By Suzanne Jefferies
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I wipe clean the whiteboard, enjoying the push of the felt, swinging from side to side as I move, the squeaking sound it makes as it erases the past three hoursâ worth of hard work. An image replays over and overâthat unexpected reveal of Cameronâs torsoâa handspan of bareness, the grooved shadow of muscle. It was a shock to the sterility of that lecture hall. My mouth waters. Bare, taut skinâthat male skin, so much rougher, harsher than a womanâs.
I replace the lids on the markers and switch off the projector. Alone. Facing late afternoon emptiness.
If Cameron were to give me something Iâd like... Iâd like him, close to me, all sweet-sandy raw male youth, at my knees. Male.
I swallow back the desire that is starting to slither through me, stroking the space between my neck and collarbone. Cameron. I picture the way he ran his hands through his lightly gelled hair, the bulge in his arms as his hands extended behind his head. The soft curve of his lower lip. That vulnerable stretch of torso that was making my mouth salivate like a beast before its slaughter.About the Author: