Page 17 of Falling for Carla

His hand slid down my belly and straight into my panties, long fingers in the wet, slippery folds as I pushed against him, grinding, trying to get the friction I needed. I rutted against his hand like an animal, not ashamed, just wanton.

“I’ll take care of you, baby” his voice hot in my ear, another layer of erotic promise.

Then he pulled down my panties and I kicked them away. When I expected him to push me down over the desk and take me, he gave me tenderness instead, a shock that ratcheted up my desire even further. His mouth trailed kisses along my neck as he stroked my body, caressing and unhurried. He slowly and with his kisses and touch, lowered me until I rested on his cluttered desk, my cheek pillowed on a stack of papers. His big, muscled body was curled over mine, pressing me down and kissing and covering me, I was consumed by him, and his lush touches. When he rose from my back, I missed his warmth, the wall of his chest, as if he’d been ripped away from me. Then his hands were on my waist and my little skirt was flipped up, exposing my sex to the cooler air. I knew he was looking at me, my criminology professor feasting his eyes on my bare, wet sex and I couldn’t find any embarrassment in me over it. I just pushed back a little, to remind him what I was here for. He chuckled, a possessive, amused laugh low in his throat, “Yeah, you’re eager. You want it right now,” he said, and before I could even catch my breath, he’d buried himself in me, digging in deeper when I thought I held all I could hold. More inches of his smooth hard cock tunneled into me when I thought I was as full as I could be. His thrusts lifted me off my tiptoes as he drove into me, making me scoot across the desk, powerless, just receiving the pleasure he gave me. I felt nothing but the thundering in my ears and the small cries of pleasure I gave as he rocked into m e and drove me higher and higher until it was a scream torn from me and joined with his lower hoarse cry as he was overcome. Our climaxes surged on and on, wringing us out.

I slumped across the desk, and for a moment, his weight rested on me as if he were too spent even to stand. When he stood up, he lifted me from the desk and gathered me into his arms. Lifting me, he carried me to his bed, my head lolling against his shoulder. With one hand, he peeled back clean sheets and laid me down on them. I felt rumpled, sweaty, satisfied, lying on his bed in nothing but my skirt and heels. I kicked off the shoes and heard them clatter to the floor. He joined me on the bed and held me, kissed my hair. “Now I hope you’re ready for round two,” he said archly.

I came with a shudder, teeth digging into my lip. I didn’t want to wake Brenda by screaming in the shower, but the fantasy of Drake had been brutal and irresistible. He’d really gotten under my skin, and I had to quit thinking of him like that. Just as soon as I finished coming around my own fingers and pretending his cock was spearing inside me.

CHAPTER 13

DRAKE

All weekend I was distracted. Ever since I’d waited with Carla and stood by her while she gave a statement, I’d had her on my mind. If she was okay, if she had any traumatic aftermath from the attack, if there was anything I could do for her. I felt protective of her, and it irritated me.

I wasn’t her bodyguard, and I wasn’t a cop anymore. When I was, I didn’t get personally involved with victims of violence. Plenty of pretty women who I’d helped during my career had offered to express their gratitude and I’d never taken one of them up on it. That wasn’t ethical. It would be an abuse of my authority position as a peace officer. And now I was preoccupied with a student, a woman whose grade and graduation from the master’s program depended on her performance in my class. It was so much more an unequal balance of power than when I’d been a cop. I scrubbed my hands over my face, frustrated.

When I saw her in class on Monday morning, I was relieved. She looked the same as ever—curling dark hair twisted into a messy bun, iced coffee on her desk beside the laptop, studious crinkle between her eyebrows as she took notes. I was distracted by her and lost my place in the lecture once.

It had been an awkward moment and her eyes darted up to meet mine. When our gazes collided, I felt as jarred as if I had been struck by a car. The impact of her full attention, of the way she looked at me—like we had a secret, like we were co-conspirators, and she was checking on my well-being. That her eyes had searched for mine when I stumbled in my speech. I had to clear my throat because she crossed and uncrossed long legs beneath her desk and it was enough to make a man’s mouth water.

After class, I asked if she could stay for a moment. She slung her bag over her shoulder and threw away her coffee cup. Then she stood, arms crossed, by my desk.

“Is this about the other night?” she said. “Because I appreciate your help, truly I do, but there’s no reason for concern.”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“It’s not the first time I’ve seen a man pull a gun. Don’t worry. I’m not fragile,” she said a little derisively. I wondered what all she had seen in her early years growing up as she had. It made me want to keep her safe, and I knew it wasn’t right to feel that way. But I couldn’t help myself.

“Did you have any more trouble? Prank calls, knocks at the door, anything?” I asked.

“No.”

“Just be alert. You were right to be suspicious of that guy when you saw him in the bar. And on a professional note, being a cop is part science—the skills we can train you in—and partially gut instinct. What makes good cops good is trusting your gut feeling when something feels off to you.”

“Thanks. If I had any trouble, I’m more than capable of taking care of myself though,” she said, her chin raised.

I thought of how she’d escaped her attacker and fought him off despite his size. I couldn’t help being impressed by both her fighting skills and her spirit.

“You’ve had a shock, even if you seem to take it in stride. There could be another attempt, and I’m asking you to be careful. Don’t talk yourself out of being alarmed if you think something’s off. Call the police. Call me,” I said.

I did not mean to tell her to call me.

“I’m not going to call you,” she said, “although I kept my promise and texted you when I got home.”

“Thank you,” I said. “I waited to hear.”

“You didn’t reply,” she said, almost teasing.

“I didn’t think you’d want me to, if I’m honest. I left it on read for that reason.”

‘What would you have said?” she said, her voice dropping a little.

“I wish you’d let me drive you home. Tell me how you are. Tell me what you need.”

“That’s a lot,” she said with a nervous laugh.

“See, it’s better I left it alone,” I said with a shrug.

---