Free The Theory of Attraction by Delphine Dryden

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    Was this a real conversation I was having? Surely it had to be an especially odd dream. “No, I can’t say as I have, Professor. It doesn’t sound all that erotic.”
    But when he crouched down behind me, his trousers and shirt brushing against my naked back, his hand pulling my hair to one side so he could murmur in my ear, now that was erotic. I was aware I had a personal wetness issue of possibly embarrassing proportions going on. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to move, or to stop him.
    His lips brushed the tiny hairs along the ridge of my ear as he spoke, and I shivered in a way that had little to do with the chill in the air. “Don’t knock it ’til you’ve tried it.” Then he went on, though I was having trouble attending to what he said, given the proximity of his mouth to first my ear, then my neck right where it was most sensitive. “The position you’re in right now is ‘kneeling down.’ Your knees need to be wider apart.”
    Widening meant that squirming would be less useful to ease the growing tension between my legs, but I decided to play along. I’d come this far, I might as well see where the path led. And I was already sitting there naked, so I’d pretty much already crossed the Rubicon as far as sane decisions went. I could always use the safeword, I reminded myself, as I scooted my knees outward. Red means stop.
    “Better. If I tell you to kneel down, this is what I want to see.” He stroked down my flanks on both sides, letting his hands come to rest at the creases where hips met thighs, and delicious heat followed his touch. “Say ‘yes, Professor.’”
    “Yes, Professor.” Was that my voice? I sounded so needy. He had barely touched me. He hadn’t even kissed me yet.
    “Now I want you to kneel up.” He pressed up on my hips, coaxing me to rise until I was upright on my knees. “This is ‘kneeling up.’ It’s a useful position, particularly for fellatio.”
    I gasped and tried to mask it with a cough. Lame. Transparent. Why did it sound so much filthier to hear Ivan say ‘fellatio’ than it did to hear most people say ‘blow job’? I heard him laugh gently behind me, and it relaxed me a little. Made me feel less freaked out. Which was short-lived, because what he asked me to do next freaked me out even more.
    Shifting one hand up between my shoulder blades, he pushed very gently and said, “Now, bend over until your head and shoulders are on the floor. But leave your hips high, like they are right now.”
    “Okay, wait, hold up. Wait. You haven’t even kissed me yet. Can we do that?”
    He had seen me naked and molested my breasts, so why this missed step seemed so significant I wasn’t sure. But it was. It was something I needed. And at twenty-eight I’d learned that sometimes you had to ask in order to get what you needed.
    He eased up but left his hand there on my back, making soothing circles with his fingertips. Then he shifted his grip to my neck, cupping it firmly and tipping my head back as he leaned over my shoulder. I caught his smug, intent expression for a fraction of a second before his mouth closed over mine and my eyes closed to savor the kiss.
    Like drowning, that kiss. Like taking in water and giving back a piece of my life in return. Ivan tasted like bananas and secret surprises. His tongue seemed to know mine already, seemed to know precisely how to stroke and flex and play and assault my mouth until all I could do was cling to the arm he’d thrown around me at some point in the misty dawn of the kiss.
    “Now,” he said once he’d pulled away, while I was still trying to catch my breath and figure out which direction the ceiling was, “bend over and put your head and shoulders on the floor for me.” This time, his push was a little firmer and against my neck. It didn’t need to be. I went over, not really caring for the moment how exposed the position made me feel. The kiss had somehow really brought home to me that Ivan knew