She’s leggy, intelligent and absolutely, positively, off-limits. Will strongly suspects the last part is going to end up fucking him over.
He’s had all the HR classes about how professors and students aren’t meant to fraternize and it’s never really been a problem for him. While he’s occasionally had a bright one here and there, there’s very little about a woman under the age of twenty five that interests him. He didn’t know who he fucking was at eighteen, much less know himself enough to date someone, and Will is too old for that shit now.
But then there’s her. She’s gorgeous but it’s in an unassuming way because MacKenzie McHale is jeans and a t-shirt, glasses and a ponytail. She has ink stains on her hand and her books have notes scribbled in the margins in addition to page after page filled in on a legal pad. He’s been lecturing about US Foreign Policy in the Cold War and her pen just hasn’t stopped. This is stuff that gets covered in the survey courses and he’d think a poli sci major would be snoozing through it (and most of them are) but not MacKenzie.
When he finishes the lecture, he sort of spaces on assigning reading and tells them all to look at the syllabus. The others peel out with the same blank expressions he’d gotten all day but MacKenzie lingers. Of course she does, because God hates him, and Will rubs the bridge of his nose a little.
“McHale. What can I do for you?” She launches into a spiel about how her father had told her that US Foreign Policy was a joke and what did he think about that and what did he think of the current war in Iraq and should the UN have sanctioned intervention in Kuwait and it all makes Will’s head spin. These are things he knows how to address, of course, but not when they’re being delivered by a leggy co-ed with messy hair and big brown eyes.
He lifts his hands. “Whoa, stop. First off, considering your father’s on the UN Security Council, I don’t think I’m the appropriate person to argue foreign policy with him. Let’s just stick to the syllabus, okay? We’re in the Cold War right now.” MacKenzie frowns and it’s just fucking adorable. He’s so screwed. So, so, so screwed.
“Well. You should be addressing it, Dr. McAvoy. I was wondering if I could write the paper on this issue instead of on the Cuban Missile Crisis?” She pairs this with a little smile and Will wonders if her father ever denied her anything as a child. He highly doubts it.
“Better stick to the assignment, McHale. I’ve got to go. Office Hours are on Tuesday afternoon.”
She turns to walk out, ponytail bouncing, and Will lights a cigarette as he watches her go. He is completely and absolutely fucked.
He strums his guitar and plays a few chords when he sees her. She’s in slim jeans and a shirt that has no back and there’s a creamy expanse of pale skin that he just wants to reach out and touch. Instead, he curls his fingers against the guitar and rubs them against the frets in a vain attempt to forget about her. He needs bourbon. He needs all the bourbon in Kentucky right now. Maybe that’s what drives his song choice, how he launches into a cover of “You Were Always On My Mind,” and she’s still talking with her friends until she turns halfway through and her eyes fix on his.
Jesus. He is fucked.
He sings to her. There’s no way he can lie to himself about that and he sings to her, makes every note and chord progression belong to her. He’s dimly aware of the cheers that go up but all he can focus on is MacKenzie, who is crossing the room to speak to him. Now that she’s close, he realizes she’s completely plastered and while it’s adorable, it sort of changes what he was planning to do with her tonight.
“Hi Billy,” she says, high-pitched and almost girlish and she looks impossibly young even though she’s got dark eyes and lips. He laughs at the nickname because it’s so fucking infantile and he’s pushing forty and she’s barely old enough to drink but he likes it. He likes that she feels familiar enough with him to do that and he wonders what it means. He’s already decided to fuck the rules and see where it goes but he’s not going to take advantage of her when she’s drunk. That’s just not the kind of guy he is.
“Hey, McHale. Think you’re about done for the night. You got a ride home?” She looks behind her and tries to spot her friends - they’ve mostly all cleared out without her. She shakes her head and her eyes are big and luminous in the low light of the bar. Will carefully puts his guitar back into the case and slides an arm around her, paying off her tab at the bar and taking her out to his car.
He’s headed back to the university and is navigating one of a series of one-way streets when MacKenzie pipes up from the passenger’s seat. “I think you should take me home with you.” It’s a bad idea. It’s a really shitty, piss-poor bad idea and Will’s going to do it because there’s no way he can resist her, not when he’s wanted her for the better part of two months and she’s innocent and vulnerable and the kind of bright-eyed idealist he’s always wished he could be. He turns away, heading home instead of back to the dorms, and wonders just how fucked up this is.
Once they’re at his apartment, he offers her his bed and a change of clothes. He also offers her aspirin and water because she’s going to need them in the morning; he’s surprised she’s still mostly standing up considering how much she drank and how slight she is. He is fully intending to sleep on the couch when MacKenzie pads out from his bedroom in nothing but his dress shirt, bare legs going on for miles.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Billy? Will you sleep with me?” Will groans and pushes himself up off the couch because resisting that is useless. He keeps his clothes on (as much armor as sweatpants and a t-shirt can be) and sighs when she slides up against him, pillowing her head on his chest and slinging an arm around his waist like she belongs there.
Sadly, she really, really does.
“We didn’t sleep together. You were drunk and your friends cleared out so I brought you home. Well, I was going to take you back to the dorm but you asked to come here instead so I brought you here. But I didn’t...we didn’t fuck.”
MacKenzie’s eyes are wide but she sighs a little in what he suspects is relief. Typical. He’d read into her flirty signals from the night before and she’d really just been completely out of her mind. He gives her an apologetic smile. “Look, MacKenzie, I wouldn’t take advantage of you. You’re my student and, more importantly, you’re a woman who’s placed her trust in me. I’m not going to do anything to violate that. I know that alcohol can make you attracted to anything that moves. I wouldn’t do anything with you when you were like that, okay?”
She frowns for a moment, working that out, and Will barely has the time to duck when a pillow comes flying at his face. What? What the hell was that for? It makes no sense whatsoever since he was just telling her that he’s a good guy in spite of being stupid enough to bring a student back to his apartment in less-than-sober condition.
“You idiot! I got drunk so I’d get the courage to fuck you because I’ve never done it before! Not because I didn’t want to actually...ugh.”
Oh. That changes a lot of things, doesn’t it? MacKenzie crosses the room and straddles him; his shirt rides up her thighs and Will curls his fingers against the sheets to keep from touching her. If she hasn’t done this before, he doesn’t know that he’s the best person to introduce her to that. Then again, better that it’s him than some clumsy jock that’s not going to know what the fuck he’s doing or, worse, just not care. When she cups his face and kisses him, Will feels like there’s fireworks going off in his head and his conscience is a dim, dark reminder that he shouldn’t do this. It’s really easy to ignore.
His hands slide up her thighs and cup her ass, pressing her down against him so she can feel exactly what she does to him and MacKenzie gasps against his mouth. He wonders how she managed to get to 21 and never sleep with a guy but he guesses that MacKenzie is as choosy in this as she seems to be in everything else. She’s smart and mature for her age and he imagines that her classmates have little to offer her. He likes to think that maybe he has something she’s interested in.
She’s shimmying out of her panties when he stops her and rolls them, sliding down her body and dragging them off himself. He hasn’t been with a virgin in a long time but he knows that as much as she thinks she’s ready, she’s not, and he’s going to make it good for her before she does this. Her skin is pale and smooth and there’s a few freckles here and there; Will kisses one that’s on the inside of her left thigh before he slides his mouth higher, nuzzling at her.
“Spread for me?” he asks, looking up to meet her eyes with his and make sure this is okay. MacKenzie seems to know what he’s asking without his voicing it because she nods and while she looks nervous, she seems excited too. Good. Exactly what she needs to be for this. He inhales for a moment, nervous himself, and presses his mouth against her. He keeps it open and soft, gentle, and runs his tongue over every inch of her just to explore before he sucks lightly at her clit.
“Oh God,” MacKenzie whimpers and Will laughs against her when he feels her fingers digging into his shoulder. He bites the inside of her thigh lightly and sucks a mark there before drawing his fingers against her, gently teasing. “Relax, Mac,” he murmurs, gently working one in while he goes back to sliding his tongue against her clit. She stiffens a little at the intrusion but relaxes, sighing a bit, and Will adds another finger and crooks them gently to press against her g-spot; when she comes, she lets out a strangled little moan and she’s so fucking tight against his fingers that he’s not sure how he’s going to handle that around his cock.
She falls back to the pillow and he pushes the shirt up a little to lay a kiss against her belly. She’s gorgeous. There’s a little sweat on her forehead, enough to make her skin glow, and she’s flushed with wide eyes and messy hair. She’s propped on her elbows in his too-big shirt and he’s pretty sure he’s never wanted a woman as much as he wants this one. He undoes the buttons slowly and slides the shirt off, dipping his head to kiss her breasts and to lick, suck and tease at her nipples before he stands and slides out of his own clothes. He rolls the condom on himself, not trusting what’ll happen if he lets her do it, and stretches out beside her. He lays his hand over her belly.
“I’ll take as much time as you need,” he says, sliding his fingers down to play in the mess he’s made of her. MacKenzie nods quickly. “I don’t need any more time, I just need you.”
MacKenzie is small, so he tries to keep most of his weight on his elbows when he slides into her. She hisses a little and he stops, only for her to make a frustrated noise and grab his ass to press him closer. She’s fiesty, his MacKenzie, and while she’s a virgin she’s not a shy one. She’s so tight and hot and perfect and he keeps his hips moving slow and steady even though he wants to just fuck her. He’s a gentleman.
When he comes, he buries himself deep and meets her mouth in a messy, desperate kiss with his teeth snagging her lower lip a little and MacKenzie whimpers under him. She’s perfect. So, so, so perfect.
He’s pretty sure he’s ruined.
Somehow he thinks he should have expected that.
Current Foreign Policy And Operation Desert Storm by MacKenzie McHale.