Ignited & Unhinged (Billionaire Secret, Book One)(Billionaire Romance, New Adult Romance, College Romance) (9 page)

Out of place.

Damon sighs and appears to examine the books in front of him. “You should get over it. The way he looked at you that night…” his voice turns hard, like when he’d commented on my dancing with Bash, “I’m pretty sure he didn’t mind. More than not minding, I’m sure the bastard liked it.”

Maybe we both liked it, but it didn’t make me feel any less embarrassed in class.

In fact, it occurs to me that I’m so embarrassed
because
I liked watching him.

“Erik won’t even be there, if that makes a difference,” he says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Oh?” I think about that. “How do you know?”

He shrugs, “He isn’t slated to be there tomorrow night.”

Slated
?

“You have to RSVP?” I ask, the idea almost makes me laugh, but I don’t know why.

His lips twitch up in a half smile. I can tell he’s trying to tell me without giving too much away.

“Something like that. It isn’t required, but it is encouraged enough that people almost always do.”

I don’t know what to say to that. “Oh.”

His voice turns smooth and serious, “Well? Will you come?”

I smile. “I don’t know, I guess that depends on you,” I say seductively, taking advantage of his possible pun.

His face transforms. Full of humor and bravado. “Oh, you’ll be coming.”

I laugh.

I
did
want to try again. “OK, fine.”

His answering smile is so beautiful it makes my stomach drop.

He leans down to kiss me quickly. “Good. Now that that’s settled, let’s go get some pizza.”

He stands, pulling me up with him.

He keeps my hand. His thumb makes light circles over my skin. “You make me hungry.”

His expression turns intense again. “In every sense of the word.”

That Saturday, I was determined to check a few more things off my
experience college
list.

Partly because that’s what I had planned before Damon’s invitation. And partly because I need to keep busy so that I don’t think too much about where I’m going tonight.

In the morning, Jasmine, Kim and I go on a hike in the forest.

The College is in the city center, but like so many New England cities, green space is never very far away. The College Forest is only a few blocks east.

It’s a bright, sunny day.

The summer humidity had relented giving way to a slightly cooler fall breeze.

The hiking path through the woods was just wide enough for the three of us to walk side-by-side.

Rays of sunshine break through the gaps in the otherwise dense tree line, illuminating patches of the path.

It’s warm enough that the cool breeze feels good when you hit the sunny patches.

Birds chirp animatedly all around us. Every once and a while, the scent of wild flowers hits our noses.

“So ladies, uni so far, everything you thought it would be?” Jasmine breaks the natural silence we’d kept going for the last few minutes.

Flashes of last night in the stacks keep me from speaking right away.

“Pretty much.” Kim seems lost in thought. “There is so much to do and see, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t expect it to be…so
much
.” She struggles for the words.

I find my voice, “Yeah, it’s definitely more than I expected,” I agree.
Way more
. Sex in the stacks, secret sex societies, gorgeous young professors…

I continue, “And the events…isn’t it crazy how they go all out for every single bloody thing? I mean it’s spectacular, but sometimes it doesn’t feel real.”

Jasmine gives me a side long glance. “Bloody, eh? Picking up a few things from me, I see. Well, good, keep doing that—I’ll help you let go of all of your inhibitions if I have to bloody die trying.”

If she only knew
.

I wonder how she would react if she found out just how far along I’d gotten in the
let go of your inhibitions
department.

Probably give me a hug and buy me a bottle of champagne.

I almost laugh at the thought.

I quickly change the subject before my face gives me away. “As for you, Miss Jasmine, what do you think so far of your foray into American Ivyland?” I ask.

She tilts her head up, thinking. “Not gonna lie, I should have stayed in the UK and gone to Cambridge,” she says with mock gravity.

Kim calls her out. “Oh, shut up! You know you love it here.”

“Oh alright, I do. It’s brilliant. You all are brilliant, the campus is gorge, and the men are yummy. Yes, I admit it, I’m ready to give up the Queen to join the colonists,” she finishes in her most British of accents.

“Hey look there’s a sassafras tree.” Kim walks off the path abruptly, moving towards a small, thin tree.

Jasmine and I exchange a glance and shrug.

We join her just as she is snapping a few of the smaller twig-like branches.

She hands us the twigs. “Here, chew on this.”

Jasmine tries it immediately. “Mmm…it’s like a fizzy drink.”

Something stops me. “Ummm…isn’t the oil from sassafras trees…I don’t know, carcinogenic?” I ask, uncertainty coloring my tone.

I can’t remember how I know that.

Jas spits out the twig.

“Jesus, K, are you trying to kill us?!” She’s patting her tongue with her fingers.

“Relax!” Kim doesn’t seem at all concerned. “The oil, safrole, is a carcinogen, but all the sassafras trees in the Campus Forest have been genetically modified. These trees are fine. See?” She jams the twig in her mouth.

“How do you know?” I ask.

“My forestry science class,” she answers simply.

Good enough for me.

I put the twig in my mouth, it tastes like a root beer.

“Oh that’s where I know the smell,” Jas says more to herself than us.

“Yeah, it’s in root beer,” I tell her, thinking she had placed the smell of the tree to the specific soda.

“No, I once shagged a guy against one of these.” Jasmine chews on the twig thoughtfully.

Kim and I exchange a look.

Jas is lost in whatever memory the smell had conjured. “He was hot…” she says remembering the details with a smile. “And big.”

We laugh. The sound bounces off the trees.

“We’ll have one large orgasm, one medium mashed potato, and one medium white clam pizza,” I tell the waiter. “Did that sound strange to anyone else?”

I look around the table.

Jas, Kim, Ana, Carlos, and his suitemate Joe had joined us for pizza at Yorkshire, a favorite amongst students, but new to us.

Those three pizzas were their most talked about.

“Welcome to university, where even the pizza gives you an orgasm,” Jas adds.

We all laugh, except Ana and Carlos who look a little shy.

“So have you guys screwed your suitemates yet?” Joe asks between bites of a mashed potato pizza slice twenty minutes later.

Ana chokes on her water.

“Geez, relax. Haven’t you heard of the screws?” I ask her.

She shakes her head.

Joe explains, “They’re just dances. Well blind-date dances where your suitemates get to “screw you over” by setting you up with someone terrible and making you meet in embarrassing ways.”

He takes another bite before continuing, “People are generally nice, though, so kids are matched together because their suitemates think they would be compatible.”

Carlos picks up the ball, “Yeah, but the way people meet—that’s the fun part.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

“A sophomore in my house told me that last year his suite made him walk up to girls on The Campus and say, ‘sex is a part of nature,’ and then try to give them a hug over and over again. He almost got slapped a couple of times. It took him fifteen minutes to find the girl who had the corresponding half of the quote, ‘I go along with nature’ and hugged him back,” Carlos finishes, clearly amused by the story.

“The SE screw isn’t until February so no one’s screwed anyone yet,” I tell the guys. “When is the Caplan House screw?”

“End of January, I think,” Carlos answers.

Ana is doing a terrible job of looking uninterested. A black and white photo of an old sports team on the wall next to her is suddenly very interesting.

She clearly had a thing for Carlos.

And by the way Carlos is sneaking side long glances at Ana, he likes her back.

Ana turns abruptly, changing the subject, “What about societies? That’s part of the mystery of this place, right? I can’t wait to see some awesome secret society behavior!”

It’s as animated as I’ve ever seen her.

She continues, “Allegedly, some societies wear black cloaks and freaky masks during tap night. Anyone know anything?” Ana searches our faces eagerly.

She loved her mysteries.

Kim counters with humor and sarcasm, “We’ve only been here a few weeks. I’d guess it would take longer to find out anything major—they are, after all, you know…
secret
.”

“Yeah, but come on someone’s got to have heard something. Anything? No chatty upperclassmen?” She looks around hopefully.

She continues giddily, “Supposedly there are dozens of official secret societies, some semi-secret societies, and other societies that exist, but have acquired myth status.”

“How do you know all this?” I ask.

“I’ve been asking all the different groups of friends I make. As expected legacies seem to have the best intel. Admittedly, I haven’t gotten my hands on any upperclassmen yet,” she grins, face brimming with mischief.

“Thinking about joining The College Daily?” Kim wonders out loud.

“Oh God, no. I couldn’t care less about investigating and reporting truth to other people. I’m selfish in my curiosity. I just want to satiate my own questions.” Ana nods wisely. “It’s my addiction.”

“So does that mean, we’re going to have to watch out for you being Miss Nosy in the future?” Kim narrows her eyes at Ana.

“HA! No, you guys don’t have to worry. I love large scale mysteries, you know big-picture stories. I have zero interest in invading your privacy. Although Jas’ love life, I mean
sex life
,” she corrects, “has the potential to yield some large-scale stories in the future.”

Our blank looks prod her to explain, “You know she might hook-up with a married senator who comes to campus to give a lecture or something. Then I’d be interested and desperately wanting to know.”

“Senator, eh? I’ll see if I can get right on that,” Jas jokes back.

“You would hook-up with a married guy?” I ask. Unsure exactly what I thought about that scenario.

“I don’t know. I’ve never really thought about it. There are plenty of guys that are available so I’ve never gone looking for a married man.” She shrugs.

The thought had clearly never occurred to her.

“I can’t know about the future, though. You know how I feel about karma—that shit is sacred so I don’t think I would go out of my way to destroy lives…” she draws her eyebrows together in disgust.

It’s as serious as I had ever heard Jas be about sex and consequence.

And then her face lightens, a wicked smile emerges, “But at the same time as Marilyn Monroe said, ‘Sex is a part of nature. I go along with nature.’”

Kim rolls her eyes. Ana smiles back, anticipating no doubt, all the entertainment Jas would provide with her sex life over the next four years.

Which apparently, was about to pay off for Ana sooner rather than later.

Jasmine turns to face our dark-eyed suitemate, “Back to your question, Ana. I did hear something from a senior who gave me the best orgasm I’ve had in months.”

I steal a glance at Joe and Carlos, they are both bright red and looking anywhere but at Jasmine.

She goes on with the story, completely unaware of the males, “He said that his former suitemate’s friend is in some super sexy society.”

She lowers her voice conspiratorially, “Apparently, the friend got completely pissed and was going on about having sex while people watched. It was mostly garbled gibberish, but the sex while people watched part was clear.”

Ana leans in, about to ask more, I’m sure, but my words are out before I can stop myself. “What else did the guy say?”

I try not to look too interested since I was already managing to
sound
too interested.

“Nothing. The guy was so pissed that he passed out soon after telling my date’s suitemate about the sex.”

Ana taps her fingers together, like she’s hatching a plan. “Interesting. So there’s like a secret sex society out there that deals in orgies or something.”

I can hear the cogs in Ana’s head spinning.

I try to think about anything but the current topic so that I won’t betray myself by turning red.

I think about random things like my family vacation to Maui or my steadfast desire to see Judi Dench win an Oscar…and Maggie Smith.

Wondering which classes I should take next semester…

It must be working because no one is looking at me.

It’s Kim who breaks the silence, “How did you guys even
get
on that topic of conversation? ‘My former suitemate’s friend has a kinky sex life?’”

She shakes her head like she can’t wrap her head around Jas’ pillow talk. “What do you even say in response to something like that?”

Jas’ voice is dead serious. “Well I don’t know what
one
would say, but I stated the obvious.”

“What?” Kim and I speak at the same time.

Jas looks at us, incredulous.

“That it sounds like a society that needs me as a member. Naturally.”

Ana snorts out her water.

We’re all laughing as we grab napkins to clean it up.

The last pizza arrives then. We all take a slice of the large Orgasm.

That afternoon, I continue my mission of distraction and immersion in the Ivy experience by visiting the university art gallery.

I tried to get the other girls to go with me, but they were all busy.

Jasmine had an early study date. Study being code for another
S
word. Kim was playing intramural volleyball at the gym. And Ana was going to a panel on study abroad programs.

The main gallery is located just down the street from SE.

The building itself dates to the mid-19th century, but the inside is newly renovated and houses a city block and five floors of art spanning 5000 years.

It’s the final weekend of the
Renoir to Chagall
exhibit which explores how Paris became the center of the art world in the 19th Century and played muse to many of the period’s art greats, including the French impressionists.

The impressionists were my favorite. The colors, the dream like expression of reality—I could spend an entire day staring at just one painting.

I find the exhibit on the 5th Floor.

There are fifty paintings that explored Paris and the surrounding countryside.

From a portrait by Mary Cassatt to landscapes by Monet and ballerinas by Degas. It’s beautiful.

The expansive room is filled with natural light from the large skylights in the ceiling that seem to partition the 5th floor into three sections.

There are also physical partitions placed in seemingly inexplicable patterns across the floor.

There is a section in the middle of the room that is closed off on three sides, blocking a series of paintings from view.

I walk along the outside wall first.

It’s easy to lose myself in the vibrant colors, the freedom of expression, and the subjective pieces.

They all fuel my imagination.

I glance at my cell, two hours had come and gone.

Only the closed off section in the middle of the room remained.

I pause just outside the three-walled section to look at one of Degas’ ballerinas.

She is bent over fixing her shoe, the tulle of her costume touches the floor and extends upwards behind her.

It’s a simple moment in time. She isn’t doing anything graceful or exceptional in any way, but the piece is beautiful. It moves me, like all the great works do.

I walk into the section that shields a series of paintings in the middle of the room.

I can see now that it’s actually walled-in on
four
sides with only a small opening to allow a person to step inside.

There are twelve paintings, three on each wall depicting women and men in various states of nudity.

I start with a painting on the far wall opposite the entrance.

Another Degas called “
After the Bath or, Reclining Nude
” c. 1885.

The woman lay on something, I can’t tell if it is a bed, or if she is on an orange-red carpet.

She’s on her side, her leg relaxed in front of her, obscuring her private parts.

I lean into the painting. Trying to see her breasts more clearly.

I wouldn’t normally have done it, but here in the privacy of this space I’m alone and free to examine the figure.

I wonder if all women are curious about breasts. They are just lobs of fat, but somehow they had become inextricably linked with femininity, sex, and the forbidden.

Even though they are everywhere.

“It isn’t an HD photograph, you know. You can’t zoom in to get a better look at the subject’s rack,” a distressingly familiar voice says from just behind me.

I don’t move, but I’m sure my entire body has just turned bright red.

I’m stunned speechless.

Holy
.

Crap
.

Now standing just inches to my right, he continues, “Notice the curves Degas uses throughout.”

He gestures with two fingers an inch from the surface of the canvas.

“The curve of her hip,” he speaks slowly, silkily, “the curve of her leg that covers her most
intimate place
.”

Professor West makes the last two words sound less delicate and more like
sex pot
.

He moves to my other side and gestures with his left hand. “See the perfectly executed soft curves of her breasts? Degas spent years trying to make those curves
just
right.”

I refuse to look at him.

Was he goading me?

“Didn’t you like how he executed her breasts?” His voice has softened so much, it sounds like pillow talk. “You were examining them so closely.”

I think my coloring has changed from red to purple I’m so flustered.

But this last statement—a joke at my expense, galvanizes me to speak.

“I prefer his ballerinas,” I say a thousand times calmer than I feel.

Thank you God
.

“Of course you do,” he answers icily, like I’m a foregone conclusion.

I hadn’t noticed that he’d been leaning into me before. He’s now slightly further away.

The altered physical space gives me room enough to collect myself with as much dignity as I can muster.

Don’t think about it Elle. Don’t think about it.

I’m trying desperately not to think about him fucking the blonde and how the memory continues to affect my body.

I find my voice, “If you are judging me because you think that as a female I must be enamored with his ballerinas merely because they are pretty you would be mistaken.” My response is formal, with a hint of disdain thrown in for good measure.

I’m determined to prove something. What? I’m not sure yet.

But I soldier on, “The movement he expressed through dancers—it sings. Even in those simple in between moments where the subject isn’t performing—her movements matter.” I pause for effect, like I’m giving a lecture.

“They are beautiful and strong and show the female form in ways that weren’t happening anywhere else at the time. Collectively they are beautiful because they show the fixing of shoes, the stretching, the practices—all of the moments that lead up to a performance.” I manage to hold my intellectual, calm tone in place.

Now for the zinger, “Individually, they honor women and movement. It has nothing to do with his use of
pink
.” I spit the word at him.

There.

He is silent.

I feel brave enough to sneak a sideways glance in his direction.

He’s staring at me. A look of surprise or confusion or possibly curiosity dances across his face.

“Yes, that is valid,” he accepts.

I don’t know how long we stand there, side by side.

The silence grows making me feel more awkward than angry again.

He’s the one to speak first, “There are just so many of them. The ballerinas are ubiquitous in his work.” He sounds annoyed…or bored with them.

He speaks with the same youthful style of his lectures. Half biased opinion, half intellectual discourse.

I was never sure if his biased take on the pieces we discussed in class was appropriate for a professor of art history.

I don’t know why I expect him to present the material and all relevant information in an impartial way.

Isn’t that what college professors are supposed to do?

Then again he was no regular professor…

I glance around the other three walls.

I can read many of the titles, there are four other paintings by Degas at least partially titled “After the Bath.”

“It appears that these particular nudes are equally ubiquitous.” I gesture around the room. “How many
After the Baths
did he paint?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, surprised with himself, I think.

“Isn’t that something you should know?” I challenge.

“Perhaps.” I hear rather than see the smile in his voice.

“There are dozens, I don’t spend time thinking about Degas and his stats.” Now he sounds amused.

More silence.

I don’t know what to say, so I just start moving down the wall.

I can feel rather than see him moving with me.

My long hair partially obstructs my peripheral vision and shields me from view.

If I can’t see him, he can’t see me
.

I come to the final painting in the room and stop dead.

The other paintings were nudes that weren’t really shocking in a world full of film nudity and sex, but this last painting sucker punches me.

Why, oh why, did I have to lay eyes on this painting with him just inches away?

I’d only just begun feeling OK in his class and now
this
.

The painting is “
L’Origine du Monde
” by Gustave Courbet.

I had heard of it, but never seen it.

It features the lower three quarters of a naked woman.

She’s on her back, one breast exposed, her legs spread wide.

Half of the frame is taken up by her vagina. Her full bush partially covers her opening, but it is a visceral, raw image.

“Ah, yes. Courbet. He pushed the boundaries.” He’s close.

His breath moves my hair slightly.

There’s a restrained intensity in his tone.

“He dared to lay before our eyes the source of all pleasure on Earth,” his voice is barely above a whisper.

The muscles in my stomach clench together.

He continues, “This piece was censored off and on since its inception in 1866.”

I can hear my breathing getting louder.

Can he?

“Really?” is all I manage.

“Yes. It continues to be censored. In fact, it was restricted from social media as recently as 2011.”

Is he getting closer?

“Why?” I breathe, my voice shaky.

“People are afraid of pleasure,” his lips move against my ear.

A chill runs down my spine.

This isn’t happening. Should I step away?

My feet feel rooted in place. I can’t move.

And I don’t think I want to.

“Why?” I repeat stupidly, through a lust-filled haze.

“Because they are afraid to let go. To be only in their bodies without judgment. To believe that experiencing pleasure is half of what we were put on this Earth to do.”

He’s behind me now. His body brushes against mine for one instant and in that instant I want him to bend me over and take me right here.

“Are you afraid of pleasure Giselle?” he whispers into my hair.

He knows my name?

His physical proximity is making it impossible to think.

“I wonder…” his lips are at my other ear. “When the time comes will you let go?”

What does that mean?

He brushes against me again, but lingers an agonizing second longer this time.

I close my eyes.

“See you tonight,” he says simply, hungrily.

And then he is gone.