Page 51 of Bad Professor

“Do you remember when I asked if you’d ever been kissed at the back of your knee?” Dexter straightens my leg, stretching it up so he can press his mouth against the soft spot.

“Yes,” I gasp. I remember everything he said that night.

“I think you’ll like this.” He trails hungry open-mouthed kisses along the crease, finishing with a flick of his tongue in the corner. Every touch of his mouth has a mirror reaction in my core, a pleasurable clench that makes me catch my breath.

Dexter’s eyes are dark as he smiles. “You’re very flexible,” he says admiringly.

“I do yoga.” I can barely get the words out.

“I’d like so find out just how flexible you can be.” His voice is low and suggestive.

I’ve never thought it was possible to have a man take so much time with me. Dexter strokes and caresses, kisses often, licks occasionally, all the way up my body.

He pauses for a few moments between my legs again to tease before moving up to my stomach, the one area I’d like him to skip.

But he covers everything, giving every spot equal attention and turning me liquid with need and want, like softened candle wax, pliable and loose-limbed. By the time he reaches my mouth, kissing me so thoroughly that I forget that I’ve ever been kissed before, I’m moaning with need.

“Come inside me,” I beg, not for the first time.

When Dexter slides inside me, something clicks and I feel this is right. He rocks against me, our bodies moving together slowly, in perfect rhythm.

“This is good,” he says breathlessly, balancing on his arms to look down at me.

“So good.” I hitch a leg around his hip, urging him deeper.

“I don’t want to ever stop,” he confesses. “I want to be fucking you forever.”

“Eventually you’ll have to stop.” I smile and he kisses it, swallowing my moan as he thrusts deeper.

This is making love, but like no love I’ve ever made. Slow and languorous; Dexter says things, but they’re not the dirty talk of the first time. I laugh often, something I’ve never done while having sex.

My climax is slow to build, but I take Dexter with me and by the time I’m cresting, his thrusts are deep and frantic. As I cry out with release, Dexter meets me with a shout and stills, coming deep inside me.

“Holy shit,” he breathes.

My body is trembling, but this time I’m not embarrassed, especially when he kisses me so sweetly. “You are… glorious,” he announces, still lying atop me, his arms supporting his weight.

I slide my hands along his arms, enjoying the feel of his muscles. “For that, I’ll make you a sandwich.”

“I might need some sustenance before we do that again.”

“Again?” I cry, and Dexter laughs and kisses me again.

I’ve never felt so light and free after sex before. So happy and relaxed and… happy.

I’m so happy.

I’m not used to it.

Dexter hands me his shirt to wear and I pull my hair into a messy bun. I’ve always wanted to be one of those women who wears the shirt of the man they just had sex with.

And now I am.

But I had no idea I wanted to be one of those couples who make food after sex.

Dexter pulls on his jeans but leaves his boxer briefs on the floor where they flew after I pulled them off. I take his shirt, which leaves him shirtless. I appreciate that.

If I hadn’t just had sex with him, I would definitely want to just from the sight of his chest. And his abs. And back.

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