Page 6 of Damaged Professor

“How’s this for a view?” Dylan asks, settling between my legs. He rolls the condom on.

“I like it,” I tell him, my hand stroking over his abs. This is my first time with a man since my fiancé died. I thought that this was going to be difficult, that I would spend too much time thinking about James.

But Dylan is the only one on my mind—especially when a finger slips between my legs, and he starts stretching me open. Pleasure surges up through me and I drop backwards, onto my elbows. My eyes flutter, a low, deep sound ripping through me. A second finger slips beside the first.

Dylan leans over me, his other hand on my thigh. “Do you like that?”

“Oh, yes,” I tell him.

His voice drops an octave, sounding almost dangerous. “Is that all you want?”

His fingers twist up inside of me, hitting that little bundle of nerves. I shout, pleasure coursing through me. “No, it’s not! Dylan! It sounds stupid. Don’t make me say it!”

Another press of his fingers, and then his hand pulls away completely. I’m instantly so empty that it almost hurts. The whine slides between my teeth before I can stop it.

Dylan, red faced himself, tells me, “I want to hear you say it. I want you to tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want you to take me,” I tell him. He waits. Gathering my nerves, I try again. “Come on, Dylan. Please fuck me!”

He practically groans at my words. “Yes, that’s it.” His hands urge me further up onto the bed. As soon as there’s room for the both of us, he’s on top of me, kissing me with an open mouth. His hands are hot on my skin—but not nearly as hot as the sensation of him pressing inside of me, stretching me out much more than his fingers had.

Holy shit, he’s big. That’s my last thought before my brain sort of whites out. Maybe it's just that I haven’t gotten any in the last four years, but the way that Dylan fucks me—it’s good. It has me breathless, and speechless, and desperate to feel him even closer against me.

My arms wrap around his shoulders, nails biting against his bare skin hard enough to leave bright red crescents behind. One of my legs hooks around the back of his thigh, trying to pull him in deeper.

“Come on,” he groans. “Tell me what you want.”

“That’s,” I manage to get out. It feels like my tongue has turned to rubber. “That’s what I want—just like that, just—ah, ah—Dylan, fuck!”

He rolls his hips like he’s looking for something—and oh, if he doesn’t find it a few strokes later, catching me right where it feels best. A wave of electricity shoots down my spine.

It’s like I can feel him up in my chest. The orgasm sweeps up on me out of nowhere, catching us both by surprise.

“Dylan,” I groan his name as I cum, half desperate for more.

And he gives it to me, fucking me through my orgasm, chasing after his own release. One, two, three sharp thrusts into me and then he’s spilling, warmth blooming inside of me, trapped inside the condom. Dylan rolls his hips a few more times before pulling out, breathing just as hard as I am.

He tugs the condom off, ties it, and tosses it in the nearby bin. Without saying anything, Dylan drops down between my legs and uses his tongue to clean me up. And then he keeps going, sucking and licking until I’m clutching at his head, practically rubbing myself up against his face. His nose bumps against my clit every time that I roll my hips, and when I cum a second time, it’s practically enough to drain me.

Thankfully, this time around he joins me in stretching out on the bed. There’s room between us, but I stretch out my hand and press my fingers against his side, relishing in the warmth of his skin.

I’m not trying to fall asleep. Seriously, I mean to get up, grab my clothes, and leave the way that a one-night stand is supposed to.

But I close my eyes to blink, and just like that… I’m out for the count.

***

I didn’t mean to stay the night, but Dylan is nothing but a gentleman about it. I guess that's one of the perks of sleeping with an older man, right? He doesn’t have the same childish panic response that a guy in his twenties might have.

I stretch on the bed, not really wanting to get up. I thought I’d feel weird today, but no, it’s nothing like that. My whole body is relaxed. Satisfied.

Again, my fingers start to trace the line where my engagement ring used to be.

No, I won’t go there. I had fun last night, and I’m in a good mood this morning. If I spend too much time thinking about it, I might end up getting in my own head.

I leap out of bed and head for a shower. There are other things that should be on my mind—like the fact that I’m still at Dylan’s house and he hasn’t tossed me out yet.

There’s the chance of having coffee in the kitchen, and I’m more excited for that than I should be, considering it’s just a one-night stand.

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