Pushing the Limits (11 page)

CHAPTER EIGHT

ASPEN

Everyone starts packing up after class Tuesday night, but I stay put. My mind is focused and centered, and I don’t want to stop now.

“You know you have another week to work on this, right?” I hear him directly behind me as I stand in front of my easel. But I don’t turn around and face him.

“Yes.”

“You’re very passionate.” I smile but don’t stay anything.

He steps to the side of me, just enough where I can see him out of the corner of my eye. “You don’t have to stay. I’ll be done in a minute.”

“It’s fine. I’ve nowhere to be.”

“Oh yeah?” I ask, glancing slightly to where he is. “No wife or girlfriend to get home to?”

A pleased smirk spreads across his face. “That’s a pretty personal question.”

Fear etches over my face and my fingers still. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

“But…” he draws out slowly, averting my gaze back to him. “Class is over now.” Our eyes meet as he continues. “So there’s no rule against asking personal questions.” He takes a step toward me.

“You made that up.” He tries to stifle a laugh. “Even after hours, you’re still my professor and I’m still your student.” He takes another step closer.

“I’ll answer it if you answer one.”

I try to act unaffected by how close he is to me. I continue moving the brush over the canvas, veering my eyes away to break the tension.

“No, I don’t have a wife or girlfriend waiting for me,” I answer flatly. His crooked smile encourages me to keep going. “Although,” I continue, “I am known to get quite friendly after a few drinks.”

He nearly chokes on his laughter, making the tension slip away.

He’s even closer now, the only barrier between us the easel. But it’s situated more to my right so his body is in full view. He stares intently at me, his lips in a firm line.

“Husband or boyfriend?”

“Why would you want to know something like that?” I feel the heat building in between my legs, my breath uneven and raspy as I realize we’re nearly toe-to-toe.

“Because I want to know if I can kiss you or not.” His voice is low and steady, confidence radiating off him as he towers over me, his hand resting on my arm.

I feel the thud inside my chest as I come to terms with what he’s just said.
He wants to kiss me?

I don’t know how to react. My head is spinning, and I think perhaps I heard him wrong.

“That’s hardly appropriate, Professor Hampton.”

“Why? Because you’re my student or because you’ve been thinking about kissing me, too?”

My brush freezes in mid-stroke. I swallow, trying to process his words.

He leans in close, grabbing my attention back to his eyes.

“Answer the question, Aspen.”

“Which one?” I counter, feeling the rapid movements of my chest moving up and down.

Before he can respond, a soft knock grabs our attention behind us.

Professor Van Bergen.

I jerk back at the same time Professor Hampton takes a step backward, taking his hand off my arm.

“Am I interrupting?” The distaste in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed as she eyes the space between Professor Hampton and I.

“Not at all,” he replies smoothly. “What can I help you with?”

She steps in closer. “I saw your light was still on so I just wanted to check and make sure everything was all right.” Silence lingers in the air, and I lower my head to avoid the awkwardness.

“Everything’s fine.” My head tilts up slightly to see that he’s turned his attention to me. “Aspen wanted some advice on her project.”

“Oh, all right.” She’s not buying it for a second and the fake smile on her face indicates her irritation. “Well, anyway. I’ll catch up with you later.” She then shifts her eyes to me as she flashes a glare, almost as if she’s giving me a silent warning to back off her territory.

We both watch as she walks out, and suddenly, it’s just the two of us again. I can hear my shallow breaths as he continues to stare at me as if he’s still waiting for my answer.

But I don’t give it to him. I grab my bag and swing it over my shoulder. “I should get going.”

“You don’t have to leave.”

“It’s fine. It’s late and you probably have to lock up.”

I grab the painting and put it on the rack to dry and then quickly wash my brushes before I take the easel and put it away. He continues standing in the same spot, just staring at me. Except his gaze is intense, deep and thrilling.

“You can stay if you want…to finish working.” His voice is low, shakier than before.

I glance over at him, trying to read his expression. I scrape my teeth along my lower lip and watch as his eyes linger on my mouth. I swallow and reply with just a hint of hesitation, “Maybe next time.”

MORGAN

No matter how hard I try, I still can’t get the girl with the feisty attitude, driven determination, and glossy cherry lips out of my goddamn head. It makes me want to cross all the lines just to feed the intense urge building up inside me. I think about her lips and how I want to press mine to hers just to see if she’d kiss me back. Every time those bright green eyes look up at me, I envision her kneeling down in front of me with her lips wrapped around my cock while looking up at me, as she tastes what she does to me.

As soon as I’d release inside those perfect swollen lips, I’d throw her on top of the bed and wrap those red heels around my shoulders as I sucked on her clit until she came screaming my name.

Yes…I’ve fantasized plenty of scenarios that all end with Aspen Evans naked in my bed.

Except, I wouldn’t be able to stop there.

But it’s more than just what she does to me…

I think about her paintings and how the world seems to melt away from her as she focuses on the assignment with intense concentration. I think about how beautiful and intelligent she is. About how humble and shy she acts whenever I compliment her talent. I think about how moving and emotional her painting pieces are and what they truly represent. I think about how we’ve both suffered losses of people we love and how differently we’ve handled it. She puts all of her feelings on paper and the emotions just spill out perfectly. I’ve never met a student like her before. Her talent is far beyond her years of schooling. But then I think about her anxiety attacks and wonder what triggers them. For someone who looks so put together, she must be hiding a much darker secret inside.

As of late, I’m finding any excuse at all to see her.

I swing by the coffee house Thursday morning after my second class of the day. Instead of ordering my usual house blend coffee, I order two lattes.

I can’t contain my smile when I walk into the art gallery and see Aspen at the information desk playing on her phone.

She looks up as soon as she hears the bell over the door. “You’re getting better at this job already.” I set the cups of coffee down in front of her.

“You’re going to need a punch card if you keep coming in here.” She gives me a sideways glance that tells me she doesn’t mind my visits.

“Well, I just came to force some caffeine on you. I don’t need you falling asleep in my class again.”

Her jaw drops. “I did not fall asleep!” She wraps her hand around the cup and takes a sip of the drink anyway.

“Don’t think I can’t see my students just because you all have easels in front of you.”

She deadpans. “I closed my eyes for twenty seconds.”

“It was two and a half minutes.”

“You know, most students would’ve filed a harassment claim by now with the amount of time you spend staring at me.”

The corners of my lips curl up in pure amusement, but the excitement in her tone tells me she likes it when I stare at her. “The only way you can know how much I’m staring at you is if you’re staring at me, too.”

“Well, I’m not. I mean, I don’t.”

“Right.” I bring the cup up to my mouth and watch as her eyes linger on my lips. “Think you can come to class early? I have a project for you.”

“Just me?”

“Well, technically, yes.”

“What do I have to do?” She narrows her eyes at me suspiciously.

“Show up and you’ll find out.”

A playful grin spreads across her face, and I know she’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking. “All right, fine, but you should know I carry pepper spray in my bag at all times.

“Duly noted.” I smirk and tap the bottom of my cup against the desktop before taking a step back. “See you in class, Aspen.” I wink, leaving her speechless as I spin around to walk back out the door.

Just as I’m reading over blog posts, Claire knocks on the door, grabbing my attention. The moment I look up, she’s once again asking me to go out with her. She seems to do this randomly and without fail trying to seduce me with her body and words.

“I actually have to pick my niece up in just a minute and drop her off at my parents before my night class. But thanks for the invite.” I give my best sincere tone and smile without coming off too rude. I don’t know how many times I have to reject her invites before she gets the hint, but apparently, she’s going to keep trying.

“Sure, no worries. Maybe another time.” I hear the hopefulness in her tone and hate that I’ll have to eventually crush her hopes if she thinks I’ll ever go out on a date with her.

“Of course,” I lie, but considering I need this job, I keep it as friendly as possible. I know how tight-knit these small schools can be. You piss off one professor, and suddenly, the dean is uninviting you to his annual summer BBQ.

I start packing up my things, hoping she gets the hint to leave. Once she finally does, I head out to my car and drive to my parent’s house.

As I arrive at the school and wait for Natalia to come out, I think about the last university I worked at out in Ohio. It wasn’t much larger than CSLA, but still heavily focused on the arts. I knew all the professors by name and we often went out on the weekends together. When I first moved to Columbus, I hadn’t known anyone. Another professor, Trent Wiser, befriended me right away and introduced me to the majority of the other professors. It was nice having people I could connect with on a professional and personal level. It took some time, but after awhile, it became home.

Since having to leave, I’ve been trying to get that feeling back. The feeling of being comfortable in your own surroundings. But as long as my past was here, mocking me every chance it could, I worried I’d never get that feeling back.

The sound of the car door opening grabs my attention to Natalia getting into the passenger side. Her face is etched in a frown, and I know before I ask that her day wasn’t good.

“Hey, Short Stuff.”

“Hi.” She frowns.

“What number?”

“Three.”

“What happened?”

“Henry Ashby is a douche.”

My eyes narrow as I remind her, “No swearing.” The corner of my lip curls up, but I quickly look away so she doesn’t see me grinning. “Did the teacher write a note for me?”

“No. I didn’t tell anyone.”

“What’d he do?”

“It’s nothing. Just drop it.” She looks away and stares out the window.

Jesus…I wish I understood girls.

“Natalia…tell me what he did.”

“He makes fun of me, okay? He calls me Fatty Natty and then tells all of his friends to call me that, too.”

I grit my teeth as my palm tightens around the steering wheel. “I’m calling your teacher.”

She whips her head around and glares at me. “No, I said just drop it. I’ll take care of him myself. He’s such a little prick—”

“Natalia!” I cut her off. “I’m calling your teacher. End of discussion.”

She rolls her eyes and looks away again. “Whatever.”

We drive in silence halfway to the house before I speak up again. “You’re not fat, Natalia. You’re beautiful.” She ignores my compliment and keeps her gaze out the window. “You look a lot like your mom,” I say softly.

She finally turns and looks at me. “I do?”

I nod and smile. “Yes. You have the same wild and crazy curls. And you definitely have her sassy, take-no-shit attitude.”

She flashes a weak smile. “I wish I remembered her.” Her head lowers, and I can see her eyes close.

“I know, Shorty. I know. I wish you did, too.”

We arrive at my parent’s house but stay put in the car until Natalia recovers. She wipes away the tears she’s pretending don’t exist, and I wait until she’s ready.

“Okay. Let’s go.” She whips the car door open and gets out as if nothing had happened.

I feel for her. As much as my situation sucks, hers sucks worse. She’s lost both parents before the age of twelve. She’s angry and bitter, and I wish I knew how to help her.

But I’ve been angry and bitter for five years, and I have no clue how to even help myself.