Page 23 of Ruthless Temptation
To think that I could fell a man as intelligent as him is a thrill that will never wear off.
When his eyes finally open, they are full of intensity.
I lick his cum from my lips and rub it into my chest while he watches me.
“Gosh, you’re so beautiful,” he growls.
Professor Holmes picks me up and places me on his lap. I grind against him, eager for the little bit of contact. He crushes his lips to mine in a kiss that leaves me throbbing and ready for him all over again. He bends me over the arm of the loveseat, my legs across his lap.
He palms my aching core, the heel of his hand rubbing against my clit. Jolts of arousal shoot through my body, a gasp slipping from my lips. Opening my legs to give him better access, I grind against his hand. Professor Holmes kisses a slow, sensual line down my jaw to the pulse point at the base of my neck.
My legs start to shake when he slips two fingers inside me and massages my clit with his thumb. Thank god I’m not standing, I doubt they would be able to hold me up.
“Fuck, you’re soaking wet,” he says. I writhe, arching even more into his touch. “You greedy girl. We’ve had sex three times already.” Even as he’s scolding me, I feel his cock coming to life against my thigh. “Do you still want more?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
His grip tightens around my torso. I don’t say this, but I don’t think I could ever get enough of him. He makes me insatiable.
“Alright,” he whispers against my skin. “Beg me for it.”
I’m shameless. “Please, fuck me.” I say, breathless. His fingers have worked me close to the edge, but I can’t get off without his thick cock filling me. “I’m begging you. Please, sir.”
I feel his laugh more than hear it. He moves to kneel on the loveseat, then he enters me hard and fast from behind. I clutchthe armrest, so I don’t go flying. There’s no elegance to the way he fucks me—not anymore, at least.
After we’ve gone this many rounds, the way we fuck becomes less about flair and more about satisfying the hungry, primal sides of us. My body squeezes around him and I grind into each thrust, taking him deep. His hands dig into my thighs and his teeth sink into my shoulder.
I’ll have bruises tomorrow, and that only turns me on more.
Professor Holmes thrusts into me brutally, and I meet each one with my own savagery. I reach back to spear my fingers through his hair, my fingernails digging into his scalp.
This.
This is what I love.
The loveseat creaks under the weight us. His hot, ragged breaths are loud in my ears, each one matching my own. Our bodies are slick with sweat, and I feel it dripping down my back, and down the valley of my breasts.
I’m so fucking close.
I scream, and an earth-shattering orgasm is wrenched from me just as the pain blooms. He comes with me, filling me with the satisfying warmth of his arousal. We collapse on the loveseat together, and he gathers me to his chest.
He wipes away the hair stuck to my forehead, pressing a kiss to my sticky temple. The warmth of the fireplace embraces us, melding with the buzz of the receding high.
We sit, wrapped up in comfortable, almost polite silence for a while. As if we didn’t just fuck like we wanted to shatter each other.
It’s a perfect moment.
The past week has been filled with many moments like this, but this one is probably my favorite of them all. I don’t know when it happens, but I doze off against his chest. ProfessorHolmes speaks and the vibration of his chest wakes me from my shallow slumber.
“You know, little one,” he begins, cupping one of my breasts lightly. “You never did tell me the real reason why you were failing my class. What changed about your future?”
His question burns away the quiet comfort that had settled around me. I swallow thickly, straightening so that I can see his face. He’s looking down at me with a subdued expression.
Professor Holmes’ face is set in hard lines, exacerbated by the austere light of the fireplace. He looks like he could be a villain if he wanted to be, and that doesn’t scare me the way it should. I suck in a breath.
Am I even allowed to tell him the truth?
As if he can read my mind, he says, “I want the truth, Tara.” His voice is firm, with a tone I’ve heard him use often in class. Authoritative. “Whatever it is.”
