Page 71 of When Hearts Collide

I keep my eyes on her face as my finger thrusts into her and my thumb rubs circles around her swollen clit. Her muscles lock with tension, her fingers digging into my hand around her neck, her hips buckling under the onslaught of my fingers.

“R-Ryland,” she rasps, “what’s happening to me? It has never been like this.” Juices sluice out of her and I crave a taste.

The wet sounds of my fingers sawing in and out of her tight pussy have me hanging on by a thread. Pre-cum leaks into my pants, but I couldn’t care less.

“Your body wants both oxygen and to come, the needs feeding into each other. But you can’t do either until I let you.” I insert another finger inside her, fucking her hard and she nearly careens off the wall.

Her moans are loud and obscene as she thrashes against me. Her nails will no doubt leave marks on my skin after this. Her wetness drips all over my hand and her legs tremble. I feel the telltale signs of her pussy throbbing.

“I-I need,” she begs, panting harshly, before rolling her eyes back. Her entire body starts spasming in my hold.

“Come for your professor, Millie. Fucking cream in my hand.”

I hammer my fingers inside her, and she explodes. I quickly let go of her neck, watching her lungs heave in the much-needed oxygen, her mouth parted in a silent cry of ecstasy.

She’s so fucking perfect.

My balls are so heavy, my cock is so hard and throbbing, everything is about to burst, but I don’t want to grip it, to give it the few life-giving pumps and unleash my cum because this is the punishment I’m giving to myself, a professor with the hots for his student, dirtying up her innocence, snuffing out her halo.

I will not be the one to clip her wings.

I can’t.

Chapter 27

I’m a fucking coward.

The thought is on repeat as I knock my forehead on the double-paned windows at our reserved room in the gentlemen’s club at The Orchid two weeks later. Maxwell used to make fun of how much I enjoyed looking out the windows.

Little does he know it’s the freedom outside I crave.

It’s one of the most beautiful times of the year in New York City, with summer bidding us farewell and fall welcoming us with open arms, dazzling bystanders with foliage of reds, oranges, and yellows, the weather brisk but not yet chilly. Central Park is sprawled beneath us in the near distance, a beautiful postcard, but I don’t really notice.

Because I’m a fucking coward.

After the event at New Beginnings, where Millie came all over my fucking fingers, the image permanently branded into my brain, I’ve avoided her like a plague.

In the classroom and at the JEAP committee meetings, I’ve directed my instructions to someone else in her group, including Fred, even though my jaws will ache from clenching every time I see him flirting with her. When she asks a question, I answer it as succinctly as possible. I always leave right after class ends, exiting the room with the throngs of students, using them as protection.

I’ve canceled office hours, making up some bullshit reason about meetings and conflicts at Fleur for the IPO, and letting students know they can schedule appointments with me via email.

I know she’s upset and hurt, judging from the hard glare in her cutting eyes when my gaze inadvertently meets hers in the middle of class. But instead of tears, she sits straighter, her nostrils flaring, her chin tilting higher.

No, she’s no longer the fragile water nymph, stammering at my feet. She’s a fighter, and I’ve been mistaken all along. Millie is a predator flying through the skies.

She’s the snowy owl. A stealthy hunter. Rare and beautiful. Soaring straight into my heart whether I want it or not.

Letting out a ragged breath, I eye the pedestrians down below, roaming free on the streets, braving the honking traffic and the brisk elements while I sit on my throne, feeling restless, wanting to go to her, to see her, to feel her fall apart in my arms once more.

“Something is on your mind. Don’t bother denying it. Now, spill,” a deep voice speaks from behind me.

I look behind, finding the imposing silhouette of Steven, decked in his usual three-piece suit even though it’s Saturday afternoon. He’s early to an evening with the guys. His piercing hazel eyes narrow at whatever he sees on my face, and I straighten up and roll out the stiff muscles on my shoulders.

“What made you decide to go for Grace? You had your obligations at Pietra Capital, saving TransAmerica, not to mention your mom disapproving her. You guys were worlds apart.”

He strolls to the wet bar, pours two glasses of whiskey, and walks up next to me before handing me a drink. “There wasn’t another choice. My heart wants what its wants.”

A heart wants what it wants.

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