Messalina: Devourer of Men Read Free

hand encircles mine like a warm glove.
    “Are you here for the show or have you been?” he asks.
    “Both. This is my second time.”
    “You’re an animation buff?”
    “Yes.” I say, slightly embarrassed. “Animation is art.”
    “I agree. It’s what I do, actually.”
    “Really?” I grin. “Any of your . . . work . . . ?”
    Laughing, he shakes his head. His laugh is rich, velvety, with a slight huskiness to it that tells of a history of smoking—recent or past—and the sound has me curling my toes in my shoes with desire.
    “I haven’t attempted film on my own, yet.” He leans back in his seat to make himself comfortable. When he crosses his legs I see cowboy boots coming from beneath faded blue jeans. Not the flashy kind you may expect a country western singer to wear, but boots that are worn and comfortable from use. “You know a bit about art, then?”
    “I was an art history major—briefly—until I decided that the best way for me to keep my appreciation is from an amateur’s view.” Smiling, I reach for the sugar dispenser and sense his eyes watching my every move. “I teach at Bellingham College.”
    “Ah . . . the land of the Bellingham Bucks.”
    “Yes,” I sigh dramatically. Bellingham is a private college of about 2,800 students where the financial aid office is only there for students to get money out of their trust funds or from their parents in amounts too big for an ATM. Our mascot is the mule deer.
    “Listen, Evadne, I can’t sit and watch you try and drink that coffee anymore. I’ll be back.”
    He is heading for the concession stand before I can put down the sugar dispenser leaving me to enjoy the presentation of his ass in his jeans as he walks. He moves with a fluidity of motion that reminds me of something.
    A cat. Not the domestic kind, but one of the big cats walking in long strides. He may call me symmetrical but his features are easy on the eyes too.
    He returns and shifts his chair closer to mine to get out of the sun. He smiles as he presents me with my drink. He’s bought one for himself too. I’m about to blow the steam away and he’s watching me again. I have to close my eyes to drink.
    When I open them, he’s still looking at me. Using a tactic I haven’t felt compelled to use in years, I lick my lips while maintaining his gaze. His eyes follow every movement as the tip of my tongue slides from right to left over my upper lip. My breathing quickens. His vibes are far from subtle, but from the way he sits straight in his chair, he is holding back. Slowly, he raises his eyes to meet mine.
    “I’ve seen you here before, you know.”
    I freeze for a moment, but soon recover then put down my cup. “I beg your pardon?”
    “I’ve seen you—here—before. Several times.” He takes a sip of his coffee not minding that he’s just uncovered my greatest fear: the fear of discovery. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re alone.”
    I look at him again, hard, my brain cycling through all the faculty, departmental, and staff meetings to try and place his face. I can’t.
    “Who are you?”
    He laughs but not in a derisive way and turns in his seat to face me. Once again his mouth turns up in a smile making me wonder if his lips are as soft as they look. His knee brushes against my thigh sending a spark of electricity up my spine.
    “Don’t look so scared, Evadne. Your secret is safe with me.”
    “And what secret would that be?”
    “Do you really have to ask?”
    “I think I do.” Even I couldn’t resist smiling as he gives me a knowing look. I twist my upper body in his direction and rest my arm on the back of my chair. As expected, Jared takes in the presentation of my cleavage but only for a moment. “I’m not used to conversation.”
    “Well that’s a shame. A pretty thing like you is bound to have something to say.” He winks and turns away to take another sip of coffee. His lower lip looks full and succulent as it supports the rim of his cup. The