Knowing Me, Knowing You | (S/P)

Chapter 42

A red dress.

She's wearing a fucking red dress. I will take that as a direct discourtesy to my mental health. The dark ruby fabric wraps around her body as a second skin, the slit on the left side giving a glimpse of her never-ending legs. I find myself unconsciously swallowing trough a dry throat at the mere sight of her.

"Where's your plus one?" Roger asks, handing me a brand-new glass of champagne.

"I didn't bring one." I take a sip of the sparkling liquid, doing my utmost effort to avert my eyes from Alexia, which has just arrived a few seconds ago.

"Where's the fun in that? Old man..."

"You're not even part of the English Department, what are you doing here?" I turn to look at him, trying to look irritated but all that I gain in response is an ironic chuckle.

The English Department hosts this gala at the beginning of every spring semester in an attempt to publicly recognize the diverse achievements of the past months, and at the same time to encourage faculty and students to further engage in activities that represent both a chance to nurture their careers and, of course, bolster the Department's reputation.

It's normally just active professors, top students, recognized alumni, emeritus faculty and some people from the local media that attend this kind of events, this time hosted at Dr. Carlton Murrin's house, the Department Chair. Since he is Roger's uncle, he of course couldn't miss the promise of free alcohol. Alas, this time, he had the decency of bringing his fiancée with him.

I catch with the corner of my eye how Alexia has engaged in conversation with two other students, sipping from glass of champagne of her own. I'm burning to go talk to her, to tell her what that dress is doing to my brain, and specially, how much of a torture the past days were without her.

"They invite students?" Roger asks with a smug smile, eyeing Alexia's group.

"Some of them." In that moment Alexia excuses herself, directing herself to the adjacent room.

"Excuse me." I leave my glass in a nearby table and walk in her direction, my eyes admiring her body from head to toe. She turns around before I can reach her, a shy smile capturing her lips immediately.

"She walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies."

"Lord Byron." She answers in less than two seconds, and I gesture with a hand regarding the color of the dress. Before I can give voice to any of my inappropriate thoughts, she says defensively, "I know, but I really, really, liked it."

"You look great in it." My hand unconsciously reaches for hers but realizing the nature of said action I drop it before giving away myself, tucking both of my hands inside my pockets, fighting my desire to touch her.

"Thank you." Her long hair is tied up on the back, some wavy locks framing her face beautifully. "You look very...good-looking, too, professor." The twinkling in her eyes doesn't go by unnoticed as she turns on her heels, walking towards the double doors that lead to a solitary hall.

I follow the clicking of her stilettos until we can't listen to any of the ongoing conversations nor the soft music playing in the main hall. When she turns a left, I'm quick to trap her body against the wall, my hands moving with their own volition to her hips. My forehead rests against hers, our lips not more than millimeters apart. Her soothing perfume and the warmth of her body —particularly on a frosty winter night— is an unwelcome reminder of how terribly I've missed her, but at the same time, the reassurance that she's mine.

"I missed you...so much." I murmur against her lips, the words sounding as that of a wounded and hungry animal.

"Me, too." Alexia's hands move surreptitiously to cup my face, bringing our lips together in a kiss that can only be described as one full of need, full of yearning and infinite adoration.