Page 28 of Lessons with the Mothman

My eyes widened and I rose up on my toes at the command, perching on the hard edge of the desk. A small gasp slipped free as he nudged my knees apart and stepped closer to stand between them. I gaped up at him, trying to remember to breathe, to predict what came next, and he snatched the blue book from my fingers, sitting back down in his chair and scooting it close, forcing my legs a little wider. The hem of my pleated skirt stretched and inched back higher on my thighs.

Elias flipped open the cover, and I tried to hold my breath, or to at least keep myself from heaving in eager breaths. His lips curved, and I watched his free hand raise and then hover above my left knee. My leg seemed to lighten, as if it wanted to lift and press itself into his touch like a cat stretching for a pet, but it didn't have to wait. Elias's hand settled, firmly pressing andstroking upwards, and I released a shuddering sigh at the velvety sensation.

"Lean forward, Miss Dempsey," he said, eyes sliding over the words on the page so slowly.

My hands gripped the edge of his desk, and I withheld my whimper at the loss of his hand on my thigh, only to release a short groan of relief as it lifted to grope my breast. There was no shyness, no hesitation. Elias clutched and rolled my flesh through my shirt, thumb swirling until it found my nipple, then brushing back and forth.

Just as I had written.

My eyes shut on the picture of him, sitting tall in the chair, shadowed from the sun, studying my essay as he put it to practice. Except?—

My brow furrowed. Was he trying to use what I'd written to prove he could get me off? It was thoughtful, actually, a clever trick, but I knew the habits of my arousal, the pattern of pleasure I went through with another person, and I knew how easily I got in my own way.

"Eli—"

"Professor," he murmured, fingers sliding and pulling the buttons of my shirt open, then tugging the hem loose from where I'd tucked it into my skirt. "I can't give you an accurate grade without putting your thesis to the test, Miss Dempsey."

My hands slid back on the desk, giving him room even as I considered breaking the moment, calling us back from these characters to ourselves.

Elias stood up from the chair, arching over me, and I held my tongue as he pushed the collar of my shirt wide, over my shoulder, exposing one breast. I just wanted to feel—Ah!

My head fell back as his hand stroked over my bare skin. His touch was so soft, the coat of fur that covered him making it feel like he wore a velvet glove.

"It's a shame you can't suck on your own nipples when you masturbate," Elias whispered, close enough for his breath to rush over my throat.

I was torn between opening my eyes and reaching for him, drawing his mouth down in invitation, but he was studying the words I wrote, and I was already anticipating the rest of the essay.

"Let's see…where did I leave off?" Elias asked, slowly twisting the nipple poised between his fingers as I squirmed in place under the small touch. "Ahh, I'll need both hands for this. Can you hold the book, Miss Dempsey?"

I raised a quaking hand, and he slid the pages into place as my thighs spread wider for him, knees nearly touching the corners of the desk.

"A full hand cupping over your panties…" Elias recited, and I stiffened in expectation, the heat of his touch just hovering an inch from my skin. My eyes opened, and I found him staring down into my face. "But you aren't wearing any panties, Miss Dempsey. I'll have to take points off for that."

"I—I left them in the bathroom. I could go and?—"

"Too late," Elias said sharply, and then that decadent hand was covering my sex, fingers delving into my folds, his claws dense but not harsh or scratching. He hummed as I moaned and arched into the pinch on my nipples, heels catching on drawer handles and trying to find enough purchase to lift my hips.

"'I like pressure.' How much, exactly? You could've been clearer here. Say when, Miss Dempsey."

I whimpered as Elias pressed and plucked but I had never found my own edge, and he was gripping me so tightly, pulling and twisting slightly on my nipples, claws digging in. I cried out even as I leaned into the touch.

"I see," he said, and it was distantly reassuring to hear the breathless note in his voice.

I rocked into his touch as it eased. My blood pounded and pierced into my breast as he released it, pushing the other shoulder of my shirt out of the way, trapping my arms close to my sides. His fingers brushed mine as he turned the page, and then his claws traced over my collarbone.

"Imagine if another professor were to walk in and see you like this," Elias said softly.

Unfortunately, that brought a sudden image of Phillip Stanton into my mind, and I stiffened, shoulders drawing forward and eyes skidding away.

Elias's fingers rubbed over my sex, and he released a strangely soothing hissing sound. "Never mind. We're alone, Miss Dempsey. I made sure."

"I…" I swallowed and shook my head as his fingers circled up to my clit. "I can't?—"

He turned the page, ignoring my words, and then slowly eased a finger inside of me. My eyes widened at the slow pump, just the first knuckle, just as I'd written, and Elias's black stare pinned me in place.

"You're very wet. Were you wet before you sat on my desk?"

I nodded.

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