Page 46 of The Professor
“So you didn’t go into the first room you came to in the language department, you didn’t go to the back booth, farthest from the door, closest to the window.”
His mouth opened; no words came out.
“You didn’t clasp my round pale ass, ram your cock in fast and hard, and drive us both to a simultaneous climax within a few minutes.” I was enjoying myself. “You didn’t press your chest to my back when you came, slapping your hands down on the desk and…” I reached for his hand and smoothed my finger over his small red scar. “And reveal this in the light of the moon.”
“Fuck.” He shook his head. “Itwasyou?”
“Yes.”
“No wonder it was so fucking good but…” His eyebrows drew together. “What the fucking hell do you think you were doing there? Bending over for a goddamn stranger to fuck you? You’re not some whore, Chelsea, you’re not some tart who just wants her pussy filled. Jesus Christ, I’m so mad that you did that.”
“Pot calling kettle black.” I set my hand over his tattoo. His heart was thudding beneath it. “You know full well you shouldn’t have been there, you’re staff. It would have been career-ending.”
“Lots of things I do could be career-ending. And I’m a guy, we fuck, it’s what we do—”
“Don’t give me that bullshit.” I caught his nipple and squeezed, hard.
He grimaced.
“Women like to fuck, too, to be fucked, that’s why the Sure Thing works. By simple chance there’s the same number of men and women there. Everyone wants to be fucked.”
“But I only want to fuck you.”
“Not that night, you didn’t. You’d have been happy with any old pussy to dip your dick into.”
“But I did, fuck you, that is.”
“Yes.” I untangled myself from him and stood, placed my hands on my waist, and jutted my hips to the right. “So you can stop denying yourself now and do it again. It won’t be our first time.”
His cheeks had flushed, and a keening groan erupted from his chest. He sprang to his feet and dashed his hand to his belt, undid it, and shoved at his zipper. “I’m not supposed to be getting distracted by you.”
“So leave.”
“I can’t. No fucking way.” His cock sprang free, and he stepped from his pants. There was a decidedly predatory glint in his eyes.
But I barely had time to admire him because he gathered me into his arms and picked me up, plonked me on the cool table. “I don’t fuck gently,” he said. “You’re gonna have to tell me if it’s too much.”
“It won’t be.” I ran my hands into his hair as wet pooled in my pussy. “I promise.”
His mouth slammed onto mine, and our chests crushed together. His cock was at my entrance already, and I braced for his invasion.
He jerked his hips, propelling himself into my body. I cried out and clung to him. The denseness of his cock filled me, stretching my pussy with an exquisite nip of pain.
“I shouldn’t need you this bad,” he said hoarsely.
“And I should loathe you for kidnapping me.”
He half withdrew then slammed into me again, dragging me onto his cock at the same time. His body rubbed over my clit, and I clung to his thick shoulders.
“Fuck, you’re tight.” He stared at me and plunged deeper, the base of his cock stretching me farther. “I remember now, fuck yeah, so good.”
The rest of the world shrank away. The ecstasy claiming me was instant and explosive. “Andrew…” I cried out. “Fuck yes, like that. I’m going to come…”
He groaned, curled his hips under again, and drove me crazy with his obvious urgency and mad pounding.
Never had I been on the edge of coming in just a dozen or so thrusts. We were meant to be. We were incredible together.
I didn’t hold it back, and when my orgasm crashed through me, I threw back my head and screamed out in relief. Around his solid shaft I spasmed; he answered me with a feral cry of his own, and his cock thickened then throbbed. Heat flooded me, gushed from me. I shook and held onto him, gasping for air.
