Seasons Of The Heart Fall Ch 04

The next few days went off without many problems. Occasionally Claire would find him looking at her, his gaze intent on her, but other than looking, he made no moves for her. Part of her was disappointed, but on the other hand, she reminded herself, that that was what she had wanted.

Finally the day of the art museum trip came and she and her classmates prepared for the trip. They would be walking, as the museum wasn't far from the campus. As the students, bundled up in scarves and hats, huddled together on the sidewalk, Mr. Daughton strode toward them to round them up for the trek.

The students mostly walked in groups of three or four, groups of friends walking together. But Claire, he noticed, walked mostly by herself, only talking occasionally to someone or another. Curious, he walked up beside her. "So, which clique are you part of Claire?" he asked.

She blushed slightly and shook her head. "I'm really not part of any group, Mr. D, I mostly keep to myself, and people are pretty quick to oblige. I guess I'm just not the socializing type." She looked at him sideways and shrugged her shoulders. She shivered slightly as he leaned down, his lips very close to her ear.

"You can be part of my group Claire, cause I sure as hell find it hard to leave you alone." He whispered. He let his hand stray to the small of her back, an almost possessive gesture, before he strode powerfully off to the front of the group, leading his students.

Claire was speechless, and also very aroused. Her cheeks were bright pink, and it wasn't from the wind or the chill. She would have to be very, very careful around him in the near future if she wanted to keep a level head.

He stopped the group of students in front of the museum, to remind them of their assignment. Some groaned as they remembered what they were there for, while others chattered excitedly. He looked over the crowd of students to Claire, and saw her, her eyes down as she studied her paper. The students dispersed to their various sections and he saw Claire look back at him briefly as she walked away.

Claire found that her assignment was in a wing of the museum that was located very far away from where many of the other students were finding theirs. She was for the most part isolated from the rest of her class, but didn't give it much thought as she began to lose herself in the piece.

It was a gorgeously done nude work, the subject of the painting gloriously free of inhibitions as she lounged upon a hillside of lush green grass beneath a flowering tree. The colors were so vibrant, it seemed to be a photograph instead of an 18th century painting. She could almost feel the slight breeze that would be rustling through the delicate pink blossoms of the tree. She could feel the warm rays of sunlight glistening off of the woman's soft, luscious breasts. She could feel the tender blades of grass brushing lovingly against her curves, her milky thighs.

As he approached her from behind, he could see her lost in thought over the painting he had chosen for her. He knew that she would appreciate it and wouldn't shy away from the subject matter as some of his students would. He could see the soft blush of self awareness in her cheeks. He walked up beside her, and when she didn't turn to acknowledge him, he slid his arm around her waist. When she didn't tell him to move or to get his hands off of her, he slowly moved behind her, wrapping his arms around her body. As his large hands smoothed over her stomach and hips, Claire sighed, leaning her head back against his chest. He planted his hands on her hips and pulled her back against him, letting the hard plane of his body hold her soft, pliant one against his. Her fiery copper hair slid off one shoulder, exposing a length of soft, graceful neck. He wanted to touch her more, ached to, but he was sure she would wake up from whatever delicious dream world she was in and tell him to fuck off. Before he could let her go, though, he knew he had to taste her. Slowly, with his hands running small, gentle circles over her hips and stomach, he lowered his head to her neck, his breath shaky as he hastily licked his lips. He lowered his head the final painful inch and his lips descended upon her skin. As he began to suck, and nibble her delightful skin, she moaned. A helpless sort of cry that made his cock go rock hard in seconds. His hands slid upwards with a desperate need to feel more of her. His fingers slid up over her breasts and he groaned as he felt her hard nipples against her shirt.

Daydreams were a funny thing, she thought, as she imagined she was the woman beneath the tree. In her daydream, her lover had come up over the hillside and was now holding her against him, his lips warm on her neck. She felt him urgently hard against her ass, his hands sweeping upward to grasp her breasts. Then all of a sudden she realized it felt too real, way too real for a daydream. She opened her eyes and looked down to see male hands covering her breasts. She felt warm, wet lips against her neck, and a suspiciously hard object against her backside. She stiffened, preparing to fight off the rapist. Suddenly the hands stopped and she whirled around. She almost screamed when she realized she was staring face to face with Michael Daughton, professor of art history. What stopped her scream was the look of desire, mixed with the look of... it couldn't be. No, he couldn't be feeling ashamed at what he had done, could he? She stared in bewilderment as he hung his head and dropped his hands, backing away from her.

He felt like the World's Greatest Asshole. As his dark gaze dropped from her confused ones, he let his hands fall away from her and stepped away. "God, Claire, I am so sorry," he said, "I completely went against what you wanted, I know, its just....Christ, there's no reason to make excuses, I'm sorry, I'm just going to say that." He managed to rasp out as he saw her face register bewilderment. Feeling like a dick, he turned away from her, knowing she must hate him, he walked out of the museum to wait in the courtyard for the other students to finish up.

Claire couldn't move. She was frozen to the spot. He had left her, left her standing there, aroused and hot, and all he had said was sorry? When she had turned and found herself standing surrounded by his arms, hunger written all over his face, all she had wanted was to kiss him, release the violent passion. The feeling had confused her and she was sure that he had taken her hesitation as her not wanting him in return. She knew she had to do something, having felt his hands on her, his lips hot against her neck, and his cock so hard against her, hard for her, she wanted it now more than ever. There could be no turning back.

As Claire walked through the lobby of the museum, she felt a fierce determination come over her. It was actually kind of frightening, she had never been the kind to boldly go after what she wanted. But she wanted Michael Daughton like hell, and by God, she was going to have him.

He saw her coming out towards the group, and by the look on her face he was sure she was going to give him a piece of her mind for practically raping her in the gallery. Wanting to avoid a public confrontation, he quickly turned and led the group of chattering college students down the street and back towards campus.

Holy hell, she thought angrily, he was going to avoid her. Well, tomorrow is always another day isn't it?, she decided, he wasn't going to be able to avoid her for long. She would make herself known to him, whether he still wanted her or not.