Teaching Willow: Session Two Read online

  Teaching

  Willow

  Session Two

  A serial novel

  By

  Paige James

  Smashwords Edition

  Copyright 2014, Paige James

  Cover photo by Forewer

  www.shutterstock.com

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior permission of the author.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you are reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return it and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and storylines are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  FROM THE HEART

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  Teaching Willow

  Session Two Description

  Infatuated. That’s how it began.

  Desperate. That’s when it escalated.

  Addicted. That’s what I’ve become.

  Just when I think that I’ve discovered the one thing I wouldn’t do for Ebon, the one extreme to which I would not go, I find myself exceeding it. Looking back with regret, looking forward with dread, and living the now like it’s all I’ve got.

  Because it is.

  It’s pure bliss. It’s unimaginable hell. It’s all I know, all I want to know. A runaway train that I can’t stop. One that I don’t really want to stop.

  But disaster is coming. It will turn sweet into bitter, deception into devastation. Perfection into wreckage.

  Ruin. That’s what’s coming.

  Ruin.

  ONE- EBON

  I know what I’m feeling is largely due to guilt, but I don’t want to throw a bunch of assholery out into the cosmos and it come back to me in twenty years as a shit sandwich that I’m forced to eat. That’s how I got here, to this moment.

  I woke up thinking about the incredible sex Sage and I had last night. In fact, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Or the way it feels tainted and dirty—and not in the good dirty way—to have been so focused on Willow.

  These last few run-ins with Sage have opened my eyes to something. Maybe I’ve been so blinded by my unhandy desire to get inside Willow that I’ve missed something spectacular right in front of me. There is obviously much more to Sage than what I ever gave her credit for. Quite frankly, there’s more to her than what I ever imagined there could be. She always seemed…vacuous before, but now…

  If I’m going to continue sleeping with her, which I damn sure am because I’m nowhere near finished with her, then I need to try harder to put Willow out of my mind and focus on Sage. It’s the right thing to do.

  For the first time since I met her, that doesn’t sound as hard as it once did. I think back to when I looked down into her sleepy eyes. I can tell that she’s changed; I can feel it as much as I could see it. Or maybe she’s in the process of changing. Hell, I don’t know. People mature at different speeds. Maybe Sage is just hitting her stride. Whatever the reason, something’s going on with her and I’m loving the fuck out of it. I’m one lucky bastard to have stumbled upon her at such a time. And to think I might’ve missed it…

  My conscience feels a little lighter as I let my mind wander toward plans for the week. Willow said Sage had a busy schedule. I feel sure that can’t extend to the wee hours. I’ll just have to time my visits with that in mind.

  In the meantime, I’m going to do my dead level best to keep my eyes and my mind off Willow. For all intents and purposes, she’s dead to me. I’ll be polite and cordial, just as any of her professors would be, but otherwise, I’ll avoid and ignore her as much as possible. I simply cannot allow even the whisper of impropriety to make its way to the ears of the Dean. And all things involving Willow are just that: improper. And much, much more.

  Besides, I’ve got some writing to focus on. While Willow’s work may have started this whole fire, I can fan the flames by writing for Sage. And write, I will.

  TWO- WILLOW

  For the third time, I make a conscious effort to still my wiggling foot. It’s an outward sign of the nervous energy I feel waiting for the doctor to come in. When she does, I let out a big sigh of relief.

  It’ll be over soon enough.

  “Ms. Masters, what brings you in today?” the forty-ish brunette in the crisp, white coat asks as she perches primly on a rolling stool.

  “I’d like to start birth control pills.”

  “Are you currently sexually active?” She doesn’t bother to look up as she talks; she just flips through the pages of my chart, which is depressingly thick for someone my age. My parents insisted that I transfer my entire life history to a local doctor when I started school. Just in case I needed anything. Or, in other words, in case something happened so that someone around here would know my history. My long, sordid history. And this lady is obviously making herself acquainted with it as we speak.

  “Yes.”

  She nods slowly, still focused on the pages in her lap. “You had your ablation…six years ago. Have you begun having periods again?”

  “I’ve spotted for the last couple of months. I don’t know if that means I need to be this cautious, but I’d rather be safe than sorry.”

  “Wise, wise,” she mutters. “You’re not taking any other medications?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  That gets her attention. She looks up at me, peering from beneath her narrow glasses. “You’re not?”

  Here it comes…

  “No, I’m not.”

  The doctor closes my chart and lays it in her lap, crossing her arms over it. “Would you like to talk about this new person in your life?”

  “Not particularly.”

  Her smile is small and tight, like she just accepted a challenge. “And why is that?”

  “Well, I don’t see why that would be necessary. I’m here to get on birth control. It’s as simple as that.”

  “You don’t see how your history and the fact that you are no longer taking any of your medications might be deemed pertinent?”

  I shrug. “I can see what you’re getting at, but I can tell you that there’s nothing to be concerned about. I feel great. I haven’t had any problems in years.”

  “And is this the first relationship you’ve been in since discontinuing your medication?”

  “No.”

  Yes, actually.

  She nods, as though she doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “When was the last time you saw your therapist?”

  “I can’t remember.”

  And that’s true. I know it’s been over a year, but beyond that, I can’t
recall.

  “Willow, I think it would be prudent for me to—”

  I hold up my hand, making my smile and my tone as friendly as possible. “No offense, but you can stop right there. Despite what you read in that chart, I’m fine. I haven’t had problems in a long time. This is nothing to throw up the red flags for. I’m simply asking for birth control, not a license to kill. If I start to feel…bad, I’ll come see you. Or make another appointment with my therapist. I may not be the sharpest knife in the drawer, but I’m far from stupid. I’m also twenty-one and I believe I’m entitled to adequate health care.”

  She studies me over the rim of her glasses for several long minutes before she finally nods and lays my chart on the desk behind her. “Then let’s get those legs up in the stirrups,” she says, rising to grab some latex gloves from a dispenser on the wall.

  “When do I start these?” I ask as she gets her cold, metal tools of humiliation prepared.

  “Well, since you’re starting to spot, you should wait until the next time you do and then start your pills the first Sunday following.”

  My mind awash with relief, I nod and make a mental note of her instructions. Beyond that important advice, I tune out her doctorly chit chat, as I’m sure is the case with any woman during an exam of this nature. I just want it to be over so I can get out of here, prescription in hand, and get on with my day.

  ********

  I always look forward to Wednesdays. Obviously, I look forward to any chance to see Ebon. But today I’m especially anxious. The way he called me out on Monday, the way he interacted with me after the Lady Chatterly’s Lover discussion has me feeling even more tensely excited than usual.

  I walk in and make my way to my seat, setting my bag on the floor and training my eyes on the door, waiting for my first glimpse of him. Several minutes later, Ebon walks in. I watch his long legs carry him across the room. I watch the polite smile he gives the students in the front row. I watch him set his messenger bag on the desk and dig through it for his materials, like he does at the beginning of every class. And then, with my lungs frozen at their greatest point of expansion, I watch him turn to address the room.

  “Ezra Pound said, ‘Make it new’,” he begins. I listen to his every word, watch his every move, and not once does he glance up at me. This is how class had always progressed up until last week when I caught his eyes flickering up at me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but in a way, I thought we’d turned a corner. Maybe I’d just hoped. Maybe it was a fluke that he seemed to be paying me more attention, noticing me even. Because that sure doesn’t seem to be the case now.

  The hour and a half goes by far too quickly. I feel cheated somehow, like he shorted me this particular Wednesday. But I know he didn’t. He just didn’t live up to my ridiculous expectations, expectations he wasn’t even aware I had.

  God, I’m so stupid!

  I berate myself all the way to the apartment, feeling further disappointed by the curious absence of the Ebon Daniels drug high that normally carries me home. I wander around for over an hour, aimlessly replaying the events of the last week, until I’m so restless the only thing I know to do is go write. Get it out and onto paper where maybe it will no longer haunt me.

  Only it does. It still preys on my mind. I think it always will.

  I hear the generic jingle of a cell phone coming from Sage’s room. It takes me a second to realize what it is.

  It’s the new phone.

  The one that only Ebon has the number to.

  I get up so fast that my chair tips over. I don’t bother to straighten it; I just race into the next room and fling myself across the bed to reach the night table—and the phone—on the other side.

  “Hello?” I answer, not bothering to check the caller ID.

  “Sage? Are you okay?”

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I was just, um, I was just exercising.”

  “Are you off today?”

  Shit, shit, shit!

  “No, I just finished up early, so I left. I’ve been putting in a ton of extra hours since I started, so…”

  I cringe, squeezing my eyes shut and hoping that sounded truthful. Somewhere deep in the bottom of my soul, it bothers me that lies seem to be coming to me more quickly now. Considering what I’m involved in, that’s a good thing I suppose. A necessary thing even. But considering that I’ve always thought myself to be a decent human being, it’s quite a disappointment.

  “Hmmm, so you’re free tonight, then?” he asks, something dark and sensual in his voice.

  “Uhhhh,” I stammer, my brain refusing to function when he makes suggestive noises like that. “As a matter of fact I am.”

  “Why don’t you come over then? I’ll get takeout and a bottle of wine, and I’ll tell you a little about what I’m working on.”

  If possible, my interest perks up even more. “Working on?”

  “Yep. I’ve been doing some writing. I figured you might like to hear my side of things.”

  My heart thuds heavily in my chest and a deep ache starts in the lowest part of my belly. I wonder if that means…

  “What time?”

  “Eight?”

  I do some mental calculating and decide that I can be in full Sage form by then. “Sounds good. Can I bring anything?”

  “No, I’ve got everything you’ll need,” he says, his voice little more than a purr.

  God, he’s sexy.

  “Well, if you change your mind…”

  “Oh, I won’t change my mind. There’s nothing I’d like more than to have you for dinner.”

  Did he mean to phrase it that way? “I meant about me bringing something,” I clarify carefully, not sure how to take it.

  “All you need to bring is your appetite. Just come hungry,” he says slowly.

  I don’t know if he means for everything he’s saying to sound so…evocative or if that’s just how I’m hearing it. Either way, I find myself biting back a moan.

  “I won’t...eat anything until I get there then.”

  “Mmmm, the thought of you…eating all by yourself makes me even hungrier.” His voice is a low growl, rumbly and hoarse. If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine him lounging on a bed with his palm over his crotch, rubbing back and forth over his zipper. All the while thinking of me.

  “You want to watch me…eat?” I’m breathless. From a simple phone conversation.

  “God, yes!”

  “Maybe one of these days we can watch each other…eat. Would you like that?” My comment, even my voice surprises me. Who the hell am I turning into?

  “Fuuuck,” he moans, the air hissing through his teeth, like he’s clenching his jaw. “That’s going to happen. I promise you.”

  I smile. I’m more turned on than I ever thought I could be from a telephone call, but I’m also profoundly pleased at the same time. Pleased with my performance. If it even is a performance. In some ways, I just feel like I’m letting the real me, the inner me, off the chain for a few minutes, all under the disguise of Sage.

  “Then I’ll see you tonight. We’ll just let…dinner take its course.”

  “Don’t be late or I might come looking for you. And I might find you. In public. And that could get…touchy.”

  My limbs are on fire and my panties are soaked. Just the thought of Ebon coming to find me, of him seeking me out…in public…and then doing things to me…

  “There are worse things,” I admit shakily, my need climbing to fever pitch so quickly that I burn.

  Ebon’s voice is silky smooth and serious when he speaks again. “I have plans for us, Sage. Plans that will blow your fucking mind and make your pussy weep for me. Promise me right now that you’ll do what I ask you to do. Promise me that you’ll trust me to always bring you pleasure. Always pleasure.”

  I need Ebon right now. Every part of my body is crying out for him. Oh god! “I promise.”

  “Eight o’clock,” he says and then the line goes dead.

  I’ve never wanted time to pas
s so quickly in all my life.

  THREE- EBON

  I’ve always been passionate about the written word and about writing in particular. It’s like painting, only I do it with words rather than a brush, each sentence a stroke, each chapter a part of the landscape. But not in all the time I’ve been writing have I been more thoroughly immersed in my work than I am now. It’s like a switch has been tripped in my brain, in my soul even, and I feel…voracious. Much like my appetite for Willow has become. Or is it Sage now?

  The lines, the differences, the similarities are blurred now. It’s as though Sage is swallowing up Willow little by little, casting her own kind of spell on me. I’m finding this side of her increasingly fascinating. And having Willow’s words between us, combined with this…new Sage is like having the best of both of them.

  Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Anything to divert my attention from Willow.

  My fingers fly across the keyboard furiously. All the desire I’ve kept pent up, all the things I’ve wanted to say to Willow, all the ways I’ve wanted to bend and break her sweet, forbidden body—they’re flowing out of me and onto the bright white computer screen. And pushing against the bottom of the desk is the most exquisitely painful hard-on I think I’ve ever had.

  I’m completely absorbed in the story when my phone rings. My mind registers an internal alarm when I see the time. 7:21.

  Shit!

  And it’s Sage calling.

  “Hello?”

  “I’m sorry to bother you, but my car won’t start. Do you think you could come and get me?”

  My first thought is that she really liked the idea of me doing something dirty to her in public and that this is her way of goading me. But then I discard the notion. I get the feeling that she’s content to let me lead, especially since she wouldn’t even tell me how she felt; she let her sister do it through fiction.