Page 109 of Going Deep

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The sharp slaps echoed throughout the room, punctuated by her whimpering moans. Her hips were jerking uncontrollably every time his hand met her flesh, and her breasts felt almost unbearably swollen. She glanced down, wanting to see, and wasn’t disappointed. Her breasts were so red they nearly glowed, the nipples tight from the heat and the pain, and the sight was so incendiary she moaned out loud.

“Oh, Ms. Dowling,” he said on a low laugh. “You are wasted in the classroom.”

Ginger swallowed hard and tried to glare at him. It was hard, because all she wanted to do was lie down on the desk and beg him to fuck her, but she struggled to remember her agenda. “Mr. O’Reilly, you need to leave before you get into more trouble than you’re already in.”

His eyes gleamed as he laughed. “Baby, I’m not the one in trouble, here.”

He leaned back slightly to rake his eyes down her body. “Pretty tits, pretty legs. I bet the ass under this drab little skirt is just as pretty.”

Drab? She didn’t have to fake the scowl. “Listen, you?—”

“Don’t want to listen,” he interrupted, and before she could protest, he’d spun her around to face the desk. “Want to see that ass.”

“Mr. O’Reilly, you are dangerously close to being expelled,” she snapped, then let out a startled cry as his hand cracked against her ass.

“You’re not in charge here anymore, Ms. Dowling.” The hand gripping her wrists at the small of her back nudged her forward until her hips met the edge of the desk, then her wrists were free and he was pressing her down until her bare breasts pressed into the smooth surface.

Her breasts were swollen, the skin hot from the repeated smacks of his fingers, and she flinched as he pressed her into the cool wood. His hand stayed firm between her shoulder blades, keeping her pressed down when reflex would’ve had her recoiling at the contact. After a moment, the initial discomfort faded into a delicious ache that seemed to go straight to her pussy.

She was so focused on the throb in her breasts that she hadn’t felt him move, so she jolted when he spoke directly into her ear. “Reach out and grab the edge of the desk, Ms. Dowling,” he growled, and mindlessly she obeyed. The desk was wide enough that she had to fully extend her arms to wrap her fingers around the edge, leaving her fully stretched across the top.

“Very good, Ms. Dowling,” he whispered in her ear, and rewarded her compliance with a little nip of her ear. A hard shudder moved through her, and he straightened with a laugh.

“You’ve wanted this, haven’t you, Ms. Dowling?”

“No,” she gasped, and grunted when his hand connected with her ass again.

She barely bit back the moan as his hand rubbed circles over her stinging butt, simultaneously spreading and soothing the ache, then his hand froze.

“Well, well, well,” he purred, and the dark lust in his tone turned her knees to jelly. “What’s this?”

She felt him skim a finger low across her ass where her thighs met her cheeks. Where she knew her eager wetness—and maybe a little bit of lube from the surprise she had planned for him—had leached into the thin, unlined cotton of the skirt.

“There’s a wet spot on your ass, Ms. Dowling,” he told her with undisguised glee. “How’d that happen?”

She said nothing, straining to keep in character when all she wanted to do was hike up the skirt and beg him to fuck her.

“Did you sit in a puddle? Maybe you spilled one of those mocha lattes you like in your chair.” She felt him shift slightly, saw him lean over to peer at her desk chair. “No puddle here. That must mean it’s coming from you.”

One calloused palm slid up the back of her leg, his fingers curling around to drag up her inner thigh. He didn’t get far before his fingers encountered the evidence of her arousal.

“Oh, Ms. Dowling.” He laughed, dark and low as his fingertips slicked through the moisture coating her inner thighs. “You’re wet. You were wet the whole time you were sitting in your prim little blouse and your prim little skirt, correcting papers and lecturing me.” His fingers slipped higher up her thighs, coming to a stop when his hand hit the slick, bare flesh of her pussy.

“And no panties.” He tsked disapprovingly. “What a slut you are, Ms. Dowling.”

She whimpered, her hips jerking into his hand as the words washed over her. She couldn’t believe how hot it made her for him to call her that in his dark, whiskey voice. She could actually feel herself grow wetter at his words.

And so could he.

“Jesus,” he growled. “That pussy is so wet, Ms. Dowling. So wet and hot. Your lips are saying no, but your body is begging for me.”

He slid his fingers over her pussy once, twice, then disappeared, and she couldn’t help the slow undulation of her hips as she tried to follow his hand.

His low rumble of laughter sent a shudder rolling through her. “You want more, dirty girl?”

Oh, God.

His hand smacked down on her ass, catching her by surprise. The instinctive squeak that escaped slid into a needy whimper when his hand fell again.