Page 15 of Bad Professor

Dexter is kissing me like he kissed my down there.

My second thought is… I have no idea. I stop thinking altogether.

His kiss saves me.

And then he stops.

Pressing his lips against the fullness of my breast, between them, against my rib, above my belly button, Dexter eventually settles himself between my legs. He kisses my inner thigh as I try to squirm away. “Again?” I hear myself ask.

“Again, again and again… I didn’t get enough of you.” Any protest it cut short by his mouth… on me. His tongue… finding all the spots that I thought were asleep or broken or just not there. “I want to hear what you like,” he reminds me with a sexy growl.

This time, Dexter uses his finger as well as his mouth, and I can’t help the noises I make. Carlos went down on me once, early in our marriage, and I couldn’t relax, mainly because I was trying to stay quiet and still. He never did that again.

I give up trying for quiet with Dexter, because why would I? Instead, the noises I make…

I know what to expect now, and it’s even better than the first time. Dexter plays with me like I’m a musical instrument that he’s mastered. My hands settle on his shoulders as he licks me, all of me, his tongue moving with dedication and skill. And when I’m close, he doubles down with such precision and speed that I cry out as he pushes me over the edge.

“Dexter!”

I call out his name.

When I’m still gasping for breath, still quivering and spent, Dexter pulls back and stands. He pulls off his boxer briefs and there’s a moment where I see him, aroused and ready and so big…

Carlos was not big.

Carlos was not average.

I will not think of Carlos when Dexter—when he puts on a condom quicker than I can clean the kitchen at the end of the night—when he kneels on the bed and pulls my leg up, holding it in his hand as he slides inside me, like he’s parking a SmartCar.

It’s just so easy. And so good. There’s a moment of tightness as I work to accommodate his size and then any pain becomes pleasure as he moves within me.

Dexter rocks against me and I… I don’t know what to do with my hands. I settle with holding his shoulders as he rocks, plunges, thrusts, but soon my hand slide to his lower back, his ass, because I want more.

More of this. More of him. More of this incredible, amazing feeling—that I’m flying. That I’m wanted and desired and a woman.

It’s been so long since I’ve felt like that.

“You feel so good,” Dexter huffs, balancing on his arm as he fucks me.

This is not sex, and definitely not making love. Dexter is fucking me. I am being fucked.

I love it.

He slides his length in and out. Sex is one of the more basic instincts, but Dexter has perfected it with a roll of his hips; positioning my leg just so to thrust deeper.

In and out. In and out. It seems so basic, so primal. Carnal.

This is so much more.

I’m caught up in the sensations of Dexter inside me—moving, thrusting. Fucking me. The sounds of our bodies moving together, the slap of skin, Dexter’s breathing becoming hoarse, straining. My gasps and moans. I couldn’t be quiet even if I was forced to.

Why would I want to? This is… this is everything.

“Oh, my god.” It’s half gasp, half sob. “Please don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

“I’m never stopping,” Dexter says. “Your pussy is mine.”

“Mine,” I echo with a panting cry. “Yours.”

---