Page 109 of Speak

I NEED TO HEAR HER CRY OUT MY NAME.

Once I’m done with my bathroom routine, I dress in a simple amethystine button down, navy slacks, a slim black belt, and my navy sports coat, adding on a scarf now that the late September air is brisker. I start my car waiting for me in the garage with just a press of my key fob. My coffee is in a travel mug, still warm and I bring it with me, get into my vehicle and prepare for the trek ahead.

When I leave the house, there’s still fog along the asphalt of the two-lane road until I’m finally in the city limits. Apparently, the fog was much thicker because an accident occurred on the bridge to Rayne-Moore and my mood only drops.

I get to RMU with only seven minutes to spare. Jonas leaves Raven at the door of my class with a kiss so full of love it makes me broil. She walks past me to her usual seat at the end of the aisle in the corner of the room. She’s wearing knee highs today with her heeled boots. A scarf. A little black beanie. Those dark waves cascading around her shoulders. Cheeks pink from the walk here.

She partially undresses slowly – the scarf, the beanie, her sweater… then as if putting on a show, she sits, sideways, and crosses her legs. A glimpse of a heavy cheek and sage cheeky panties with lace trim, one meaty thigh over the other, that defined line of muscle and yet a bit of cellulite, and my mouth salivates like a Pavlovian response.

Feast. Rut. Claim.

A snarl rises in my chest but the bell rings and she pulls out her earbuds. She stays sideways, facing me for the first time, butnever looking at me. Then, as I talk about atrocities, as I roam about the room, eyeing my students, out of my periphery, I watch as she mindlessly traces the outline of her tattoo, up, down, one finger trailing so expertly, knowing the lines on her body, memorized. I clear my throat, and walk to the light switch, turn it off and turn on the projector. I stand behind my podium and play the short clip of the interview with Charles Cullen, the alleged Angel of Death, a nurse, who claimed to kill over forty people. My mood completely plummets.

My students watch the forty-minute video, I watch Raven, one hand on hand her thigh, the other on her notebook scribbling notes, the way she faces forward, eyes up on the screen past me but it feels as though she’s watching me as well. So slowly, she uncrosses her legs and slinks down, her thighs spreading, that same finger pulls on the hem of her little skirt, and I bite down my groan.

We’re in a bubble, she and I. The noise quiets momentarily, the light from the overhead projector is no longer a nuisance, the room grows hot, as she shoves her hand between her thighs. My chest aches, my lungs on fire as her lips part, the tip of her tongue wetting them only to go back in, her lower lip is tucked under her top teeth and a faint smirk when she knows she has my full attention.

“Professor?”

Her hand is back on her thigh and she brings them up to her lips in a sneaky move, licking away her ambrosia.

Feast. Claim. Mine.

I pause the video, the new one that’s started while I was in a trance. I clear my throat. “Yes, Miss Dara?”

“Could you… tell us about your time in the FBI?”

My mood is completely depleted. “No. Class dismissed.”

“The hour isn’t over.”

“Get out.”

They all leave grumbling. I go into my office to try to get control of my emotions, the ones unraveling, I forget about what just transpired between Raven and I and when I exit my office to see if she’s waiting for me with her essay, the lecture hall is empty, ruining my mood all over again.

______

During my lunch hour I sit in my office, nursing two fingers of Macallan when there’s a faint knock at my door. “Who is it?” No one answers there’s just another faint knock, this time slower. “Enter.” I swivel in my chair to face the door, one elbow on the cushioned arm of the chair, my chin on my fist, the other holding my tumbler of whiskey. My eyes peruse her as she enters, paper in hand. “Lock it behind you, Siren.”

She does, holding out the paper to me, a slight tremor in her wrist. I motion with my eyes, for her to set it on the edge of my desk.

“Come here.”

She obeys so timidly it perks my beast up.

“Wait.” She stops. “Hang up your blazer, take off your panties and put them in my drawer.”

She hesitates momentarily and I can see the internal argument she’s having with herself. But she does as she’s told, first with the blazer then steps out of her panties. As soon as the silk and lace material pools at her ankles. She lifts up the ankle they’re hanging off and peels them off, folding them neatly, at an unhurried pace, surely just to antagonize me.

It works.

I slide out further from behind my desk while taking a sip and nod for her to sit on my desk. “Slide further down.” I can smell her musk from here as she does, my cock swelling from her obedience. “Good. Unbutton your blouse and pull your breasts out. I’ve had a tiring day and I want to admire you. Good. Now put your feet on the edges, mmhmm and spread your legs.”

The view is magnificent and so very, verypink.

I dip my index finger into my whiskey, lick it off and when my eyes find hers I arch a brow. I touch from her glistening entrance and then around, touching everywhere but that cute little bundle of nerves waiting to be caressed by my tongue. “You were very bad in class today, Siren. You could’ve gotten caught trying to seduce your professor.”

Her thighs tremble when I dip, barely a knuckle deep into her sex to dampen my finger. “You’re so wet…” I pull my finger out and lick up her essence, her taste exploding on my tongue, “and so fuckingdelicious,” I growl. “Turn around, get on all fours. I’mfamished. I've missed my lunch, and it seems you’ll have to do.” I slap her inner thigh when she takes a second too long to do as I said. “Now, Raven. I’m done waiting.” I scold.

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