Page 353 of The Winslow Brothers

We kiss and grasp at each other, and I spin us around to put her back to the desk before pushing her down on top of it. Her tits bounce with the motion, I can feel it against my chest, and suddenly all I can think about is uncovering them until they’re bare.

Rachel’s eyes are fierce and fiery, and she must read my mind because it’s not even a moment before she leans up enough to unclasp the back of her bra and pull it off the front, tossing it to the side.

I suck a nipple into my mouth and massage the other breast with my hand before swapping sides and doing the same. Rachel arches her back against the desk, her legs churning against my thighs to find purchase, and my dick jerks inside my pants.

I kiss my way down Rachel’s stomach to the top of her skirt, my hand skating along her hip until I find the zipper at the side. With ease, I pull it down to loosen the waistband’s hold and slide the skirt off her, slinking it all the way over her high-heeled feet.

The shoes are sexy as hell, but also obviously awkward while lying back on a desk, so I pull them off without hesitation and toss them to the side too.

With bare feet, she’s able to find the front edge of the wood and push herself up and back, lifting her hips to ease my removal of her panties. They’re white satin—fucking beautiful, just like the rest of her—but I don’t pay them much mind. All I need right now is to feel Rachel around me.

And with one long, smooth stroke, I do.

And I’ll be goddamned if it isn’t even better than all the times before.

Monday, February 18th

Rachel

I pull my coat tighter around myself, the tiny slip dress from under my work outfit the only thing underneath.

I’ve been waiting all weekend to feel Ty’s hands on me, the two of us making some kind of unspoken sex hiatus agreement on Friday that I now can’t understand for the life of me. I’m not sure how on earth it seemed like a good idea at the time. Maybe because doing it on the weekend would mean giving up the comfort of neutral ground?

I don’t know, and the sex-crazed horndog inside me can’t believe I agreed to it.

It did give me time, however, to masturbate like an addict and plan this whole little dog and pony show of the sexy slip and nothing else I’m wearing today. With a quick change in the bathroom and some time to let him get settled in his office after his last class, I’m ready to rock and roll.

I’m downright giddy over the idea of seeing his face when I open and show him my sexy gift-wrapping.

My heels click so loudly on the tile floor of the hallway, I half expect the sound to call in a herd of models from Fifth Avenue. I try to walk more quietly, but the anticipation of the moment turns my stride into that of a wounded-looking gazelle.

Just walk normally, Rachel.

Ty’s office door is close by, and butterflies flutter in my stomach. It’s not that I’m nervous—quite the opposite. I’m anticipatory. The kind of sex Ty and I have been having for the last few days has been nothing short of extraordinary. Far and away the best of my life.

And it’s almost as if we’ve created a game out of it, each time trying to see if we can make it better, hotter,wilder.

I stroll into Ty’s office with a confident strut, shoving the door open and grabbing the edges of my coat in preparation for the big reveal.

My heart pounds in my chest and throat, and I pause for effect, hoping to get Ty’s attention before making his jaw hit the floor.

But when his head comes up, I’m surprised to see that he has his cell phone pressed to his ear, and his face looks nearly ashen.

“Right now?” he asks, his voice brusque in a way I’ve never heard before. By and large, Ty Winslow is a playful, good-natured man. Even when he’s been angry with me, he’s been easy to talk to. But he looks nearly choked now, a heaviness seeping into his bones and trapping him under the weight of the world.

“No. I’m done with class for the day. I’m on my way.” He frowns as he hangs up the phone, and the instinct to comfort him is immediate.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, stepping up to his desk to put a hand to his rigid forearm.

I don’t like seeing him like this—in turmoil.

He shakes his head without speaking and then grabs his coat from the hook in the corner. “Come on. We have to go.”

“Go? Go where?” I question, but his hand is in mine and he is dragging me out the door long before the words have time to land. He’s focused to the point of single-mindedness, and right now, it’s not on me.

Normally, I would push. I would make him stop and explain. But I’ll be honest, seeing him upset like this makes all my needs seem unimportant, and I don’t even consider doing either of the two.

He drags me down the hall and out the main lecture door, sticking his fingers into his mouth and whistling for the first taxi he sees. It comes to a sliding stop in front of us and he opens the door, ushering me in straightaway.

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