Page 64 of Taming His Teacher

He hugs me so tight I can’t breathe.

“Most women wouldn’t be thrilled when their boyfriend comes in his pants.”

I tip my head in consideration. Yeah, okay, I can see that, but… “Am I supposed to be anything but flattered that I turn you on that much?”

“No, lamb. But one of the things I’ve promised you is control. If I can’t control myself long enough to have you take my clothes off, how are you supposed to trust me to take care of you, too?”

A giggle escapes me. “You’re twenty-two. You’re hot and smart and an athlete. You worked at a kink club. I can’t imagine women haven’t been throwing themselves at you all that time. And yet, here you are, never having slept with any of them. If that’s not self-control, I don’t know what is.”

Another laugh. “Yeah, okay. You’re the sweetest little thing, you know that?”

He kisses my temple and I turn my head to offer him my lips. He accepts, pressing his mouth to mine. It doesn’t take long before he’s hard against my hip and I smile against his mouth.

“Can we try again?”

It’s forward of me, but he’s not being strict at the moment. He nudges me off his lap and stands. “I’ll be right back.”

He’s gone for five minutes, during which I hear the shower turn on and off. Anticipation winds like a ball of yarn in my belly, the scratchy string of excitement snapping when he comes back to my room in a towel and nothing else.

Oh, my. Droplets of water are beaded in his hair and on his shoulders. There are probably more on his back, the places you miss when you’re drying yourself. If he was tempting four years ago, he’s mouth-watering now. Of course I never saw this much of his skin then. The way it clings to the fine planes of his muscles and the veins that stand out on his forearms even in rest is drool-inducing. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my whole life. Seriously, how did he avoid getting laid?

When he drops the towel, I’m really not sure.

“Lie back, hands off.”

“Yes, Zach.”

I ease myself onto my pillows, not taking my eyes off him. He climbs onto the bed, looking me up and down, and his cock jerks. I may be the one following orders, but oh, my, this is a heady sensation.

He straddles my thighs and sits back on his heels. “Condoms?”

“Top drawer.” I indicate the nightstand on the left with my head.

He leans over and the freshly washed warmth of him starts me pining for him. He’s ripped the foil packet and is rolling the latex down his length, and then he’s ready. Hovering over me, his eyes scrape over me again and he reaches between my thighs, urging my legs to part. His finger slips inside of me and I moan. To have something inside me…

There’s a strangled sound from above me, and his face is taught with strain. “Are you ready for me? I don’t want to hurt—”

“Yes.” I’ve been ready for him for years and I can’t wait to have his body joined to mine.

He doesn’t hesitate, moving first one leg and then the other between my thighs, and then he’s bumping at my entrance. The angle is weird and though I’m soaked for him, he’s having trouble penetrating me.

“Spread yourself for me.” His voice is rough, raw. My hands move lightning fast, not bothering to be self-conscious, spreading my lips and angling my pelvis to give him better access. I watch as he grips the base of his cock and directs himself to my opening, finding the way our pieces fit together. When the head breaches me, I moan and he claps a hand over my mouth. “Pinch me if I hurt you, if you want me to stop, but I can’t…”

He trails off, his eyes closing. I can see him fighting against the building tension. I don’t mind him gripping my jaw, hard. It’s possible I more than don’t mind it, have to keep from flexing my interior muscles, because that would surely set him off. He inches into me, slowly, torturously, pausing so often I want to scream. Instead I stay still, not daring to breathe, staring at him, his eyes shut so tight he must be seeing stars behind his lids. My hands are clenched tight in the bedclothes at my sides so I don’t reach for him, but my body wants so badly to be closer to him even my nipples are hard and straining toward him.

When he’s finished his slow but steady assault, he shudders and I panic. I only care because I don’t want him to berate himself again, but there’s no pulse of a male orgasm inside me. No self-control, my butt. This man is the definition of self-control.

He pulls out a few inches, sucking a breath into his lungs as he does, and then slides in again. I mewl and his eyes fly open. I don’t want him to stop,please don’t stop, so I nod as well as I can behind his palm, willing him to know I’m okay. His eyes bore into mine and he smiles before kissing my forehead. He withdraws again and my whimper of protest is silenced by a hard thrust. Holy sweet hell.

He finds his pacing and though it’s faster than I’d like, I catch up quick, tilting my hips in time to meet him. He’s asked me to stay still but I can’t anymore. I don’t care about punishment. I want to be…fucked. Yes,fucked. My fingers rip out of the sheets and I find his shoulder blades, gripping him, grasping him as he pumps at me.

It hasn’t been long, nor technically brilliant, but I’ve been waiting for this for so long, I don’t need more. I plead with him through the fingers muzzling me, my pleas coming desperate and fast. Though they’re garbled, he doesn’t need translation, saying: “Yes, Erin, come for me.”

I buck underneath him, making the last few contacts with my clit I need to come. I explode, clutching him closer as my orgasm rips through me. He follows not far behind, his body jack-knifing above me and in his convulsions, he head-butts me. I’ve bitten my tongue and tears well in my eyes at the impact but I’m laughing, too. And still enduring the aftershocks of my climax. It’s an overload to my systems and the act of breathing is about all I can handle, made difficult by Shep’s heavy body collapsed on mine.

I nudge at him with my shoulder and run my fingers down the few square inches of skin I can reach, pinned as I am. He doesn’t respond and I squirm more emphatically to get his attention.

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