“Thanks, Leo.” I stood up as if to give him a hug but he quickly jumped back.

“Sorry babe, but you need a shower. Wicked bad.” His gaze moved up and down my clothes and I winced, taking in the vomit smell again.

“Okay. Thanks for helping me home.” I looked around my nearly-bare apartment, taking in that Leo had tidied up the little mess I knew I’d left.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, halfway out the door.

When he closed the door, I picked up my coffee and finished it in one gulp. Thinking of Jeremy and how he’d nearly kissed me made me want to shower more than the barf that crusted my hair.

After taking the longest, hottest shower of my life, I plopped down at my desk. I told myself I was just going to check the weather for that week.

Yeah, right.

I logged into my email, feeling my heart thunder upon seeing the notification of one new message. Impatiently, I tapped my fingers on the desk as I waited for the actual inbox to load.

I didn’t even have to read who it was from once I saw the subject line. Most definitely not Nathan.

From: Celeste Morello

Date: Sunday, September 20, 2015 11:18 AM

Subject: Dad

To: Adele Morello

Adele,

I know you’re probably too busy being a drunk, irresponsible student to actually acknowledge my email and, more importantly, Dad, but the least you could have done yesterday was call. Mom was very upset. You should not have gotten her hopes up.

Celeste

• • •

The blood roared in my head, the initial dissatisfaction that the email hadn’t been from Nathan being immediately replaced by absolute fury.

My older sister and I had never gotten along, and at the very root of our acrimony was the father we shared. To her, he was Dad. To me, he was a father, someone who donated his DNA to help create me, but that was essentially all he’d ever provided me.

I drafted three different replies before I finally decided on one.

From: Adele Morello

Date: Sunday, September 20, 2015 11:43 AM

Subject: Re: Dad

To: Celeste Morello

You clearly know me so well Celeste, so I’m not sure why you’re surprised I didn’t show up. Especially since I never actually told you I was going. To blame me for Mom’s disappointment is ridiculous.

Besides, I’m sure ‘Dad’ would have preferred my absence.

Adele

• • •

I slammed my laptop closed and stalked away from my desk, not caring if Nathan decided to reply to my email.

I crawled back into my bed, not caring about anything in that particular moment.

After an early morning shift at the cafe, I was regrettably lacking time to run home and wash the French roast scent from my skin before Nathan’s class that morning. I splashed water on my face and let my hair down in the women’s restroom, running my hand furiously over the back, straightening my strands.

Staring at my reflection, I took in my skin—pale and void of color and my eyes—their green drab and lifeless, surrounded by the bruises that colored my skin underneath, the bags especially pronounced. I’d barely slept Sunday night after my prolonged nap, and the effects were wreaking havoc on my looks.

I ran a hand down the black shirt I wore, over my jeans, smoothing the wrinkles and dusting away the grounds of coffee that lingered.

My sister’s email had repeated over and over in my head, bringing with it a visual of my father, stern disapproval permanently etched on his face whenever he looked at me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I rid myself of the image. I straightened my shoulders, applied red lipstick to my lips and concealer under my eyes. My hair hung limply past my shoulders, there was no fixing it now.

When I made it to Nathan’s class, I was later than usual. My front row spot had been taken up by someone else. I stared daggers into the back of her head as I collapsed into a seat in the third row, dropping my books loudly enough to cause her to turn around, taking me in. I gave her a saccharine smile, but I knew my eyes held derision. I wasn’t in the mood to have Nathan’s attention blocked today, especially after his non-reply over the weekend.

Had he known the email was me? Alice Carroll was my nod to one of my favorite authors, the author who had essentially saved my childhood when I needed an escape from my father’s taciturn presence. But then I remembered the attachment, of my piercing. If the words in the email hadn’t clued him in, the piercing should. I remembered, distinctly, the care he’d taken with my nipple ring when we’d been together.

My arms were above my head, parallel with the wall behind me. In the dark of my apartment, I could barely make out his eyes, glittering as he lifted my shirt above my head, ripping it from the tops of my hands. His hands clutched my ribcage, squeezing, as his thumbs brushed just under my bra. But instead of diving his hands under my bra, he covered my breasts with both hands, squeezing hard.

I yelled out, the sharp squeeze a direct hit between my legs. His lips came to my neck, sucking, biting, licking, as they made a path down my chest. He sucked my left nipple through the fabric of my bra, hard enough that I saw his cheeks hollow. The throbbing between my legs intensified, causing my hands to latch onto his shoulders, nails biting into skin.

“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, still squeezing my right breast as he gave attention to my left. “I bet if I touched you, you’d be soaking wet.”

“Yes,” I whispered, the only word I could manage when he pushed his hips against mine. His erection pressed against me and I found myself grinding on him, needing relief for the pressure building within me.

“No,” he said, abruptly pulling his hips from mine.

I could have whined in protest. But then his attention moved to my right breast, his mouth latching on to my nipple. After a second, he pulled away, meeting my eyes.

“What do we have here?” he asked, his voice a gruff whisper. He yanked the cup over my breast down, revealing the barbell in my nipple. He made a sound in his throat as his mouth descended, lightly licking the bud, flicking his tongue back and forth.

My hands loosened their grip on his shoulders as I watched him, his eyes on mine, his pointed tongue tracing a circle around the tip.

He hummed over my breast, the vibration shuddering into me, and brushed his scruff across the sensitive flesh, back and forth, taking his sweet time with my nipple ring. My legs trembled, the ache in my pussy growing in intensity. “Please…” I whispered.

“Shh,” he said sharply, and then bit down hard on my nipple. My hips thrust into him on their own volition, needing relief to the surge of desire that one bite caused. With my nipple still in his mouth, he rubbed his teeth back and forth. I could have come from the sharp sting of pain that blended into the most delicious pleasure alone. No man had ever made me come from nipple play before.

I tucked the memory into the recesses of my brain as the door opened and Nathan entered. He looked freshly showered, his hair glistening under the lights. Without acknowledging his class, he shrugged out of his black suit coat and pulled items from his bag. It was a ritual he performed every class. The mere act of him preparing for class caused me to cross my legs; the juxtaposition of this orderly professor and the man I’d fucked to be inconceivably sexy. With careful attention, he straightened his pens on his desk. Those same hands had dove into my hair, pulling, winding the tresses around his fist. He popped the lid on his thermos and took a long drink, his head tilted back and his throat pulsing as he swallowed. I could make out the flicks of moisture on his lips, a mirror of the way his lips had look after he’d tasted me, his eyes boring into mine. “Do you want to come?” he’d asked, his fingers spreading my lips apart, his thumbs brushing at my entrance.