JACKSON
Since my mother passed away, I haven't been one for holidays - Christmas, specifically.
It was her favorite. She'd decorate our home in Boston with beautiful wreaths, garland, and lights. The whole place would be lit up with warm hues and holidays smells wafting from each room, due to candles or cooking. It was the epitome of home, and I figured I could never measure up. So, I didn't try.
But April loves Christmas, and today is Christmas Eve. She spent dinner telling me how, since they've lived there, it's been her job to decorate the townhouse. Their decorations aren't immaculate, but it's a process she's always enjoyed. I asked if she wanted to go there and do it, but she declined politely and continued on eating.
After we clear the table, I walk to the door and slip into my winter coat.
"Come on, get your shoes," I say, eyes on her where she stands by the counter.
"Why?" she asks, bemused. "What are we doing?"
"You'll see," I say. "Just put your stuff on."
She flashes me a tiny smirk and does as I say. She bundles herself up in that thick parka and takes my arm, following my lead to the parking garage.
When we end up in the parking lot of Home Depot, she looks at me with a confused expression on her face.
"Housewares?" she asks. "Are you enlisting me to do repairs for you, Dr. Avery?"
I snort and say, "Not quite," then take her inside.
Through the doors sits an extravagant Christmas display, full of decorations, lights and everything in between. Pre-cut trees line the wall, and when I look to April's face, she's as bright as what lies before us.
"Christmas stuff?" she says, eyes shining.
"Pick out whatever you want," I say.
"Jackson," she says, giving me a look. "You don't have to do this. Just 'cause I said…"
"No," I say, nodding her along. "I want to. I want to experience Christmas again. I haven't had a good one in years, and this will be different."
She takes a few slow steps forward, marveling as she looks around like a child in a candy store.
"Anything you want," I continue.
"Anything?" she asks, hands clasped at her chest.
"Anything," I say, chuckling. "I'll get a cart."
By the time we leave that store, there's a Christmas tree tied to the roof of the BMW with a bungee cord, and both the trunk and backseat are overflowing with boxes and bags. I've never been surrounded by so many mirror balls, jingly trinkets, or feathery tinsel, but it's all worth it for the giant smile on April's face.
"Thank you, baby," she says, hands bunched into excited fists.
I smile in return, then kiss her cheek at a stoplight. She leans into me and turns to kiss my lips, holding my jaw in place while she does.
After we get home and get everything inside, April turns on Christmas music, changes into pajamas, and immediately gets to work.
"How about you string the lights on the tree," she says, running her hands down my chest. "And I'll start on the rest of the house. When it's time for ornaments, let me know."
"So, you're making me do the boring part," I say, raising my eyebrows.
She scrunches her nose in the adorable way I love. "Yeah, 'cause you're boring, baby," she says.
When she turns around, I playfully smack her ass and she squeals with delight. I get the tree in place, then watch her unwrap everything while I unbox and untangle the copious amount of white lights.
"What's your favorite Christmas song?" April asks, a bit later as she stands on a stepstool. She's in the entryway, hanging a sprig of mistletoe that will definitely get overused.
"Oh, I don't know," I say.
"You definitely like classics more than new-age ones," she says, throwing the words over her shoulder. "No Justin Bieber or Pentatonix for you."
"Oh, definitely not," I say, chuckling. "You know me well."
"So, what one's your favorite?" she presses.
I sigh, plugging one strand of lights into another. "I suppose I'm partial to 'Silent Night,'" I say.
"I love that one, too," she replies.
"It was my mom's favorite," I say, fondly remembering the lilt of her voice as she sung it.
I can't help but smile and look down at my hands, missing the way hers felt wrapped around my child-sized fingers. She was my savior back then. The Christmases we spent together just she and I were the best I ever experienced. She made sure I never wanted for anything, and I always knew how loved I was. I never had to wonder.
When I look up, April's eyes are still on me. Focused with heavy concentration, but soft and gentle at the same time.
"You miss her," she says, coming down from the stool.
"Of course," I say, getting back to work on the lights. "But it's silly to wallow in the past. She's been gone for a long time."
"But you're still allowed to miss her," she says, then scoffs. "You wanna know something stupid and crazy?"
I prompt her with my eyes.
She scoffs again, this time louder.
"I still miss my family sometimes. Like right now. Even though we didn't do anything for Christmas except go to church, I miss them around this time of year. I don't even know what I miss, but it's the way I feel. So…"
She shrugs, presses her lips together, and sighs.
"You missing your mom is not silly or meaningless. You can miss her, Jackson. And you can talk about her. I'd love to hear."
I spend a while inside my head, running the pads of my fingers over the points of the little lights. My mom's smile flashes through my mind, then the sound of her laugh, the way it felt when she wrapped me in one of her huge hugs. She was the best hugger. While safe in her arms, I was protected from the world.
"She used to sing 'Silent Night' to me," I say, grinning slightly. "Then she taught me the words, and I'd sing with her. It was just a small thing we'd do, sitting by the tree. I don't know why I liked it so much. But it's a very clear memory."
"That sounds beautiful," April says, voice laden with emotion. "She sounds lovely."
"She was," I say, nodding firmly. "She was great."
"I wish I could've met her," she says.
"Me, too," I say, truthfully. "She would've loved you."
April smiles, one corner of her lips pulling up. "I'm sure I would've loved her, too," she says. "If she created someone as wonderful as you."
I clear my throat, the feelings suddenly becoming too much. I can't let myself experience that weight without getting significantly buried in the past, and I don't want that to happen right now.
"All you did was go to church on Christmas?" I say, changing the subject. "That was it?"
Sensing the detour, April gets back to work in putting up decorations.
"Yeah," she says. "I didn't know about Santa Claus until I was a teenager. I found out at youth group, I think. And after that, we weren't allowed back for a month." Her eyebrows furrow. "But yeah. We'd just go to church all day. The first present I ever got was from Addison and Amelia, freshman year. It was a nice brush, you know, 'cause of my long hair. It was a brush, and I cried." She snickers, shakes her head. "They thought I was crazy."
"Do you still have it?" I ask.
She smiles. "Of course," she says. "I use it every day."
I finish putting the lights on the tree, and April comes over to help decorate it with ornaments once she's satisfied with the house's attire. As she reaches to hang one close to the top, I wind my arms around her small waist and tuck my face into her neck.
"I'm going to make sure this is your best Christmas yet," I say, kissing her warm skin.
She bends her elbow and holds the side of my head, coming down from her tiptoes. I pull her closer, rest my forehead atop her shoulder, and breathe in her scent mixed with the snap of pine.
"I love you," I say, closing my eyes and meaning it deeply.
She spins around and holds the small of my back, gazing up at me through her eyelashes. She nudges my nose with hers and smiles against my lips, standing on tiptoe again while kissing me full on the mouth.
"I love you more," she whispers.
I shake my head and kiss the corner of her mouth, relishing the way she leans against me.
"If you knew how much I love you, you wouldn't say that," I murmur.
"I could say the same," she responds, running her fingers through the hair on the back of my head.
Later that night, we go to bed with the light from the mini Christmas tree in the bedroom shining on us. The bulbs are multicolored, which turns the white comforter rainbow as April burrows under it. She falls asleep quickly - cheek pressed against my chest, lips slack with one hand spread out over my abdomen.
I wait for her to fall deeper and sneak out of bed about an hour later. I pick up her wrist and set it down gently, then get up while trying to move the mattress as little as I can.
She's never had a proper Christmas morning where she wakes up with dozens of gifts waiting, so I want to make sure that happens. I grab all of the gifts I bought her - already perfectly wrapped - from the hall closet, behind a couple toolboxes that she couldn't reach if she tried. I arrange them perfectly under the tree, taking a step back to observe the work once I'm done.
I'm unable to contain my grin. She won't know what to do with herself when she sees this in the morning.
I slip back into bed and she stirs. I freeze, waiting as she gets comfortable again, and adjust while she settles against me. In no time at all, she wraps one arm completely around my torso, throws a leg over mine, and falls back to sleep.
This time, I join her.
…
As usual, I'm awake first. Snow is falling outside and April is breathing deeply beside me - well, more on top of me than anything. There's a perfectly good - not to mention, large - bed for her, yet she chooses to rest on my body instead.
Not that I'm complaining.
I run my fingers down her back under the fabric of her shirt, and she nestles closer, rubbing her cheek against my collarbone. I smile to myself and reach lower to cup her ass, patting it gently to wake her up.
"It's Christmas, baby," I murmur, voice in her hair.
"Christmas," she says back, voice bleary and muffled.
"I heard there are presents for you."
"Presents for me?" she asks, eyes still unopened.
"Mm-hmm," I say, kissing her head. "So, we better get up."
"But you're so cozy," she says, with a breathy giggle.
"I know," I say. "So are you. But if you want your presents…"
She finally lifts her head and looks at me, and I can't help but smile. Her mossy green eyes are half-lidded and cloudy with sleep, there's a patch of dried spit on her cheek, and her hair is a rat's nest, but to me she's the cutest human to ever grace this earth.
"There you are," I say, and thumb the crust off her face.
"Oops," she says, and finishes wiping it with the back of her hand.
We walk into the living room a few moments later, with April still rubbing her eyes behind me. I know she's seen the tree when I hear a gasp and she stops in her tracks by the kitchen counter.
"Jackson Avery," she says, flabbergasted.
"April Kepner," I echo, amused.
"No, no, no," she says, shuffling to the tree in her slippers. "What is all this? What did you do?"
I follow at a much slower pace. She stands in front of all the presents, in awe, hands near her face.
"You've had 20 awful Christmases," I say, winding an arm around her waist. "So, I got you 20 gifts to make up for those, and one more for this year."
She turns to me, stunned. "Jackson…" she begins.
"And don't say I didn't have to," I say. "Because I know that. But I wanted to, and doing it made me happier than I can say."
"I just… I..." she stammers. "I only got you two things. That's all."
"There's no competition," I say. "No comparison. I did this because I love you, not because I wanted to prove anything."
Her shocked expression turns gleeful with an energetic smile. She cups my jaw and kisses me, elated, before breaking away to laugh.
"I can't believe you," she says.
"And I insist," I say. "That you go first."
We sit down and she starts opening. I didn't have much time to go shopping, so I did most of it online after she fell asleep and utilized the express shipping option.
The gifts range from practical things, like new boots, to things she's had her eye on for a while, like an athletic set from LuLuLemon. There are books upon books, of course, and she reads the back of each before moving onto the next. I get her a new backpack because the one she uses for school is falling apart, and expensive, jeweled hair pins, along with many other things.
"This is all so much," she says, sliding a barrette into the front of her messy hair.
"Wait," I say. "Don't forget the twenty-first."
She laughs breathily. "I don't know if I can handle any more," she says, but accepts the small box when I hand it to her.
She studies it for a moment, confused, and I watch her. When she finally cracks it open, her eyebrows lift and her face lights up with surprise.
"A key?" she says, holding the box like it's precious.
"To this apartment," I say. "I want it to be your home, too. I want to share this place with you, even when I'm not here. I want it to be a safe place you can come to whenever you want."
She carefully removes the key from the box and holds it in her fist, then throws her arms around my neck with such force that we're both knocked backward onto the carpet.
"Oh, Jackson, thank you," she says, then lifts her head to look at me. "I love it. Thank you so much. This really is the best Christmas ever."
I tuck a bit of hair behind her ear. "I love you," I say. "You deserved everything, and more."
"Not more," she says, and kisses me on the lips. "But I love you, too."
We sit up and she turns the key this way and that, watching the light glint off of it.
"I have the twenty-second present, too," I say, which is the truth. "But I'm not sure it can wait until next Christmas."
She quirks an eyebrow, interest piqued.
"What do you mean?" she asks. "What is it?"
"A secret," I say.
The good kind this time.
We spend a bit more time looking over her gifts, then she gasps theatrically while crawling under the tree, presumably to grab what she got for me.
"I know it's not much," she says. "But I tried. So, just open them, and… I hope you like them."
There are two gifts, but they're wrapped together in a square shape. I take my time in paring away the paper, and when I pull it back I see two matching frames.
One holds a picture of my mother and me directly after my high school graduation. I'm dressed in navy blue robes, a white stole thrown over my shoulders, the square hat lopsided atop my 'egghead,' as she used to call it. The smile on my face is warm and bright, and it matches hers. I feel the warmth radiating from this picture, reminiscent of that day. She had been so proud of me. She knew I would go on to do great things. She always had such faith in me.
The second frame holds a picture of April and me in the snow. It's a nicely posed selfie from the day we went to Band of Bohemia, and I have her winter hat on. I can tell I was the one to take this picture, because she's looking up at me while laughing - a broad smile on her face, eyes twinkling. She has one hand on the hat as she tries to adjust it, presumably the reason why she's laughing, and I'm suppressing a wider grin. This photo was snapped on accident, but it captures the moment perfectly.
"Oh," I say, glancing between the two images. "April, these are perfect."
"Yeah?" she says, sitting up on her knees. "I didn't know. I still don't think it's enough. You got me so much, and…"
"It's enough," I say, tracing the frames with my pointer finger. "They're enough."
She grins and kisses me, lingering with her pillow-soft lips pressed against mine.
"You can bring this one to work," she says, touching the picture of my mother and me gently. "And leave this one at home. Put it right on your nightstand, where you'll always see it."
"If I turn to the left, I'll see a picture of you," I say. "And if I turn to the right, I'll see the real thing."
"Exactly," she says, with a giggle. "I love you."
"I love you, princess."
…
Months pass. Winter thaws and turns to spring, and before we know it, it's the middle of the next quarter and March is here.
I'm teaching a handful of classes, but only one sticks out - and that's Topics in the Study of Sexuality. And because she laid out her schedule for the whole year back in September and this class applied to her major, April is my student yet again.
The content of the course has been interesting, to say the least. April makes things difficult by sitting in the front row and holding steady eye contact during the entire three hours I teach. In fact, it's nearly debilitating. In the best way.
She's pretty much moved in to the apartment, which I gladly accept. She has her own drawers, her own section in the medicine cabinet, and her own space in the closet. We've spent every night together for months on end. At this point, I don't know how I'd go about sleeping without her tiny, warm body next to mine.
But still, while on campus, we have to be covert. We can't walk to my car together and ride home that way. Instead, she goes to a nearby cafe and I pick her up there.
It's an everyday routine, and it's exactly where I am now. I pull up in front of Plein Air and find her waiting in front, like always. Today, she's wearing a skirt that falls to mid-thigh with patterned tights and a loose blue cardigan.
She waves when she sees the car, then scurries over in her ballet flats.
"I think it's gonna start raining soon," she says, climbing in.
Before getting settled, she cranes her neck to give me a breathless kiss on the cheek.
"Hey," she says. "Good day?"
"Yeah," I say, pressing on the gas pedal. "It was fine. What about yours?"
She shrugs. "It was fine, at first. But then I ran into Addison and Amelia in the library, which totally caught me off-guard. It put me in a weird mood for the rest of the day."
I raise my eyebrows, eyes still on the road. "How long's it been since you've talked to them?"
She sighs, pressed against the seat. "Months," she says. "I've seen them in passing a few times since... you know. But I haven't had a meaningful conversation with them since before Christmas. Before that party."
She's been avoiding her girlfriends for months. With Alex, that isn't the case. She'll spend time with him at the townhouse when she's sure the other two won't be home. She hasn't opened up completely on the subject of why she's chosen to do this, and I think it's partly because she's not sure herself.
"They started asking me questions like crazy. Like, right in the middle of the study section. I was just trying to check out a book, and they kept hounding me. They wanted me to get coffee with them, but I said I had someplace to be." She shakes her head roughly. "They were just spewing all this information."
"Like what?" I ask.
"Stuff about him," she says, eyes darting over.
I bristle instantly. The subject of her assault is one she knows she can always bring up, but she doesn't talk about it much. She still can't remember the details of what happened, so I think she's been trying to erase it entirely.
"What about him?" I ask, hands tightening on the wheel.
She looks out the window so the back of her red-haired head faces me.
"They've heard stuff," she says. "About how the case might go to trial. I don't know, I haven't heard anything. Because I didn't want to. They don't know what they're talking about, and they think they do. I hate that."
"Do they even know what happened?" I ask, carefully.
She crosses her arms, still faced the other way. "People started talking. You know, when it got out he might not come back to school."
"They better do more than expel him," I say, getting angry. "If I have to testify-"
"Stop," she says. "Don't get mad. I don't… please, don't raise your voice. I don't want you to do anything irrational that will jeopardize your career. Not over this asshole."
I take a deep breath in attempts to calm myself. She doesn't need a loose cannon right now, she needs an anchor.
"I just didn't like seeing them," she says, crossing her arms. "It made me go back to that night."
"Have you remembered anything?" I ask.
"No," she answers. "I told you, I don't want to."
I'm silent after that, contemplating her words and wondering if I should say the ones I so desperately want to. I don't want her to be set off by the suggestion, but there won't be a better time than now to bring it up again.
"Princess," I say, softly. "During my next session, I can get a reference from Naima so we can find you someone to talk to. I think it would really help."
"No," she says, adamantly.
I let a soft gust of air from my nose. "Baby-"
"No," she says again.
When she turns, I expect her expression to be harsh and stony. But instead, it's vulnerable, exposed, and near-desperate.
"I don't want to," she says. "I can't explain why I don't. I just don't. I want to get back to myself on my own. I don't need a therapist. I just need me and you, and that's it. Okay?"
I don't agree, but I'm not sure how to knock down that ideology. I used to hold those beliefs, too, before I started seeing Naima. The therapist I had before her wasn't a good fit, which made me second-guess therapy in general. But now that I talk to Naima every week, I've made leaps and bounds of progress. I don't know where I'd be without her guidance and advice.
But with April, I don't want a fight. It takes people different amounts of time to take steps in their recovery. Who am I to tell her how fast to go?
"Okay," I say. "Okay, I'm sorry. It was just a suggestion."
"I know," she says, facing the window once more.
Without looking, she rests the side of her head against it and extends one arm, hand outstretched, in search of mine. I take one hand off the wheel and interlace our fingers, squeezing hers for reassurance. She doesn't need words to know I'll support her through anything.
...
Two weeks pass, and now it's nearly the month of April.
April has gotten over her fear of being alone. It's still not her favorite thing in the world, but she has no qualms over coming to the apartment first and being by herself until I get off.
That's how tonight ends up. I walk in the door to find music playing and the lights on, but I don't see her at first.
"I'm home," I say, hanging up my spring jacket.
"Baby," she says, excitedly. "Finally."
"Where are you?"
She peers at me from where she's sitting on the floor. "Here," she says. "I'm doing homework for a super hard class I'm taking."
"Oh, yeah?" I say, raising my eyebrows. "What one?"
"Topics in the Study of Sexuality," she says, giggling. "But the silver lining is that my professor's really sexy."
I roll my eyes playfully and take my shoes off, coming around to sit on the couch above her.
"I think I've heard of him," I say.
She looks up through her eyelashes, and I see that she's outlining a research paper on a book she chose. I left the selection open-ended, and she picked one of the most interesting: Orgasmology by Annamarie Jagose.
"You wanna help?" she asks, setting her pencil down.
"You know I can't do that," I say, winking.
She giggles darkly, pushing herself up to rest on her knees. She caps her hands over mine, then slides them up my thighs. I can't help the way my body buzzes in reaction.
"You know what I love?" she asks, hands dangerously close to my crotch.
She traces the creases of my dress pants and the blood rushes to the area, eager and insistent. We haven't slept together in months, not since the first time. She hasn't expressed the desire to, and I would never push.
"Hmm?" I prompt.
She bites her lower lip. "None of your other students get hands-on lessons from you," she says, then pulls my hand to rest on the back of her head.
She sandwiches herself between my knees, torso flush against the couch.
"No one knows we're fucking," she says, lasciviously.
My eyes widen as I raise my eyebrows. "April," I say, as she goes for the button of my pants. "Are you sure about this?"
From between my legs, she lifts her eyes to mine. "It's been a long time," she says. "And I want my body back."
She pulls herself onto my lap to straddle my hips, and my hands find her waist instantly. I close my eyes to center myself and rub her hip bones with my thumbs, reveling in the way she grinds subtly on top of me.
"Take my body back," she breathes, dropping her lips to my neck. "I've been thinking about it for a long time, and I'm ready. I wanna feel physically loved again, baby, and I want you to make me feel good. I wanna remember how… how good it can feel."
I can barely think straight. With the way her body moves and the sultry way her voice sounds, all the blood in my system has flooded to my groin with plans of staying there.
"Alright," I say, tightening my arms around her waist so I can lift her. "Let's go, then."
I shut the door to my room and set her down on the bed. She pulls her dress off over her head - a deep green one with flowing material and long sleeves, and is left in her bra and tights, which is one of my favorite ways to see her.
Not tonight, though. Tonight, I want her naked.
I know we'll get there, though. There's no rush, no time limit, no hurry. We'll get our chance with each other.
I strip down to my underwear and join her atop the comforter, and she scoots back to give us more room. I overlap her body and rest one leg comfortably between hers, with plans of kissing every inch of open skin.
I start with her chest, the plane of her sternum, the freckle I love. I take her bra straps in my teeth and pull them down her arms, then she does a little shimmy to undo the clasp around her back.
When her chest is bare, I take full advantage. I close my eyes with her nipple in my mouth, flattening my tongue over the hardened bud, and suck hard. She clenches my leg between her thighs and moans salaciously, fingernails digging into my scalp.
Like we used to, I take her wrists and pin them down on either side of her head in the heat of the moment. She grunts at first, which is a sound I'm accustomed to, then fights my grip. I remove my hands as soon as she struggles, and pull back, spooked.
"Sorry," she says, massaging where my touch had been. "I just don't… I used to like… I thought I would. But I don't think you can pin me down anymore. It… it reminds me…"
"I won't," I say, quickly. "I promise, I won't do that."
"Okay," she says, nodding. "Okay."
We spend a moment just looking at each other, waiting for the other to make a move. The room is silent - our bated breath the only sound.
"Professor," she says, finally. "Kiss me."
Her words break the strained moment, and I resume where I'd left off. With my mouth on her clavicle, I work on getting the tights down her legs, which ends up being a harder task than I'd expected. She smiles, tips her head back, and helps so we're both left in our underwear.
I kiss her body and pause on my favorite parts. I suck on the angle of her ribs, lick a circle around her bellybutton, and glide through the peach fuzz above the waist of her underwear with my thumb.
I skip the area between her legs entirely, though there's a wet spot clearly visible through the fabric of her teal underwear. Instead, I gently bite her thighs and bend her legs, finding sweet portions of her calves, the bend of her knees, and the sharp bones of her ankles.
I hold her leg so the foot presses against my chest, and her eyes burn into me. I kiss the inner arch and she throws her arms above her head, flattening her breasts against her chest as she stretches. She makes a delicious little sound when she opens her eyes to find my lips and tongue in the same place.
"Do you have a thing for feet, Dr. Avery?" she asks, tone lilting.
"Yours," I answer, moving my lips higher, around to her Achilles tendon. "I have a thing for everything of yours."
She lets her knees fall open, and the damp circle on her underwear has grown. Throwing her leg over my shoulder, I bend in half and tease the spot with my tongue, forcing my lips together to suck on the saturated cotton.
April moans, lifting her hips to meet my face. I open my mouth wider, tongue flat and wide against her heat, and nudge my nose against the wetness. By now, her underwear are practically dripping.
"Jackson…" she sighs, reaching for my shoulder to sink in her nails in. "I need your mouth on me. Please, please, eat me out. I need you so bad."
"Yes, princess," I say, smirking.
She gasps slightly and watches me pull the underwear down her creamy thighs, exposing her unshaved, glistening curls. My dick twitches in the confines of my shorts as I unfold her, and I lick my lips in preparation for what I'm about to do.
I close my eyes in pure ecstasy when my mouth meets her core, and delve my tongue inside her right away. Her inner muscles flutter and she whimpers - loud and long - as her back arches away from the mattress.
I kiss her outer lips and spread them to kiss the ones inside, paying due attention to the sensitive outside of her body before finding my way in. She tastes just how I remember, and she's so turned on that her wetness slips from her body and drips onto my tongue, and I lick up every last drop.
"Oh, god," she moans, planting her feet on either side of my shoulders, knees bent. "God, Jackson, god… I'm so wet…"
"I know, princess," I say, pausing to kiss her stomach.
She breathes deeply, heavily, and slips one hand down her torso to situate between her thighs. She drags her fingers through the curls, through her arousal, and lifts them up covered in the shiny fluid.
With a move I don't expect, she dips those fingers inside my mouth. The taste isn't a surprise, of course, but the act of dominance is. I'm usually the one calling the shots, and this was a clear power move.
I'm not complaining.
April wants to own her body again, reclaim it in a sense. She wants to take control, and I know how deep that feeling roots itself. I'm glad to let her regain this agency, and I'll do anything to help her get there.
I suck on her fingers hard, all the way to the second knuckle. Her neck goes limp as I do, head falling to the pillow, that beautiful throat pale and exposed.
I wrap my tongue around her two digits and close my eyes, grazing my teeth over the skin. She pulls them out slowly, then runs the pads over my row of bottom teeth.
"You're so sexy," she says. "Do you taste me?"
I disappear between her thighs again and take a few long swipes with my tongue.
"Mm-hmm," I say.
She lifts her hips and widens her thighs further. "What do I taste like?" she says. "Tell me."
Her eyes flash, and I return the gesture. I part her with two fingers and dip my tongue in as far as it will go, collecting the fluid that drains from her because of it.
"You taste like the looks you give me in class," I say, turning to kiss her thigh. "Like the bra you wore the first time I ate you out. Like your hair feels wrapped up in my fist."
Swiftly, I push two fingers inside her - deep. Her mouth falls open and she shudders, moaning when I pull them out as slow as I can.
I lift them to her face and drag the wetness across her lower lip.
"You taste like that," I say, then dip them inside her mouth.
While keeping steady eye contact, she sucks on my fingers just like I'd sucked on hers. When I slide them out, she runs her tongue over her lip and collects what I left, then lets her eyelashes flutter shut.
"I'm ready," she says, snapping her knees together and placing both feet on my torso. "I want you to fuck me, professor."
My body lights up in response to her words. I take her ankles in my hands and lift her legs down, then grab her hips tight before flipping her onto her hands and knees.
"Are you okay with this?" I say, draping my body over hers to speak into her ear.
She nods fervently. "Yeah," she says. "I just… I wanna feel you."
"You're completely sure?" I ask, stripping off my underwear and putting on a condom.
"Jackson," she says, voice firmer. "I want you to bend me over and fuck me. That's what I want. Could I be any clearer?"
I chuckle darkly, running my teeth over my lip while I hold her shoulder in one hand, dick in the other. I tap it against her ass a couple times as she arches her back, then slip inside her easily due to how wet she is.
"Fuck, Jesus," I grunt, hands finding purchase on the tight creases of her hips. "Mmm, fuck…"
"Go faster," she says, which is a surprise.
I'm acutely aware this is only her second time, and the first time was a while ago. I hadn't expected her to want me to go full-throttle, and I was hesitant to go there.
"Faster, you're sure?" I ask.
"Jackson!" she shrills. "I want it fast, and I want it hard. I'm telling you what I want, and I'll tell you if I want you to stop. And I know you'll listen. But you need to listen when I say that I want you to fuck me. Hard."
I take her words to heart.
I close my eyes and pound her the way I wanted to the first time, the way she wants me to now. Her body is amazing, responding in all the right ways, and I've never felt so good as I do buried inside her.
The sounds she makes are to die for. She reaches to grab my hand, directing it to her hair so I'll pull it. Once I yank it back so her neck is taut, she moans so loud I feel it through her skin.
"You like that, princess?" I say, and she shoves her hips back against me in a wordless reply.
I keep going, slamming into her and relishing the sound of skin against skin. My stamina, as always, is impressive - but so is hers. As I pump my hips, her arms don't tremble and her body doesn't falter. In fact, if anything, she gains energy as we go.
I lose track of time while I'm inside her. My mind goes deliciously blank and I think about April only - this is the best I've felt in a while.
"Jackson," she says, calling me out of my reverie. "Make me come. I wanna come."
I smile to myself and bend to kiss the small of her back, opening my mouth to lick the knobs of her spine. "That can be done," I say. "But I want my mouth on you when it happens."
I flip her around and yank her thighs apart, pulling her clit into my mouth immediately. She shrieks in response, closing my head in her legs, and I'm not gentle. I suck on the nerves hard, and within moments she comes unwound and everything she built up spills onto my face, dripping from her core and my chin.
"Fuck…" she pants. "Oh, fuck…"
I hitch her legs over my hips, ready to ride out my orgasm while inside her. I don't have to wait long, either. After a few powerful thrusts, I empty my load in her body and kiss her skin all over while it happens - collecting sweat and other fluid as I go.
"Jackson," she breathes, grappling for me once I tie the condom off. "Oh, Jackson. Come here, come here. I want you."
"I'm right here," I say, gathering her body in my outstretched arms.
She's quiet for a moment, and in that moment I get worried about what her reaction will be. I wonder if she regrets it - if we reconnected too soon, if we should've waited until she warmed up to the idea of therapy.
My fears grow stronger when she lifts her face to mine, and I see she's crying.
"Baby girl," I say, wiping her tears with my thumb. "What's wrong? Are you okay? Was this a-"
"No," she says, then tucks her face into my neck. She wraps her arms tight around me, along with her strong little legs. "I'm happy. These are happy tears."
I hold the back of her hair and kiss her soundly on the forehead. "I love you," I tell her, firm and sure. "You know that, right? I love you."
"I know," she says, eyes gleaming while she looks up. "And I love you."