Commencement (11 page)

“You do.” She waved her hand at me dismissively, still reading the paper in her hand. “You’ve not had a boyfriend since I’ve known you, you have no social life, no friends.”

“Well, what is this?” I said, gesturing between us. “Am I just a minion to you? Or are you my friend?”

“I like to think so. But we’ve never spent time together outside of work. I’ve never set foot in your apartment.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” she said, finally looking up at me, “that your past has been dictating your present. Think carefully before you let it control your future.”

“Wow. That was deep.”

Sasha crumpled the piece of paper into a ball and threw it at me. I batted it away.

“Let’s be blunt,” she said. “You’re afraid of falling in love.”

I nodded.

“More than that you’re afraid that you’ll get your heart broken.”

“Duh. Isn’t everyone?”

“Yes. But they don’t let that stop them from living.”

“I don’t…” I began, but she raised a hand, stopping me mid-sentence.

“Yes, you do. You really do. You have engineered your life so that to the outside observer it looks both exciting and on track, but it’s a facade. You play at risk so that you don’t actually have to take any. You get on that stage and get naked for strangers so that you never have to with the people you’re closest to.”

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut.

“Jesus Christ, Sash,” I said, tears welling.

“I’m sorry,” she said, rising from her chair. She walked around the desk and stood in front of me, taking my hands in hers. “Listen, don’t feel bad. Takes one to know one, right?”

“Right,” I said, sniffing.

“The decision’s yours, darling, obviously. But if you take a risk and it doesn’t work out,” —she shrugged— “that’s life. And you’ve survived worse.”

“I have.” I nodded.

She snatched a tissue from the box on her desk and dabbed under my eyes for me.

“Now, shamelessly changing the subject, I’ll ask, how does this early graduation-thing work?”

“I just go down to the registrar’s office on Friday. They’ll give me a slip of paper saying I’m officially all done, and then I’m out of there.”

“No ceremony?”

“No, there are only five of us graduating,” I said, taking the tissue from her. “We all opted to come back in the spring for the official ceremony. So it’s just a piece of paper and I’m free.”

“Will you be celebrating?” she asked.

“I believe so,” I said, grinning. “I haven’t spoken to Thomas about it yet, but I hope that we’ll be spending the weekend together.”

“I’m sure you will be.” She smiled. “Well, I wish you multiple mind-blowing orgasms with your handsome Professor.”

“Thanks, Sash,” I said, popping up off the desk to retrieve my coat. “You’re a good friend.”

“I’m glad to help,” she said.

“Maybe one of these days I’ll even invite you over,” I called as I walked out the door.

“Get out of here before I dock your pay, minion!” she yelled back.

T
he rest
of the week crawled by. I studied during every spare minute of the day. My brain felt like an overcrowded hard drive badly in need of defragging. But it was a welcome distraction. I needed some reprieve from obsessing about me and Thomas, and Thomas and me, and blah blah blah. Nothing like cramming for an economics exam to take your mind off of sex.

That is, until the evening, when he’d texted me. My cheeks hurt from grinning at the phone, and my thumbs felt strained from texting him back. The rest of me just ached. Ached for him, the feel of his lips on mine, his fingers caressing my skin, slipping inside me. I ached for his words too, his thoughts, his voice. I wanted to hear him speak to me again, that low seductive rasp tickling my ear as he told me I was beautiful, that he wanted me.

I took my last exam on Thursday, and that afternoon, I made a decision. I was going all in. Time to take that risk. Just weeks ago he’d sent me his medical records, his disease-free clean bill of health, along with a note that read:

"
N
o barriers
, no uncertainty. When next I touch you, I want nothing to come between us."

I
t was partly symbolic
, I knew that. A gesture of trust on his part when we’d both needed that affirmation. But I hadn’t answered him yet, hadn’t confirmed or rejected his request. I hadn’t been sure what my answer was going to be, actually. Until now.

I diligently practice safe sex. And while I’ve been on the pill for years, I’ve always used condoms with a partner. I realized, sadly, that this was only because I’ve never had a relationship that got to the point where forgoing condoms seemed like a reasonable option. Going to the clinic with your partner to get tested, discussions about birth control, all of that stuff is what couples do, what lovers do. I’d never done any of that. It occurred to me now that aside from he-who-must-not-be-named (Brian), all I’d ever had in the way of relationships was a handful of prolonged one night stands. But Thomas was my lover, he’d made that clear. And he wanted to…well… my mind drifted back to his words from the weekend, and I shivered at the memory.

He wanted to be the only one, he’d said. To feel me, from the inside, my pussy gasping and sucking at his cock as he fucks me. Plunging into me over and over, watching as I erupt, watching my face as I cum, my cunt spasming around him as he releases inside me.

God, I wanted that too.

Thursday evening I opened my laptop and pulled up my gynecologist’s website, accessing my most recent test results from her office’s secure online database. My last visit had been just seven weeks ago, right before I’d met Thomas. I took screenshots of my records and attached them in an email to him. My phone buzzed as the email left my sent box. It was Thomas right on time with his nightly text.

E
vening beautiful
.

E
vening handsome
. Check your email.

O
h naughty pictures
?

Y
ou wish
. ;) Just check. I’ll wait.

I
t seemed
like ten minutes had passed by the time the video-chat request popped up on my screen. I hit accept and was greeted by a pair of brilliant blue eyes narrowing over an unexpected scowl.

“Are you sure?” he said, his brow furrowing.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I laughed. “I wouldn’t have sent it if I wasn’t, and God, you are the worst rule-breaker ever ever ever.”

“Jane, I’m being serious.”

“So am I! What’s with the video-chat? You said no phone, no video, just texting and email. And then here you are invading my house via computer screen.”

“This is important. Really. I don’t want you to feel pressured or uncomfortable. We can use condoms if you like, that’s not a problem.”

“No, I know,” I said, smiling at him. “I want this. You know my mother always tried to convince Charlie and me that talking about safe sex could be sexy, but we never believed her. I think I’m a believer now, because I’m ridiculously turned on.”

“Then I’m ridiculously delighted,” he said, his concern relaxing into an easy smile. “Although could we not talk about your mother?”

“Of course.” I laughed. “So, um…how are we going to do this, then? God, it feels completely salacious even saying that.”

“A clandestine rendezvous?” He smirked.

“A naughty tryst?” I said, raising an eyebrow.

“A sordid assignation?”

“Ooo, I like that one.” I smiled. “So really, what’s the plan? Is there a plan?”

“Oh, there is most definitely a plan,” he drawled, and wiggled his eyebrows at me.

“What? What?” I asked, bouncing in my chair.

“All shall be revealed at the proper time. For now all you need to know is that I’ll pick you up tomorrow afternoon at your place. Pack a bag for the weekend.”

“Oh, fancy.” I grinned. “Any particular items I should pack?”

“If I had my way I’d say just your toothbrush, but that would be irresponsible of me,” he said, winking. “So I’ll say a nice dress, swimsuit, and whatever else you like. We aren’t going out of state, but we are going somewhere special.”

“I can’t wait,” I said. I leaned my chin on my fist and grinned at him, then lifted one finger to trace the outline of his jaw on the video-chat window.

He took off his glasses and mimicked my position, lifting his hand, and flattening it to the screen.

“Not much longer,” he said.

I raised my palm and placed it over the image of his. We sat that way for a long moment, pixel skin to pixel skin, our eyes locked on each other, gazing with that strange unfocused video-chat stare. He was so beautiful, it made my chest feel tight.

How the fuck am I even going to survive this man?
my head asked my heart. I chased the thought away as soon as it surfaced. There was no turning back now. Sasha was right, I couldn’t let my past control my future.

“I’m going to say goodnight now, darling,” he said, letting his hand fall from the screen. “We should both get some rest, as I plan on wearing you out.”

“Yeah?” I said. “Right back atcha, buddy.” I sat back in my chair, and lifted my shirt over my head. My torso was framed perfectly in the chat window, as was Thomas’s face, his eyebrows arched in surprise and his tongue snaked out to lick his lips, a subconscious movement I watched with satisfaction.

“Jane,” he said, his tone a warning.

“What?” I asked innocently as I reached between my breasts for the front hook of my bra. I snapped it open, then peeled the flimsy lace away from my breasts, slowly, one excruciating micrometer at a time.

He licked his lips again, his eyes glued to my breasts. I smiled, then stopped my hands, letting the fabric hug my flesh just shy of my nipples. I slid my fingers over the trackpad.

“Au revoir, Professor,” I said, and clicked End Call.

F
riday morning was a haze
. I ran around my apartment like a crazy woman, took care of some long overdue cleaning, and fussed in my closet over what, exactly, to bring to my weekend excursion with Thomas.

Thankfully Charlie called mid-crisis.

“Dude! Thank God you called! I need wardrobe help.”

“Hey, graduate! Whatever you need. You going out to celebrate?”

“I’m spending the weekend with Thomas, actually. He’s taking me away somewhere. It’s a surprise.”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?” I said.

Charlie sighed dramatically. “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Oh, well hey, try to contain your enthusiasm,” I snarked.

“Whatever. Mom told me not to hassle you, so I won’t, but I draw the line at pretending I’m happy about something that I’m not.”

I thought of saying,
“Oh, like how we all pretend when it comes to your dick-bag boyfriend?”
but I didn’t. Instead I said, “Why did you call, sis? Because you are seriously harshing my buzz right now. I’m about to hang up unless you can come up with a legit reason for me not to.”

She sighed again, and I held the phone away from my ear, trying to resist the urge to throw it at the wall.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Thanks.”

“Alright, where are you going?” she asked.

“Told you. Surprise. But he said we aren’t leaving the state. Although he also said to bring a bathing suit, so take that for what it’s worth.”

“There’s probably a hot tub where you are going, then. You certainly won’t be reclining on the beaches of Maine in December.”

“True.”

“Okay, bring your sexiest lingerie, obviously, but also something a little sweeter, more demure for when you have some downtime.”

“Okay.” I put the phone on speaker and pulled open drawers, throwing clothes into my suitcase as she spoke.

“A pair of jeans, skinny, and a pair of boots, the ones I bought you last Christmas.”

“Got it.” I raced to the closet, grabbed the boots and threw them at the bed.

“Throw in a few V-neck tees, and that sparkly pink cashmere cowl-neck sweater. You look fantastic in that.”

“Aw, thanks baby sister,” I cooed.

“Shut up.” She laughed. “Okay, I assume you need a fancy dress?”

“Yes, he did specify that.”

“Go with black. That scoop-neck little black mini-dress you have, the one with the gathered bust and the fitted waist.”

“It’s all beaded along the hem,” I said. “Is that overkill?”

“Absolutely. Pack it.”

“Okay. You’re the genius.”

“Yes I am,” she said. “Here’s why. Bathing suit. Pack the one you met him in. The pink vintage bikini.”

“Oh crap, you
are
a genius,” I said as I held the suit aloft. “And I’m freaking hungry.” My stomach growled angrily, so I grabbed the phone and headed to the kitchen for a slice of toast.

“Have you spoken to Mom yet?” Charlie asked as I waited for the toaster.

“No, what’s up?”

“Mason and I are coming for Christmas.”

“Yay!” I yelled into the phone. My toast popped up. I grabbed a knife and a jar of blackberry jam from the fridge.

“Yeah, well…it should be nice.” Her tone suggested she thought it would be anything but.

“It will, it will be awesome,” I said as I slathered the toast with jam. “I mean, I couldn’t give a shit about Mason, of course,” I said, lifting the toast to my mouth for a bite.

“Janie, don’t start.”

“Oh shit!” I screamed. “NO NO NO!”

“What? What the fuck?”

“Oh dammit dammit dammit.” I stood, paralyzed, staring at my pink bikini. It lay between my phone and the toaster, currently decorated by a huge blob of blackberry jam.

“Major fucking wardrobe malfunction, Claremont! Fucking jam on my fucking bikini.”

Charlie laughed. She laughed so hard she started coughing and I had to threaten her with bodily harm before she calmed down enough to talk me through my crisis.

“Ha ha; karma,” she said. “That’s what you get for being mean about Mason.”

“Oh my God, if the gods smote everyone on the planet that ever said anything mean about Mason, there’d be about four people left.”

“Hey!”

“Okay, sorry, just help!”

“Club soda, in your pantry. I know it’s there, I left it there myself two summers ago.”

“Fucking hell, you brilliant lifesaver. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

“Careful, don’t scrub! That suit is vintage so the dye job is fragile. Just splash it on and let it sit, massage very lightly then wash the entire suit so that the color isn’t uneven.”

“That means a trip to the laundromat.”

“Yeah, so?”

“I’m just on a tight schedule today,” I said, looking at the clock. “Gotta run.”

“No problem. Talk later. Have fun having sex with your teacher.”

“Fuck you.” I laughed.

“No thanks.” She laughed back and hung up the phone.

Two seconds later my mother called.

“Mom,” I said, breathless into the phone as I pulled on a pair of shoes, grabbed my coat, purse and keys and headed for the door. “You are calling to congratulate me, to tell me how proud you are, to tell me you love me, and to ask me if I have plans to celebrate this momentous occasion.”

“Oh my God! Quick! Somebody call Oprah! My daughter is psychic!”

“I’m sorry,” I said, laughing. “I’m just completely frantic today.”

“Mmmhmmm, I’ll just bet you are. But it has nothing to do with your recently acquired business degree.”

“No,” I said. “I’m celebrating with Thomas. He’s taking me away for the weekend, and I’m trying desperately to get my shit together before he shows up this afternoon.” I locked my apartment door and sprinted down the stairs to my car.

“I understand,” she said. “I’ll let you go, but first I must say….”

“Yes?” I prompted.

“Congratulations. I’m so proud of you. I love you. And have fun this weekend.”

“Thank you, Mom,” I said, stopping at the door to my car and leaning against it for a moment. “I love you, too.”

“Goodbye, baby girl. Have fun this weekend.”

“Bye, Mom. I will,” I said laughing.

“Be sure to do everything I wouldn’t do.”

“Goodbye, Mom,” I said firmly, although I was still laughing.

I
drove
to the registrar’s office, located in the university’s administrative building, and flew inside, catching the secretary just before she was about to leave for lunch. She handed me my proof of course completion, and congratulated me, before shuffling off, presumably in search of lunch. I followed her out of the building, folding the paper into my purse and gazing at my surroundings numbly. Three and a half years of my life had been spent here. It was strange to think that, aside from coming back for the ceremony in the spring, I’d never really see this place again.

I walked to the quad, found the pathway through the side garden of the English building, and took a moment to stand alone among the snowy bushes and dormant plants. I was isolated and out of sight, the sounds of student chatter distant and hollow as their voices echoed off of days-old compacted snow.

A figure passed in front of a window on the wall of the English building, opposite of me. I squinted in the bright winter light and raised a hand to shield my eyes.

Well hello, Professor.

He was on the phone, pacing back and forth as he spoke. I scooped up a handful of snow, compressed it and threw a snowball at his office window. I saw his back stiffen at the sound of the impact. He turned to the window and looked out, saw me and spoke into his phone again before slipping it in his pocket. Then he bent over and raised the window.

“Jane Claremont.” He smiled at me and my whole body flamed so hotly to attention, I was surprised to see the snow around me hadn’t melted.

“Hi,” I said, and felt my face break out into an oversized grin.

“Hi yourself,” he said softly, his eyes darting around me to see if I was alone.

“I miss you,” I said, feeling my throat tighten at the admission.

“I miss you too,” he said. “Terribly. But I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, what time?”

He looked at his watch. “Um, about an hour? I’ll call you when I’m on the way.”

“Okay,” I said, then stood there awkwardly. The exhibitionist in me wanted to do something, something sassy or flirty, something to leave him wanting more.
“Flash him your boobs!”
Lizzy Bendit yelled at me. In my head, I kicked her in the shins and shoved her down a flight of stairs.

“Okay,” he whispered and winked at me. “See you later.”

“Later.” I nodded up at him, raised my hand to my lips, and blew him a kiss.

He pretended to catch it, and pressed it to his chest, before shutting the window and disappearing out of view.

“
S
hit
!” I skidded into my apartment, ran to the bedroom and frantically mashed piles of clothes and toiletries into my suitcase. The only garment to escape my thuggery was the little black dress. That was zipped into a garment bag and hung by the front door.

The bikini was a disaster. The stain was barely visible, but the suit was a sopping, soapy mess. I threw it into a plastic zip bag and headed for the door, dragging my suitcase and garment bag with me across the street, and down one block to the laundromat.

I added the bikini to the shortest wash cycle the machine would allow, then dug into my purse for a hairbrush and some blush to freshen up. I reached a reasonable approximation of presentability when my phone buzzed. It was Thomas.

W
here are you
?

W
hy
? Where r u?

A
t your flat
. You aren’t.

S
orry
! At laundry. Minor issue. I’ll be there in about ten minutes. Sit tight.

N
o
. Coming to you now.

D
esire and anticipation
ran through my bloodstream like a herd of wild horses. He was coming for me, now. This was really happening. Weeks of flirtation and desperate longing were finally coming to an end, now, tonight. My mind zoned out, lost in thoughts of Thomas’s eyes, Thomas’s hands, his lips, his….the washing machine buzzed and I nearly jumped out of my skin. I ripped the bikini from the washer, threw it in the dryer and punched the start button.

A Jaguar pulled up outside and a god emerged from its interior. He stood up, leaning over the roof of the vehicle for a moment to stare at me through the windows of the store. I gulped.

He was gorgeous, in a deep blue sweater and a houndstooth scarf under a camel-tone brushed cashmere trench coat. Strong hands were clad in dark leather gloves and his fingers stretched impatiently, clenching and unclenching as he strode to the door, opened it and stepped inside.

I swear the entire building swooned at the same time I did. I could almost hear it, cement and tile and metal sighing in unison with me. All the universe—animal, vegetable and mineral were grateful in that moment to be in the presence of this magnificent creature. Thomas Grayson. All mine.

He walked towards me, pulling at the fingers of one glove as he did, until the leather gave way. He reached for me, his cold hand ghosting over my cheek and threading into my hair. I turned into his palm, and kissed it.

“Congratulations, graduate,” he said. “You’re glowing.”

I giggled, and then blushed like an idiot. “Sorry,” I said. “Thanks. I think I’m nervous.”

“Good,” he said, his smile curling into devilish dimples.

“Good?” I gaped at him. “Shouldn’t you tell me not to be nervous or something?”

“Why would I do that?” he said, stepping into me, caging me between his body and the machines, a re-creation of our first time in this building. “I like you nervous. That blush across your cheeks,” he said, gliding a finger over my skin, “it’s so becoming, Jane.”

I blushed again, felt my panties dampen and my knees threaten to mutiny. I bit my lip and looked up at him through my lashes.

He pulled at the glove on his other hand, flexing his fingers as he freed them. He pushed both hands into my hair and cradled the back of my head, angling my chin up with his thumbs. His mouth crashed down on mine, devouring me, his tongue probing the seam of my lips and slipped in, tangling with mine, teasing and playing, sweeping over the warm wet depths of my mouth, coaxing a moan from me that was startlingly raw.

“Gahhhh,” I said, when he broke the kiss. I was trembling.

“These going?” he said, stepping back from me, pointing at my suitcase and garment bag.

“Yes.” I nodded, barely able to form words.

He picked up the bags and walked to the car, laying both of them neatly in the trunk before coming back inside.

“Anything else?” he asked, the dryer buzzing as he spoke.

“Not anymore,” I said. I reached into the machine and grabbed the bikini, stuffing it deep into my coat pocket before he could see what I had. I wanted it to be a surprise.

“Good,” he said when I turned back to him. “Because if we spend another minute here I’m going to do to you what I wanted to the first time we were here.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, my voice nearly cracking with desire as he advanced on me, his eyes dark and dangerous.

“Bend you over this machine,” he said, his lips pressed against my ear, “rip those leggings from your body,” his hands coasted to my waist, “and pound into you until you scream so loud they can hear you in the Dean’s office.” He squeezed me, hard, and I squealed as his fingers found the ticklish spot beneath my ribs.

“Unhand me, you brute!” I yelled at him, laughing and pushing at his chest, then twisted, trying to squirm out of his grasp.

“Never.” He laughed, breathless, holding me tightly around the waist, his head resting on my back. He lifted me then, swung me up in his arms and held me like a princess just rescued from a castle. “Never,” he repeated and kissed me on the forehead.