Page 38 of Dark Ink

It was a pity I didn’t see her reaction when I bent down to retrieve the tossed clay. I liked her angry. Liked the way the burning red emotion made her freckled nostrils flare. Darkened the pupils of her eyes. Brought colour to her pale cheeks.

My back turned to her as I walked back to my stool. My gaze was fixed downward as I repositioned the clay between my palms and began the wheel turning once more.

If I couldn’t have her in the flesh, I could have her this way. I could mould the narrow curve of her waist. I could grip her thigh with both hands like I was pulling myself up it to her wet pussy. I could imagine her heartbeat under my mouth in the steady rhythm of the wheel round and round and round.

“Are you punishing me for not coming over?” Eithne asked after several terse minutes.

I pressed my thumbs into the clay like I would the swell of Eithne’s hips and relished the cool clay absorbing me, coming around my fingers like waves.

“Are you?” Eithne pressed, anger flaring in her voice. “Because I wouldn’t let you fuck me? Your twenty-one-year-old student?”

I ignored this. “I have a lot to teach you, Ms Brady.”

I let her mind spin like the wheel. What could I possibly mean? What could I teach her? What could her body learn from mine? What new pleasure could I engrain in her head? In her heart?

“I already told you what I’m majoring in,” Eithne replied. “It has nothing to do with whatever grand speech about pleasure you gave last class.”

I looked up, an eyebrow lifted.

“You were listening?” I asked. “I thought you might be a little preoccupied.”

This drew even more colour to Eithne’s face. She waved the form at me. Was it already going damp in her palm? Was it soon to go limp, limp like she would be atop me, after I sated her, gave her what she needed, what I needed?

“I’m asking you to sign the fucking form, Professor Merrick,” she said.

I shrugged.

“And I’m saying no.”

I could sense her anger rising. Sense it like you could in a bull who snorts and kicks in his pen. Eager to be released. Eager for release.

“You’ll take my class,” I said. “And you’ll be glad you did.”

Her teeth were surely clenched as she said, “I don’t want to learn anything you have to teach me.”

“I disagree.”

“Are we still talking about college?”

I raised my gaze again as the smooth clay twisted and writhed between my fingers.

“What else would we be talking about?”

She glared at me.

“Wasn’t it art that you wanted to show me?” I said, squeezing the clay a little tighter as it threatened to buck. “Wasn’t that all you wanted? Wasn’t that all you wanted of me? My…eyes? My appreciation. My appraisal?”

Eithne’s arm with the unsigned form fell to her side. She either no longer had the strength to hold it up or she’d given in. Realised I wasn’t going to give her what she wanted. Because I knew it wasn’t what she wanted.

“You don’t know me,” she said. “You think you do. You think that’s me between your hands right now. But it’s not. You think that just because I sucked your cock that you understand who I am. You don’t.”

Her voice was rising steadily and the fire in it turned me on. The clay I was still squeezing too hard covered my growing erection. Because she was right: I didn’t know her. I didn’t understand her. But it was all I fucking wanted in the world.

“You think if you just keep moving your thumbs like that that I’ll forget all about this form, strip off my clothes, and take that hunk of clay’s place beneath you,” she went on, face flushed with colour. “You think I won’t be able to resist because I’m a slut, and what slut doesn’t want to be manipulated like clay? You think all I can think of when I see you there is me in your hands.”

The pressure of my cock against my pants was growing uncomfortable. She’d gotten me fully hard, whether she’d intended to or not.

“Come here,” I said.

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