CHAPTER VIII

"Pourquoi lutter contre les passions ?"

(Madame Bovary, Gustave Flaubert)

Forbidden taste

sour and sweet

It lingers

on the edge of

my

lips

my

mind

Calling for you

restlessly

James Hook wished he could have stepped out of his home as if today were a normal day. But, truth be told – this day wasn't like any other day. Actually, something within him kept on telling him that he would not deserve things such as 'normal days' for a long time. And all of that because yesterday, everything had changed.

He had finally possessed Wendy, raw and whole – if only for a short moment. He had knelt between her quivering legs, and right there, had tasted heaven.

Just the very thought of it awoke his desire, yet again. Several times this morning, he had to touch himself to get rid of the stiffness that came along each time the image of Wendy, hair undone and face flushed with pleasure, flashed through his mind. Trying to redirect his thoughts towards something plain to calm down – he was late enough as it was already – he stepped into his car and started the engine, quickly, before new recollections of Wendy's moans could fill his mind once more.

Yesterday, he had chosen to walk away, in an attempt to control himself – for if he had remained there a moment longer, he would have ravished her on his desk, no doubt. But that was too risky – even for him. Instead, he had released himself in his own home, not without some disappointment.

But this solitary activity was merely temporary – and the thought of it helped him cope with the burning desire which still burned through him. He had had trouble finding sleep last night, feeling too eager to see Wendy in the morning, and had to take sleeping pills before finally drifting off in the small hours of the morning.

As he parked in the University's parking lot, he was feeling frantic – but careful of not letting an inch of this feeling show. Always keeping the mask of professionalism was primordial – although highly hypocritical.

He walked into class, which was already mostly full – with all the setbacks of the morning, he had been close to fifteen minutes late, and the students were already sitting there, waiting. Most had been waiting for him to arrive and for the class to start, while others let their disappointment show as he stepped into class. Typical. Except – he immediately noticed – the class was only mostly full. Mostly, because the most important student to his eyes was missing. The one who had almost deprived him of sleep last night – albeit not in the way he would have wished it.

Discretely, he looked for her in each seat, before reluctantly coming to the conclusion that Wendy was, indeed – absent. Missing. Deliberately avoiding him.

Did she feel ashamed by what they had done yesterday? He had left quickly after – it; did she take it as a sign he did not want to see her anymore? He had been a fool – but how was he expected to act otherwise?

A pang of disappointment hit him in the chest while wondering about what he should have done instead, about what he had done – but he did his best not to let his disarray show. Instead, he apologized for his late arrival, ever the perfect gentleman, and carried on with yesterday's lesson. But always his thoughts came back to Wendy. Never had he been so bored by his own class before.

After some two long hours of his monologue about long dead authors, he dismissed his class as usual; as usual, he chose to remain in class a while longer to try and get some work done. But unusually, he couldn't focus; not even a bit. How could he, when a few steps away from where he was sitting, he could see the exact spot where he had been bringing Wendy Darling to the edge?

He remained there, staring blankly into the empty spot, his thoughts miles away from trivial things such as grades and poetry. He remained there, lost in time, time wasted doing nothing – until anger against himself overcome him. He stood up sharply, almost causing his chair to topple over with the abruptness of his motion.

He needed to move, to leave the room; so he gained the professors' building, and opened the door to his office with a sigh. He would collect some papers, he decided, and he would drive home as fast as he could to get a hold on some glasses – or a bottle – of whisky.

But since today simply had to be unusual through and through, he hadn't registered as he placed his hand on the handle that the door hadn't been locked. So, when he stepped in, he hadn't expected either to be met with the delightful vision of Wendy – his Wendy – standing next to his desk, the shutters drawn behind her. For half a second, Hook believed she was but a vision, so much had he wanted to see her today. But she was real; the electric lights of the office shone dimly on her soft cheek, and how he wanted to caress that perfect skin, and to come closer, much closer, to that image of perfection.

A devilish smile was tugging at her lips, and Hook could only stand there, transfixed, before finally closing the door behind him – and locking it.

As the clicking sound of the lock resonated in the small room, both felt the tension contained between the two of them immediately intensify. He finally spoke.

"How did you get in?" A sheepish way to start a conversation, but a legitimate question nevertheless. She licked her dry lips before answering – taking her time. Like she had all the time in the world.

"Just said to a janitor that I had been sent to your office to collect some papers. He opened the door right away." She locked eyes with him for a second, as if she hesitated to add something, anything, to break some of that tension in which one could cut through with a knife. Instead, she seemed to change her mind, and quieted herself by biting her lips gently. Hook almost moaned with longing.

There was almost no need to speak much more. So slowly, he approached. Wendy stood her ground, firmly, defiance in her eyes – but also, something else.

Hook finally arrived close to her, close enough to feel her soft breath against him. He seemed unsure about what to do next – he had been so sure yesterday, and now he seemed almost afraid to touch her, as if she would vanish in the haze if he did. So she raised both of her hands to his chest, drawing a soft hissing sound from him – an intake of breath. She was in control this time; but still, Hook couldn't help but notice from the state of her hands that she was slightly shaking. And he desired her all the more for it – this complex mix between courage and hesitation.

Slowly, she dragged one hand up and slid it gently to the back of his neck as he remained immobile. She allowed her fingers to get caught in between the dark strands of his hair. And there, her lashes casting long shadows on her delicate cheeks, she kissed him.

It was so soft at first: he stood still, welcoming her lips onto his with relief, with complete abandon. But soon enough, her lips opened – and so did his, in a perfect dance of symmetry. And inexorably, the kiss grew fiercer; Wendy's grip on the back of his neck getting harder and harder. Hook couldn't help but wrap his arm around her and draw her closer, causing Wendy to grind her hips against him in one slow and driven movement. Hook's reaction was a hard one that she could feel against her own legs.

Her shyness drifting away, Wendy drew back, breaking the kiss – and Hook allowed it, knowing something else would come. Indeed, after tracing two kisses against the hollow of his neck, she slowly slid down, her shadow following her, a dark and blurry shape against the broken neon light.

Her fingers were slightly shaking still when she started to undo the top of his trousers. Hook's own hand found the corner of his desk and helped him remain still, just as he felt himself breathing faster. And in a matter of seconds, Wendy's hand was around him. He stifled a moan with difficulty, but Wendy wasn't going to make it any easier for him.

She placed her lips on him, right at the top of his shaft – as if gently laying a kiss there. But next thing Hook knew, she had parted her lips and was dragging her tongue along his length, slowly enough to push him towards the edge with each passing moment. As she had reached the top, her tongue wrapped against him once again, more ravenously this time, and he could have died right there. Hook bit into his fist to stop himself from crying out loud. But then she sucked on his smooth, warm skin, and he couldn't help but let out a loud hiss, his hand gripping hard at her undone hair.

As if encouraged, she carried on, her fingers now dancing up and down, gripping and squeezing harder and harder, softness be damned. From the sounds coming from her professor's throat, Wendy could only guess with a smile that she was doing a rather decent job.

"Keep on, keep on, Wendy, my – " Hook panted, before being instantly silenced by Wendy who sucked in harder. With a sharp intake of breath, he gripped harder at her hair, in a way that almost hurt; so she grazed her teeth along him, only once, for good measure.

By his vibrating pulse, Wendy felt he was getting closer to his release. She was working him up in an almost driven efficiency now; and soon after she felt him push her head back as he laid his hand on hers, accompanying her movement. As she raised her eyes up to him, she felt him spending himself on her with a moan, staining her neck, her collar, her shirt.

For a while there was nothing for them to do but stand still, each coming slowly to their senses.

It was Wendy who moved first, standing up to rummage her way to a plain t-shirt disposed in her bag. She changed swiftly out of her ruined shirt, and silently made her way to the door. Unlocking it softly, she cast a quick glance at her professor, still left panting by the desk.

"I guess we're even, now."

And a second later, she exited swiftly, not leaving a shadow of her trace behind.