Elizabeta Brooke: Never: an erotic retelling of Peter Pan

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Dr Williams?"

Dee frowned, suddenly remembering the phone call. What had she said she'd do? She swivelled her chair to face the door.

"The secretary said she called you."

Dee blinked at her visitor in shock.

It was Billy McKenzie.

"But if you're too busy…"

Dee simply stared, her lips parting as she absorbed the warmth of his tanned skin, the soft texture of his flannelette shirt and his eyes — the same milky grey as the fierce thunderclouds that had heralded the electrical storms of her youth. She remembered them distinctly, building up along the Western plains. They'd been terrifying in their intensity, but the young Wendee had felt only exhilaration, running wildly through the paddocks as lightning arrowed down around her, knowing that for a brief period of time she was truly alive.

Exactly as she felt now.

"Dr Williams?"

Even his voice was dangerous. Deep. Needy. She struggled to contain her childhood recklessness, damping it down with her adults fears. She was Dr Williams now, not Wendee.

She straightened her shoulders. "Yes?"

"I didn't want to bother you. It's just, I have this problem…" he glanced around her office, either out of curiously or nervousness, she wasn't sure. "The secretary said to come to you."

Dee nodded, seeing the pieces fall into place. The Convener of First Year. She remembered the conversation now. As convener it was her responsibility was to listen to any first year student's problems, either with their work or personal dilemmas, then refer them on to whomever could help. It was a small responsibility she'd been unable to evade, but for which there'd been little call in any case.

Yet now, the one person she wanted to avoid, Billy McKenzie, was calling on that responsibility. Could it possibly be a coincidence? Or had he known she was the convener?

And why now, today?

He'd never spoken to her personally before, merely been one of many in her lectures or tutorials. What force had brought him to her right at this moment in time when her resistance was so low? Two weeks ago she'd imagined herself to have aroused him with her carnal thoughts. Had she drawn him to her now with her guilty longings? She stared at him, feeling the chaotic churn of desire raging just below her surface calm.

He was dressed in faded Levis and an unbuttoned shirt over a navy singlet of the same blue as the briefs she'd seen him in that night — briefs that had strained to confine his erection. Unconsciously, her gaze drifted to his crotch as that scene replayed itself in her mind. She remembered his tight abdominal muscles, the large tentative hand…

"Dr Williams?"

Her attention shot back up to his face, her heart hammering inside her chest. "Come in." The words came out as a croak. She coughed and tried again. "Come in. Sit." She gestured to a chair in front of her desk.

She needed to focus. He had come with a problem. She would listen and deal with it, then after he'd gone she could fall apart if she had to. But not before. There was no need to feel panicked. Nothing could happen in an office in broad daylight.

But she hadn't expected him to close the door behind himself. He was big, at least six foot two, and as he stepped across to the desk she felt cornered, swamped by the awesome sexual pull of his body.

Intellectually, she knew he couldn't be this attractive to all women, and a month ago she'd have said he was a nice looking boy. Yet now, inexplicably, he'd become a fatally attractive man. It was psychological, she was sure, but she could think of no way to negate it.

He sat across from her, looking vaguely nervous and Dee knew she should say something, but all she could manage was a tight swallow. His yellow blond hair, combed back from his forehead, was damp, and the clean smell of him enveloped her. To make matters worse, his billowing shirt had given her a good view of his magnificent chest beneath the thin cotton singlet. Up close he was devastating, and she had a flicker of imagining herself leaning across the table to get at him. Then she cleared her throat. The best thing to do was to get it over with as quickly as possible.

"You've got a problem, Billy?" she asked, in as professional a voice as she could muster.

He looked surprised, then smiled shyly. "You know my name."

Idiot, she castigated herself as she scrabbled for an excuse. "I'm training my memory. I've memorised all my students names," she lied, then was furious at how devastated she felt when the glow faded from his eyes. "The problem?" She only just stopped herself adding Billy. Damn, she wanted to say his name over and over. She wanted to hear him say her name. What was wrong with her?

"Yeah." He looked down at his large hands clasped together on the desk. Dee looked at them too, wondering if they were soft and sensitive, or callused from years of farm labour. "I can't seem to concentrate on the work," he said softly and Dee felt the skin on the back of her neck prickle. Dear heaven, what was he going to say?

"It's too hard?" She couldn't stop staring at his hands, wanting to touch them. Wanting it so badly her own hands trembled until she clenched them into fists.

"Actually…" He glanced up at her from beneath his lashes. "It's… the math."

That wasn't what he'd intended to say.

"But you're brilliant at math, Billy," she said without thinking. "Your assignments are perfect."

"How could you know that?" He was looking at her as though she'd just given him the most precious gift and Dee found herself slipping. He was so young, so keen… and she was so stupid. Now he'd think she was interested in him, which of course she was or she wouldn't have looked up his old reports. She have to bluff her way out of it.

"It's my job to keep track of my students’ progress," she said, then added gently, "It's not the math, Billy."

"No." He glanced out the window behind her, biting his lip in a way that made her stomach twist. "I guess not," he said softly.

"Then why are you here?" She held her breath, wishing she hadn’t said that and yet crazily desperate to see if he’d admit he desired her.

"Because…" His grey eyes slid into contact with hers, and she felt a sexual pulse, like a pre-orgasmic flutter. But it was more than sex. Much more complicated, and infinitely more volatile. "…it's personal," he admitted, looking back down at his hands.

She swallowed tightly. "You have a personal problem?" Hell, she sounded like a psychoanalyst, parroting back at him, but she couldn't think of another thing to say. Why hadn't she just let him talk about math?

"You see I'm in — " he said in a rush, then caught himself on a hiccupped breath. For a suspended moment he simply stared at the top of her desk, as though memorizing her scattered collection of pens, then he stood so quickly his chair threatened to fall over backwards. "Actually I'm late and I have to go," he blurted, still not looking up. "I'm sorry to have bothered you, Dr Williams." He edged around his chair, still looking at the carpet.

Dee knew with painful certainty that he wouldn't be back, and inside herself an emptiness yawned so deep and wide she was afraid to move in case she fell in. She'd been a fool, denying the obvious. Now that Billy stood in front of her in the flesh, she could admit she wanted to be unfaithful — admit she wanted to forget her husband and give herself up to the voluptuous pleasure of Billy's magnificent body. She wanted to touch him and kiss him, and she wanted to watch the wonder in his eyes as he made love to her.

"Thanks for your time," he said softly, backing out, his head down. Some of the wet fringe had fallen forward to veil his eyes but he was blinking and Dee felt her shock deepen as she imagined he might be about to cry. "I know you're busy," he whispered, and Dee lurched up out of her chair and stepped around the desk, knowing she couldn't let him go without…