Love Below Zero Bonus Scene
This is the bonus epilogue of Love Below Zero (previously available on Book Funnel). Enjoy!
{This post is intended for 18+ readers. Read at your own discretion}
Becky
I didn’t wake up this morning planning on torturing James Reid. It’s been a rough couple of days. I’m on deadline for a new book and my cave troll tendencies have been out in full force. I’m pretty sure I haven’t brushed my hair in a week, and I can feel the fuzz growing on my teeth. I was still asleep when he left for work this morning. I was vaguely aware of his lips pressed against my forehead in a goodbye kiss before falling back into unconsciousness.
I have a habit of becoming nocturnal when writing. I like writing when the world is asleep, when no one can bother me and distractions are limited. James, unfortunately, is a man who keeps a very rigid sleep schedule. It helps with his anxiety, and he can better handle the world when he’s not tired. So I started sleeping in my office because I didn’t want to bother him. The couch did not do my back any favours. The perils of being over thirty.
Until I got home one day from my walk and the couch had been replaced by a bed.
“Rest is important, especially when you’re writing. You might be willing to suffer for your art, but I’m not going to let you.” He simply said when I questioned him about it. I didn’t think we’d become the type of couple who sleeps in separate beds, but it works for us. Especially when I’m in zombie mode, or he had a hard day at work and needs some alone time.
I was going to sleep for most of the day, until Mr Spock sits on my face, almost suffocating me to death. He’s not usually this invasive with me. He regularly climbs James like a tree. I’ve become the spare parent to my own cat.
“What do you want Mr Spock?” I ask the void as I sit up in bed, pushing the blankets off. The alarm clock on my desk tells me it’s just after noon. I fell asleep around 5am, so I might be able to make it through the day without a nap.
Mr Spock puts his paw on my arm, meowing loudly. A crash from the kitchen tells me exactly what’s going on.
“Fine,” I huff, getting up. He follows me downstairs to the kitchen, where Captain Kirk has been hard at work causing chaos. Someone (probably me, since James has the memory of an elephant) forgot to close the door to the pantry. Cat kibble is all over the floor, along with what looks like bird feathers. Captain Kirk has a bad habit of catching birds and dragging them into the house as gifts. Mr Spock, who views this kind of behaviour as unsavory, gets really upset when Kirk does this.
I find Kirk in the pantry, his head stuck in the bag of kibble. Along with the birds, he has an almost insatiable appetite. Seriously, for such a small cat he sure does eat a lot. We put him on rations, but he just breaks into the pantry and somehow finds a way into the bag. A small grey dove sits next to him, still alive but probably too terrified to move. Mr Spock surveys the scene with obvious distaste, then looks up at me as if to say “you adopted this feral creature, you clean up his mess”.
“Alright Captain, I think you need a time out.” I grab Kirk, pulling him out of the bag. His cheeks are stuffed with food. I sigh, carrying him out of the pantry before depositing him in James’ office and closing the door. This is exactly the kind of orange cat behaviour the internet warned me about. Pair this with the three am zoomies and I can see why Mr Spock is mad at us for bringing chaos into his home. Still, like their namesakes, I’m hoping they will form a strong friendship. Eventually. Mr Spock is now lounging on the kitchen counter, watching as I try to get the bird out of the house without actually touching it. I can hear him lecturing me in my head.
I manage to scoot the bird out the front door with zero incidents. This is not how I wanted to start my morning. I rub at my forehead, staring at the mess on the kitchen floor. When was the last time I went outside? I can’t remember.
My brain is a swirl of new worlds, characters, and scenes. The noise has reached a fever pitch, and it’s like I can’t write fast enough to get everything down before the ideas turn to smoke.
I need a break.
I clean the kitchen on autopilot, then make myself a cup of tea. A sticky note is stuck to the kettle.
I’m giving an open lecture on NEOs today at 2pm. Come by if you can.
Sometimes I think James Reid can read my mind. I’ve never seen him give a lecture in person. He doesn’t like giving open lectures, but the university forces him into it a few times a year. So far I’ve always been on tour or in meetings, so I haven’t been able to make one. Technically I should be getting back to my draft, but I think it can wait. There are more important things in life, like watching your partner give a lecture on near-Earth objects and asking him a bunch of silly questions about it just to see how he’ll react.
Like I said, I wasn’t planning on torturing him today, but maybe that’s exactly what I need. I glance at my watch. I have little over an hour left to make myself presentable and get to campus. There’s no time to waste.
* * *
I used to watch a lot of James’ lectures online. Mostly so I could boo at the screen, sometimes for homicidal inspiration. I fantasised about strapping him to a rocket ship and sending him into orbit so he could become one of those near-Earth objects he loved so much. I even looked up the effects of explosive decompression on the human body to accurately write a scene in which he gets shoved out of an airlock. I have done everything short of printing out a picture of his face and throwing darts at it.
His lectures used to annoy me so much. From the way he adjusted his glasses to the animation on his face when he had to explain a difficult concept. He was just so passionate, and I hated him for it.
I hurry into his classroom with a few minutes to spare. I might have spent a little too much time picking an outfit. Normally I would just throw on some trousers and a sweater, but I’ve been living in the same pair of sweatpants for weeks, so I felt like dressing up. Since moving to Oxford I’ve been slowly transitioning my wardrobe to be dark academia themed, as one does when presented with the opportunity to gallivant around one of the world’s oldest universities every day. I’m wearing a skirt that might be a tad too short given my long legs, and a black polo neck sweater with black oxfords. I might have cackled to myself for too long about wearing oxfords to Oxford.
Getting out of the house was a good idea.
The room is already packed, which doesn’t surprise me one bit. James quickly became one of the most popular lecturers at Oxford, and it’s not because he looks damn fine standing in front of the room. His shirt sleeves are rolled up, his hair is messy, tie is perfect. He’s good at what he does.
He exudes a quiet kind of confidence that makes his students trust him implicitly. This is a man who knows what he’s talking about. This is a man who cares, not only about his work but about his students as well. I see it in the way he talks to them, answers their questions. He was born to teach, and it’s fascinating to watch him.
A throat clears behind me and I realise I’ve been blocking the doorway into the lecture hall. I was too busy staring at James. I duck my head, quickly making my way over to an open seat near the front. I feel like a student again, being in the classroom. I even brought a notebook and pen with me so that I could pretend to take notes. I am only here to watch James.
He hasn’t noticed me yet. The classroom is huge, and soon people have to sit on the steps and in the aisles. The lights dim, and one of the other professors introduces James. The hall breaks out into applause, and his bashful smile makes my heart ache.
I’ve missed him.
Which is weird because I see him every day. Just last night he made me chickpea pasta, putting the plate down on my desk as I stared at a blinking cursor on the screen. Did I even say thank you for the food? I can’t remember.
It feels like the whole world has been out of focus for the last few days. Like I’ve been looking through an opaque window, trying to make out details but only seeing vague shapes.
Now I see him in full HD. He looks relaxed, but I see the way his jaw clenches, the way his hand twitches as he steps up to the podium in the centre of the room. He wants to tug on his hair, fidget with his tie, but he’s resisting.
He must feel my eyes on him, because when he looks up it is directly at me and my breath catches in my throat.
God, he’s beautiful.
His jaw relaxes, and he looks like a kid who got a brand-new science kit for Christmas – ecstatic. I wink at him, and the tips of his ears turn red. He clears his throat, shuffling his papers. I take out my notebook, content to just watch him, but when he starts speaking it’s like I’m being hypnotised.
Someone snapped their fingers and bam, I’m suddenly transformed into a straight-A student. I open my notebook with the speed of light, taking notes, drawing diagrams, trying to keep up with James’ relentless pace.
Every so often I feel his eyes rake over me, taking me in, and this time my cheeks heat up. I was fully prepared to ask him several stupid questions, like does he think Oumuamua is an alien spaceship, or how accurate he thinks the TV show Salvation is considering the SSA’s inability to detect asteroids before they pass through Earth’s orbit.
Instead I’m taking notes on how the gravitational pull of the Earth and Moon affect asteroid trajectories, how many new NEOs are detected every day, and how important it is to track them to avoid collisions.
You’d think that in space there would be a lot of…well, space. But humans are a messy bunch. Combine our own litter with cosmic litter like asteroids, and there are actually a lot of things you could run into up there. Plus there’s the ever-looming threat of an asteroid hitting Earth and turning us all into fossil fuel.
By the time James wraps up his lecture, I already have a half-baked idea for a new novel. Maybe I’ll ask him to co-author it with me.
The room empties slowly, but I stay in my seat. His gaze stays locked on mine, even as he talks to students and other professors. I don’t know why but my heart rate picks up. There’s something in the way he looks at me that makes me squirm. Like I’m caught in his gravity, unable to pull away, helplessly falling toward him.
Eventually the room empties, the door slamming shut behind the last person to exit.
We’re alone.
“Rebecca,” he says and my toes curl. His voice is low, almost pained. I uncross and recross my legs and his gaze dips down, pupils dilating. His normally calm green eyes are dark. He leans against the podium, trying to be casual, but I can see his hands shaking.
Oh.
Oh.
I understand what’s happening. Doctor James Reid is turned on by me, paying attention in his class. I almost laugh, I feel so giddy. This man never ceases to surprise me. He likes it, me being the rapt student, him being the gatekeeper of knowledge.
“Doctor Reid,” I say, leaning forward on my desk. “Your lecture was truly fascinating.”
His eyes spark. “Learn anything new?”
I hold up my notebook for him, showing him my notes. “Just the basics of Keplerian orbital dynamics and how they can be used for the orbital dispersion analysis of fragmented NEOs.”
He hums appreciatively, a low sound that makes my skin tingle. Okay, maybe I’m a little into this too.
“And what are your thoughts on nuclear disruption?”
I shrug. “Not as effective as sending a crew of plucky deep sea oil drilling experts to break up your asteroid, instead of trained astronauts.”
Joanna forced us to watch Armageddon last summer and I finally understood why James got so frustrated with me for getting the science in my books wrong. That movie was so inaccurate it almost reduced me to tears.
A muscle in his jaw twitches. He hates Armageddon even more than I do.
“Perhaps you need some additional tutoring.” He checks his watch. “I have some free time if you’d like to accompany me to my office.”
His tone is pleasant, but I can hear it in his voice that it isn’t a suggestion. I pack away my things and gesture for him to lead the way. I’ve been to his office before, but I don’t think I can find it on my own from this building. He takes my bag from me, throwing it over his shoulder before heading out.
He doesn’t touch me on the entire walk across campus, except once when he holds a door open for me and I feel the ghost of his hand on the small of my back. My skin feels too warm, and every step we take toward his office makes my stomach churn with anticipation.
I’m not sure what I expected when we finally reached his office. It’s a nice office, big with lots of windows. A bookshelf lines one of the walls, and there is a small coffee station next to the door. It’s clean, no surprises there, and it smells like him. I can picture him sitting at the large desk, head bent over new data sets. He shuts the door behind us, and the low hum of daily life on campus disappears. He drops my bag on one of the chairs in front of his desk, then proceeds to close the window blinds one by one. It’s like he has all the time in the world. Meanwhile I’m dying a very slow death.
As soon as the last blind drops he closes the distance between us, one hand fisting in my hair, the other grabbing my hip. His mouth is on mine before I can even blink.
I melt into the kiss. His grip on me is firm, the kiss urgent. His tongue slips into my mouth and I moan, my brain finally catching up enough to let me wrap my arms around his shoulders.
“Fuck, Rebecca,” he breathes against my lips. He sounds out of breath, unhinged. He walks us to his desk, sitting me down on top of it. I wrap my legs around his waist, my skirt immediately hitching up. His hands find my bare upper thighs, his grip rough.
“First you wear this ridiculously short skirt, then you sit in my classroom, taking notes and paying attention like a good student. Do you know how hard it is to concentrate when you look at me like that?”
I laugh softly. “I didn’t know you had a thing for good students, Doctor. Should I be worried?”
“Never,” he says, pressing another kiss to my mouth. This one is slower and full of promises. “I just have a thing for you, being a good student.” His hands trail up my thighs, leaving scorch marks in their wake. He presses his thumb into the soft flesh where my thigh meets my hip, and the sound I make is almost desperate.
“I can be good, if you’ll teach me.”
This time he’s the one making desperate sounds. His fingers skim over my panties, and he lets out a rough exhale when he finds me already soaked. He isn’t the only one who enjoys this.
A loud bang from down the hall startles both of us. A door slams shut somewhere nearby, and voices pass by his office. His gaze locks on mine, and I know we’re both thinking of our time on Mars, when we had to hide away and be quiet. It sends a thrill racing through me.
“Can you be quiet, love?”
I nod, and he pulls back, removing my legs from around his waist. He pulls me to my feet, straightening out my skirt and smoothing down my hair. Then he removes his tie, deft fingers working quickly to untie the knot. He gathers both of my hands in front of me, looping the fine silk around them until they are secure.
“What’s the word?”
“Red alert,” I breathe. It’s a ridiculous safe word, and every time we watch Star Trek together I want to burst out laughing. But it’s part of who we are, and I wouldn’t change it for anything.
“Good,” he hums, one hand cupping my cheek as he places a chaste kiss on my lips. “Get on your knees.”
The command is so simple, his voice so casual, that it makes my entire body turn to lava. I drop to my knees in front of him.
He runs his fingers through my hair, tilting my head back. His grip tightens and I bite back a moan.
“I want you to go down on me, Rebecca. Can you do that?”
I must look like a bobble head with all the nodding I’m doing. It’s not often that we try new things when it comes to sex. I’ve never gone down on him before. I assumed it’s because he doesn’t enjoy it, but maybe we just had to build up to it. James is more comfortable doing what he knows, and honestly I’ve found the same comfort in it. There’s a beauty to knowing what someone else likes, in knowing how to touch them and make them feel good. But it’s also exciting to experiment, to discover the unknown. Our sex life might not be conventional, but it works for us.
“Will you teach me how you like it?” I look up at him through my lashes. His throat bobs, and for a moment he looks uncertain. I turn my head, pressing a soft kiss to his palm. A reminder that he’s in control.
“So eager to learn,” he murmurs softly. One hand lets go of me, unbuttoning his pants and pulling out his hard length. The other hand grips my jaw, opening my mouth. I don’t have time to think before he presses the head of his cock against my lips. He lets out a strangled groan as I take him, inch by inch. Liquid pools between my legs and I strain against my bound hands, wanting desperately to touch him.
“Fuck, fuck, Rebecca.” I flatten my tongue against his shaft, hollowing out my cheeks. His grip on my jaw tightens and he pulls back, breathing hard, eyes wild. “You look so good with my cock in your mouth, darling.”
That’s probably the filthiest thing he’s ever said to me, and I immediately want more. More of his praises, more of him. I want to unravel him.
“Please,” I half-beg. I can tell he’s holding back, but not because he’s not enjoying himself. Maybe he’s afraid of hurting me, or that I don’t want this.
He curses again, and then he’s pushing into my mouth, not gently this time. His hand on my jaw is still controlling my movements, but I swirl my tongue around the tip of his cock and he shudders. He grips the back of my head again, and then he’s moving, setting an achingly slow rhythm. I take him deeper with each thrust, until he’s almost hitting the back of my throat.
“You’re doing so good,” he gasps. The whole world melts away until it’s only him and the small groans he makes as I suck on him. Nothing matters more to me than this man. An asteroid could hit the Earth right now and I wouldn’t even care.
I rock my hips, desperate for some friction between my legs. I keep my gaze locked on his face as I gently scrape my teeth against his cock. He hisses, body shaking, and I can tell he’s close.
“Slow down, love.” His grip on my jaw relaxes, and I keep going at the pace he set, following his instructions. His head falls back, his eyes shut. He lets go of me to grip the edge of his desk, fingers digging into the wood. My chest aches with the love I have for him. I might look good on my knees in front of him, but from my point of view he looks just as stunning. Eyes shut with pleasure, the laugh lines I love so much out in full force. Hair wild, glasses skew and slightly foggy. His shirt haphazardly unbuttoned. Sometimes I struggle to put into words what he means to me, this man who never lies to me, who supports me no matter what, who looks at me like I hung the moon. I could write a thousand books about him and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Rebecca,” he moans. “Can I come in your mouth?”
“Yes.” I pull back just enough to answer before taking him as far as I can. His hips buck against me, and then he’s spilling down my throat. I choke, then swallow, keeping him in my mouth until he finishes. I lick his shaft clean, then sit back, breathing hard.
It’s quiet in his office for a moment. He looks down at me, glassy eyed, before he blinks and his vision clears. He moves faster than I would have if I just came. In a flash he’s kneeling in front of me, pulling my bindings loose. I feel slightly unsteady, my body still wired. His palms cup my cheeks, wiping away tears.
“Are you alright?” He sounds slightly panicked.
I laugh, leaning into him. “I’m perfect.”
“Then why are you crying?”
“Your dick was too good.”
I can see him biting back a laugh, though his eyes still hold a touch of concern.
“I’m fine,” I explain. “Sometimes my eyes water after having a dick shoved down my throat. That doesn’t mean I didn’t enjoy it. The opposite, in fact.”
This time he barks out a laugh. “Do you have to put it in such crass terms?”
“How else would you describe giving your professor a blow job in his office?”
“Mmh.” He helps me to my feet, keeping an arm locked around my waist. He tucks himself back into his trousers, then winds his tie around his neck again. “I wouldn’t mind if you came to my classes more often.”
“That depends,” I wrap an arm around his shoulders. “What’s my grade for today?”
He thinks about it for a moment. “B plus.”
I gasp, shocked and horrified. “I deserve an A at best!”
He smirks, and I kiss that stupid expression right off his face.
“Fine, A minus.”
“I’ll take it,” I grumble. He gives me a squeeze before letting go. He picks up my bag, throwing it over his shoulder before grabbing his own bag. “Where are you going?”
“We are going home,” he says, turning out the lights and unlocking the door. I stay rooted to the spot, confused. I’m pretty sure my panties are soaked through, my own wetness running down my legs. His eyes rake across me. “Come along, love.”
My brain freezes like an old computer. “What?” I squeak out.
His eyes are full of mischief. “We’re going home. And if you can make it all the way across campus without dying, I might reward you for your efforts in my classroom today.”
I gape at him. The fucking audacity of this man. How quickly I went from loving him so much I could write him a couple hundred sonnets, to loathing him so much I want to tie him up and make him get on his knees.
He must read all of that from my expression, because he steps closer to me, pulling the tie from his neck and bending down. He runs the tie up my inner thigh, the smooth silk against my skin making my breath hitch. Carefully he wipes up my wetness, then folds the tie neatly and puts it in his pocket.
“Are you ready to go home, Miss Baxter?” He holds out his hand, and I don’t even have to think about taking it. I lace my fingers through his, and he pulls us out the door.
I’m already plotting my revenge in my head.
Thank you for reading!
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Oh my gosh! Now I'm blushing 🫣 it's the perfect bonus chapter! 10/10😂🚀💜