, suddenly, just buy a house. After most of ten years scraping by on scholarships and grants, she'd come here, got this job, and was suddenly earning eighty thousand dollars a year. She had clothes and shoes and some very nice furniture, and one day soon, when she felt like a grown-up, she'd buy a house. But not yet.

She opened the door and let Ethan in, and did the alarm trying to stand in front of it so he couldn't see. She didn't think he'd be a problem, but she wanted to be careful anyway. She trusted people more once she'd had sex with them. That was just brain chemistry and meant nothing, but it happened, so she was going to be slightly more careful until she knew him better. It had already happened. She probably wouldn't have wanted him here at all if they hadn't had sex already, so now she made herself be a bit cautious because of that change in her feelings. Not to get robbed, or taken advantage of, or hurt if it went wrong.

She took off her shoes, dropped her bags, looked at him. "This is it."

"Nice. It's really nice. You live alone?"

She nodded. It was an open-plan townhouse. A big room downstairs, entranceway and lounge and dining room and kitchen all in one. She had more bookshelves than most people, and her study, the second bedroom upstairs, had one wall completely as whiteboards. Other than that, it was just a house. He looked around, like he was curious about the books. Maybe he hadn't been somewhere with so many, unless he made a habit of shagging his professors. She wondered if she should ask if he did. She didn't know if she wanted to hear the answer.

She went into the kitchen, got a bottle of wine. "You want some?"

He nodded, and she got two glasses. She was glad they'd fucked the day before. It had gotten rid of some of the urgency. Then again, that was yesterday, and the urgency was coming back pretty fast.

She poured him wine and went over and gave it to him. He was still looking around, standing in the middle of the room, halfway in from the door. She realized there was a photo of her and Robert on the side-table, and didn't want to explain. She went over and put it face down.

Ethan watched. "Who's he?"

"No-one."

"I already saw it. You look like a couple."

She ignored him, but he kept looking at her.

"Do you really care?" she said.

"Just wondered."

"Are you going to leave if I say we are?"

"Probably not."

"Going to want to fuck me any less?"

"No."

"So why ask?"

He shrugged a little. "Just so I know where I am, I suppose."

And suddenly he wasn't an arrogant little asshole again. She looked at him, and realized it might be a bit rough being on his end of things. This was fun for her, but for him it might be meeting someone and finding out she wasn't as available as he'd thought.

"Kind of a couple," she said. "Together for three years, but then I got the job here, and he's still in Sydney, so I don't know. He's trying to get something here."

"So on a break until then?"

"I don't know. We never really talked about it."

She talked to Robert on the phone. They planned to go and see each other every month or so, meet in a hotel and fuck each other senseless, but never had, one or the other had always been busy. And before she left, they hadn't been as much of a couple as they should have been. She'd been distracted by getting her thesis in and examined, and by finding work. It had been getting more like they were just comfortable friends.

Ethan kept looking at her. Suddenly it had got all serious.

"I'm not going to tell him about you," she said. "If that's what you mean."

He drank some wine, looked at her. He still seemed to be thinking.

"Does it really make any difference?" she said. "Right now? Right this second?"

"Not really."

"If it ever starts to matter," she said. "To you and I, where things are at with him, I'll sort it out. But right now, it doesn't. It's way too soon to worry."

She waited. She'd been a bit unfair, she should probably have said something sooner. She wondered if he would make too much of it, and if he did, she wondered if that meant he was a bit immature and wouldn't cope with a fling with his professor.

It was a test, but it wasn't. She wanted him to decide right, but she also wanted sex. She really wanted sex. She unbuttoned her shirt. She'd had a meeting earlier, had worn one with a collar and buttons. For the meeting, and because a dark little part of her, looking in her wardrobe that morning, had thought about people with fuck-the-professor fantasies and what clothes might help.

"Are we good?" she said, as he watched her.

He didn't answer. She couldn't tell if he was still deciding, or just staring at her tits, coming into view as she unbuttoned. She didn't think anyone could get that easily distracted, but he was twenty-one and really into her. And hadn't seen her topless before.

"Hey," she said, and threw her shirt at him. "You listening?"

"Yeah?" he said, exactly like a student in a tutorial who wasn't. For a horrible, horrible moment she thought she remembered him, then decided she just remembered people like him. She was almost certain he hadn't said a word all last year.

"Listening?" she said. He was still looking at her tits. Watching them move as she reached back and grabbed her bra strap. "Are we good?" she said.

"Yeah," he said. "The guy?"

"Sort it out later? You don't mind?"

"No, of course not."

"Are you listening?"

He didn't seem to be. She thought about picking up a cushion from the couch, decided she didn't really give a shit.

"Hey," she said, loudly. "Motherfucker. Pay attention."

He looked at her face.

"You can't have me except to fuck. That's all. Do you care?"

"No," he said. "Course not. Take that off."

She decided he'd been distracted by tits all along. This must be a moment for him, his daydream professor undressing for him. It bothered her a little that it turned her on too.

She undid the bra, threw it on the couch. Stood there and let him look. He did, terribly seriously. Studied her carefully.

"Well?" she said, but he kept looking.

"Want to play with your professor's tits?" she said, then regretted it straight away.

He came towards her, around the couch, pulled his tee-shirt over his head and threw it somewhere, and kissed her. She loved that. She loved that moment, naked chests scraping together and someone's mouth opening hers and hands drifting around everywhere. She liked men's bodies. The only time she'd wondered if she should try being gay, she'd realized she couldn't. She liked the shape of men. Wrists as thick as her upper arms, flat slabs of muscle on shoulders and chests that she could press her hand into, push hard against, and not move.

He kissed her. Kissed her for a while then stopped. "You're shorter. Than the first night."

"Bare feet."

"Like this much," he said, and showed her with his hands. "Twenty centimeters."

Not that much, but, "Big heels. Tall heels."

"Right."

He stroked her breasts. Gentle, like he just wanted to hold them. He looked at her. She sighed, bit her lip as he touched her, made herself stop making noises. She didn't want him knowing how easily he could turn her on.

He was still staring.

"What're you doing?" she said.

"Looking."

She liked that, watching him get all horny playing with her. He looked at her third tattoo. Ran his finger down it, tickling slightly. Numbers along her ribs, under her arm and beside her left breast. A sequence, 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13, 17, 19, 23.

He looked at numbers, couldn't not get it. "Primes." he said.

"Yep."

"Why?"

She shrugged.

"Why stop there?"

"Symmetry. Visual symmetry. From 2 and 3 to 23."

He looked at it for a while, then said, "That's cool."

She grinned. "I thought about going all the way down to my foot, up to a hundred. But they'd show in a skirt, and I don't know how serious and grown-up I'm meant to be."

He nodded.

"And it hurt like fuck and everything. That too."

She turned around and pulled up her hair, showed him the fourth one. On the back of her head, at the top of her neck, where she could cover it with her hair. The two-dimensional faces of the platonic solids. A triangle inside a square inside a octagon inside a circle.

"I know that shit," he said. "Had this professor once who was obsessed with Greek geometry and kept going on about it."

"Oh yeah? Sound like a good professor."

"The best. Absolutely the best."

He traced the tattoo. He rubbed his hand down her neck.

He was behind her. They both knew what happened when he ended up behind her.

He pulled her hair out the way, and started kissing her neck. She closed her eyes, and tried not to shake or anything that might give herself away.

He reached down, for the zipper of her skirt, but it was small and fiddly and he didn't seem to be able to get it. She reached too, got her fingers past his while he kissed her, pulled it down.

He grabbed her wrist.

"Hey," she said, not completely sure she meant it. He held her wrist, just enough she knew he was strong and she might not be able to move. Somehow, each time he did shit like that, it wasn't as threatening as it should be. Threatening in a good way, and she wasn't sure she was even comfortable having a category like that.

He held her wrist in the small of her back with one hand, and shoved her skirt and underwear down with the other. Shoved it all down in a bundle, without a glance. Good undies, she'd picked out specially, but he didn't notice and it didn't really matter.

She still had one hand free. She reached back and undid his jeans. Had to pick at it a bit, distracted by his mouth, trying to do it backwards and one handed, but she got his fly open.

His cock was hard, warm and hard and smooth in her hand. He breathed harder, sighed against her skin. His cock was against her back, hot and thrusting against her, and she liked how much he wanted her.

It was like at the party, but with more time to enjoy it, and what they'd done at the party had been the best she'd had in a very long time.

Maybe he was thinking that too. He pushed her forward, bent her over the back of the couch, and she wasn't really sure she was okay with that. Except for how she was.

"Watch it," she said, but he didn't listen.

He pushed her foot with one of his, moved her legs further apart. He was still holding her wrist.

"Don't be so fucking rough," she said, irritated, but knew she wasn't really.

He disappeared for a moment. He was still holding her, pushing her down, but he wasn't standing pressed up against her skin like he had been. She wasn't sure where he'd got to until he licked her.

He bent her over her sofa, and held her by her bent arm, and ate her out from behind, and she wriggled back against him and tried to pretend she wasn't turned on by being held down like this and tongue-fucked.

It seemed wrong. It just didn't seem right, but it was hot.

She moved her feet further apart, and lifted her hips to help him reach. He seemed to be trying to push his tongue right inside her. His breath was hot and fast on the skin inside her thigh, and his hand, around her wrist, was holding her very firmly.

He stood up. He kept holding her wrist, and twisted his hand around her hair too. He stood up behind her, holding her down like that, and she knew his cock had to be inches away from her. Her feet were apart and she was ready and his cock had to be right there, behind her. She wanted to push back onto him, but he was holding her down enough she couldn't easily more.

She waited, aching with wanting, all curled up inside. She wanted it. She was breathing hard, would have gasped for him to fuck her if that wasn't a bit undignified.

He just kept standing there.

She was about to tell him to stick it in, to fuck her, that she couldn't wait, when he said, "I'm so fucking sorry, I don't have a condom."

She lost a little of her held-down fantasy. She twisted sideways, looked back at him.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't think..."

She bit her lip and wondered if she should tell him to stick it in anyway. She was tempted. She was achingly tempted.

She'd already had him in her mouth bare. Having him in the rest of her wouldn't really matter.

She was about to say stop fucking talking and fuck me, when he pushed his fingers inside her, and started fucking her fairly hard with those.

It was a bit mechanical, but it worked. She pushed back, felt herself spread open, decided those would do instead. Probably better, she decided. Far faster fucking than his hips could have done. He held her down, bent over the furniture, and pushed his fingers up inside her, rubbing fast. She was trying to climb backwards up his hand by the time she got there.

She came, and lay there panting, a bit horrified at what she'd done.

He was trying to pull her up, probably to kiss her and be all sweet, and she didn't want sweet right now. She didn't want to be held down for a rough hand-job, and then to be sweet and tender.

She shook her wrist free and turned around, grabbed him and tugged, pulled him over the back of the couch on top of herself. She wriggled down, and put his cock in her mouth.

He was half on top of her, leaning on the back of the couch. She sucked him, bobbing up and down to move, like doing crunches. Normally she wouldn't dream of doing this, wouldn't ever let a guy get on top and fuck her mouth, but she was feeling dirty and brave and doing all sorts of strange things she didn't expect of herself. He was pretty good about it, didn't move too much until right at the end, when he lost control a bit.

She realized she must trust him, at least during sex. It helped he was only rough when he was doing her, she thought. Having her wrists held while she got head, that was sexy. Being held down while he fucked her mouth, that would probably be too much.

He came in her mouth, then flopped a bit, slumping onto her, so he was relaxed but his cock was still in her mouth. She sucked it gently, bringing him down. Sucked, until he lifted her up, dislodging her. She didn't quite understand, but then he sat down again and put her head on his leg and she did.

He wasn't looking at her. He stroked her arm and breast, but he didn't look at her, like maybe he was embarrassed by what he'd just done too.

She liked him more for that.

She was draped along the couch, sprawled out and feeling all lazy and happy, and she realized he was looking at her. She felt suddenly nervous, wanted to press her knees together, fold her arms somewhere. She didn't, mainly because she wasn't going to turn into that person. She wasn't really that uncomfortable with her body, it was just the intensity of his stare.

He stroked her face. Her lips, touching her mouth like it was a kiss, wiping away a little of the taste of him. Her neck, so she shivered. He was taking her all in. Like she was something important, something he admired and didn't want to break.

"Stop it," she said.

"Let me look."

"No." She didn't entirely mean it. His interest was flattering, kind of sexy. Like he really, really wanted her. Her, not just anyone available and with the right bits.

"I love your body."

"Stop it," she said, and closed her eyes, so she didn't have to watch him staring.

"You're fucking hot. Really fucking hot."

She lifted her hand, pretended she was about to hit him. "Stop."

"What's wrong?"

"Just stop."

He grinned, kept looking.

"I want to fuck some more," she said. "You're pissing around too much."

"Okay."

"You can?"

He shrugged, like he didn't quite get why she was asking, and that made her wet again.

"Come upstairs," she said, and sat up.

She walked around naked at home when she needed to, and didn't really think about it. Now he was staring at her, watching her ass go up the stairs, and she did. She might have to walk around naked a lot more, when he was here.

She went into the bedroom, and didn't quite realize she was standing in front of him again, until he grabbed her. Things kept happening whenever she stood in front of him.

He pushed her onto the bed, and she said, "Hey," but before she could get up or roll over he had knelt down and started eating her out. Again. She knelt there and felt his tongue on her and told herself she was lucky, unspeakably lucky.

After a while she decided she really needed a fuck. There'd been too much with hands and tongues. She needed cock inside herself.

She had condoms in her beside drawer, with her vibrators. She slid forward, tugged the drawer open, yanked too hard and the whole drawer came out and landed on the floor.

Ethan looked down, grinning. Just grinning. And now she was the nympho professor with the drawer full of sex toys.

"Oh fuck off," she said. "Everyone has them." She decided she wasn't going to get embarrassed.

"Sure," he said, and picked one up, looked at her. It was a rabbit. She took masturbation seriously enough to own a rabbit, and she didn't care if he knew. It looked a bit industrial, had a few too many appendages, she supposed. It wasn't discreet and sleek like the others.

"Another time," she said, and pushed it away.

He kept grinning. She pulled him over and kissed him again.

"Did you think about me?" he said into her mouth. "This week. Using them?"

"Nope," she said.

"You didn't?"

"Nope I'm not talking about that."

"So you did?"

"No fucking way am I answering that."

He kept looking at her.

"Why?" she said after a moment, stopping kissing him. "Did you?"

"Jerk off thinking about you?" he said. "Shit, yeah. A lot."

That was interesting. "How much?"

"A lot."

She waited.

"Most days."

"Thinking about me?"

He shrugged.

"Shit." She lay there, considering. He started kissing her neck. "Did you come to the lectures this week?" she said.

"You didn't see me?"

"I didn't fucking know to look for you. Did you?"

"Yeah."

"On Tuesday?" He nodded. "Thursday?" Another nod. "Then, what? Had a good look, went home and...?"

"Pretty much. I could still remember how you felt. How wet you were. How your mouth felt."

She lay there for a while and looked up at him, and decided it was hot, not creepy. It was fucking hot to be wanted that much.

"Um," she said. "Yes. Don't ask me shit like that, because it's rude, but if you must know, yes."

"How much?"

"A bit."

He kept looking at her.