Free Private Research: An Erotic Novella by Sabrina Darby

me even closer, his erection hard against me.
    “I cannot get enough of you,” he muttered. The words thrilled me in a primal way.
    I reached up to loosen his tie, to start the process of releasing him from his work attire. Then I nearly fell as his fingers reached between my legs and stroked me over my panties. Apparently, I almost choked him, too, as his hands left me and he reached up to take over the business of the tie.
    “Sorry.” I stepped back and watched him. I wasn’t entirely certain what it was about seeing him with that tie loose about his neck that made me want to fall to my knees and take him in my mouth. I’d never felt this obsessed with sex and a man’s body before. At the same time that I reveled in it, it frightened me.
    Made me wonder who I was.
    As he pulled the tie over his head, I stepped away, wanting distance to clear my head. I was using him the way people used alcohol or other substances—to escape the reality of my life. Was that so bad?
    “Don’t go too far away,” he said, reaching for me. But I stepped out of range again, not that the room was all that big. In fact, the frame of the single bed pressed against my calves.
    “I don’t think I’m going to find the link,” I blurted out. When his hands fell to his sides, and he looked at me confused—whether by the abrupt change of topic or by wondering what the hell I was talking about, I didn’t know—I elaborated, “Between Anne Gracechurch and James Mead. I found this fabulous photograph of her. No one’s ever even found a painting of her let alone a daguerreotype before. My advisor is beyond excited.”
    “But you’re not.”
    I shook my head. Talking felt as unreal as having sex with him did. Like it wasn’t totally me, and yet, I just kept going.
    “I have ten days left here, and despite all the work I’ve done, and I have been relentless,” I said with no false modesty because until bumping into Sebastian at the archives, I had been completely focused on my work. “Despite that, I’m going to be leaving here with nothing to show for it. With my thesis resting merely on forensic analysis, which, interesting as it might be as a starting point, doesn’t give me a slam-dunk-fabulous entry into the world of academia.”
    “And that’s your plan? After this, back to uni, finish up your dissertation, and start the search for a faculty position?”
    “That’s the plan,” I said slowly, but I couldn’t stop the hot flush that filled my body, the sudden sensation of distress. I blinked. Looked down and away, trying to compose myself.
    “Mina . . . ?” Maybe it was how late it was, or the gentleness of his tone. Maybe it was the early excitement of the day and then the letdown. Or it could have simply been being tired of hiding my shame, the embarrassment of failure, from everyone. All I know is that the floodgates fell open and tears were running down my face.
    I looked away, wiping at my eyes with the back of my hands, and heard the door to my bedroom open and close. I looked back, and stared at the space where he had been. Some experiment in empowerment. I was a mess and this was a disaster.
    More tears dripped down my cheeks and self-disgust filled me. I had to get myself together. I had to—
    The door opened. He was back and holding out a wad of napkins from the Vietnamese takeaway.
    “Thanks,” I muttered, taking two. He placed the rest on the desk.
    We stood there in silence a minute more, until the only remnant of my tears was the blotchiness of my skin and red-rimmed eyes.
    “This . . . isn’t just about today.”
    I blinked in surprise.
    “The Mina I know can handle some setbacks. Knows how to put them in perspective.”
    The Mina he knows. Despite my depression, I wanted to laugh.
    Instead, I sat down heavily on the bed. He sat down next to me, shrugging out of his jacket. This wasn’t my life. This was some other place, other time, as if I were living in a dreamworld.
    Except, this was my