Page 63 of Taming His Teacher

She moans and halfheartedly thrashes as I pick up the pace, tormenting her most sensitive place. I pinch her again, using my nails this time, and then take a chance and twist hard. The sound she makes is primal, lungfuls of lust coming to a head, making her whole body convulse, her head pressing hard into the pillow. I release her clit, stroking with a finger, wringing every last aftershock out of her until she’s lying limp in front of me, a flushed, giddy puddle.

“Please, Zach. Please stop. After, it’s too sensitive. I can’t. Please.”

Someday I’ll force half a dozen more orgasms out of her for saying she can’t, but for now, I’ll let her off the hook. I slick my fingers over her one last time and take them in my mouth, tasting her. Maybe not my best-laid plan. It makes me want to bury my head between her legs and make her come until she cries.

I lie down next to her and fold her warm body against mine. She’s trembling, so sensitive. I hold her tight against me, tucking her head under my chin and draping a leg behind her thighs and pulling her close. She likes that sensation of containment, of being held still. I can’t wait to get her into some serious bondage.

When she’s settled, she pulls back a little. Her big brown eyes blink up at me and she smiles. The corner of my mouth nudges up in return. I fucking adore this girl. I brush my knuckles over her cheek and study the uneven flush that creeps all the way down to her breasts.

“Did you like that?”

“‘Like’ is an inadequate word. When you were… I didn’t think I liked it at all, but when you kept going and it… Oh, god.” She buries her head into my chest and the sweet scent wafting up from her hair makes me inhale deeply. I want more of everything about her.

Pride rushes through me, and relief. If everything else goes to hell at least I made her come like a bottle rocket. Speaking of, my dick is so hard every time she brushes against me I swear it’s bruising. At one particularly aggressive rub of her hip, I groan. I’ve been turned on at the club before, but it was easy to get distracted by work. Here there’s not that luxury. It’s just Erin’s body curled against me, as pink and willing as I’d ever pictured it.

I don’t want to shove my dick in her and pump the three strokes it’s going to take me to come. Okay, I kind of do, but not more than I want to make her happy, make this good for her. It would be really fucking awesome to acquit myself with some dignity instead of splooging in her after less than a minute like some fucking adolescent who can’t control his own cock.

I squeeze her again before loosening my grip. “Undress me.”

Her eyes light up like a girl who’s never won anything before being handed the keys to a brand new car. She comes to her knees beside me and I lace my fingers behind my head so I don’t touch her while she works. But when she leans over to unbutton my shirt, her soft breasts brushing against my chest, and she gives me that saucy innocent look that looks so well on her, I’m a split second away from indignity. And as she swings a leg over my hips to straddle me and brushes her pussy I know to be sopping wet, with heat I can feel on my dick through my pants, the hair trigger that’s been cocked for the last half hour snaps. I come, my release shooting through me.

Shit. I was worried about three strokes and now I’ve blown my load without even one. For fuck’s sake.

* * *

Erin

Shep’s scrubbing his broad hands over his face, into his hair, and cursing prolifically under his breath. Wow, does he know a lot of bad words. I think— I think he… Oh, dear. I lay a hand gingerly on his chest but he doesn’t scold me.

“Zach?”

“Get off me, Erin.”

His tone is sharp, stabbing into the place he’s laid bare. I slink off of him and across the bed. I curl up, hugging my knees to my chest, my ankles crossed so he can’t see every part of me. Not that he’s looking. He’s pressing the heels of his hands into his eye sockets and a steady stream of what I’ll assume is still cursing is hissing from between his lips. A dark spot on the front of his pants confirms my suspicions.

Tears bubble up and my chin starts to tremble. I don’t know what to do. I don’t want him to snap again, but I need to know he’s not going to leave, that I haven’t ruined everything.

“Shep? Are you— Are you angry at me?” My voice is choked with tears and I hug my legs on the last word when I can’t keep my voice from cracking.

An audible “Fuck me” escapes him, an epithet of disappointment, and I burst into tears. Seconds later, he’s pulling me into his lap and petting my hair.

“Don’t cry, Erin, please. I’m sorry.”

He’ssorry?

“I’m not angry at you. I couldn’t be further from angry at you.”

“But you sn-snapped at me.” My horrible, halting sobs make me stutter and I fight to get control of my breath.

“That was unfair. I apologize. I’ll do my best, but I’m not going to be perfect all the time. I’m angry at myself, not you. Do you understand me?”

“No.”

He laughs, a short incredulous sound. “Erin.”

It’s his commanding tone and I respond to it like I always do, looking up at him. His face is flushed but with amusement, not anger. “Are you serious?”

Now I feel foolish. “Yes?”

---