Page 23 of Office Hours
She grabs her purse, opens the door, and pauses on the way out. “If you need to talk, or if you need an alibi, I’ve got you.”
“Thanks, Andie,” I say. “Have fun.”
When the door shuts, I collapse back onto my bed, the adrenaline rush draining out of me, leaving a weird kind of euphoria behind.
I pick up my diary, flip to a new page, and start writing.
“Day two. Told Andie. She’s not mad, just worried. I get it, but I don’t care. I want more. I want everything.”
I tap the pen against my lips, thinking of Liam, the feel of his hands, the taste of his skin.
I want to see him again.
I want to make him lose control.
Even if it destroys me.
Later that night,I lie in bed again as the room folds in on itself, silent as an empty chapel. The overhead fluorescents are too harsh, so I switch them off and let the night have the place. The only light is the moon, sneaking in through the blinds and striping the walls with blue-white bars. I have no idea where Andie is, but I’m sure she’ll be back at some point . In the meantime, I lie on my back, blanket pulled up to my chin, and try to count the seconds until sleep claims me. The clock on my phone says 9:27. I know I won’t sleep until two, maybe three, but I close my eyes and try anyway.
It’s pointless. Every time I start to drift, I see Liam’s face: the way he looked at me when he came, eyes focused and then losing focus, like maybe he’d never felt anything that good in his life. I see the exact shade of purple in the tip of his cock, the line of his jaw flexing as he tried not to moan too loud. I see my own reflection, kneeling naked at his feet, mouth stretched, blonde hair wild, spit everywhere.
My heart won’t slow down.
I shift under the covers, body electric. My nipples are hard as glass under the old cotton tee, and every movement makes them scrape the fabric. My thighs are slick, the flannel of my pajamabottoms sticky where my pussy is leaking. I want to pretend this is normal, but there’s nothing normal about it.
I try rolling over, but the friction makes everything worse. I press my knees together, like maybe I can smother the heat, but that just makes it sharper. I run my tongue over my lips, hunting for the ghost of his taste, and the memory comes back in full-color: the weight of his thick shaft on my tongue, the salty jolt, the way he groaned my name when he came.
My hand slides down, slow, and I pause. I listen to the quad outside. Somewhere, a car alarm chirps, a door slams. I wait for the world to catch me, but nothing does. So I slide my fingers under the waistband, feel the down of pubic hair, the moist heat below.
I touch myself, light at first, the way you test the temperature of bath water. My clit is swollen and jumpy, already too sensitive, and the first brush makes my whole body arch off the bed. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
I start slow, circles and glances, never quite touching where it matters, drawing it out. I close my eyes and see Liam standing above me, shirt half-off, belt still on, the veins in his forearms pulsing as he fists my hair and pulls me deeper onto his cock. I want that. I want him to use me, to turn off the professor and turn on the animal. I want to be the girl he can’t resist, the one who ruins him.
I push my pajama bottoms down to my knees and spread my legs. The air is cold on my pussy, and I can feel how wet I am, how ready. I rub harder, not delicate anymore, and my hips start to rock in time. I imagine his voice, the way he growled when I licked the tip, the way he called me a good girl when I swallowed it all.
I lick my own palm, gather spit, and with my other hand slide it down between my legs, wetting my fingers even more. I want it messy. I want it filthy. I want to be the kind of girl who writes her own rules.
I run my fingers over my clit, then slip two inside my heated cunt, the stretch making me gasp. I pump slow, then fast, picturing Liam behind me, pinning me to his desk, fucking me hard enough to bruise. I want him to fill me up, to breed me, to make me his.
I lick my palm again, then gather it on my fingers, and smear it all over my pussy, working it in. I imagine my saliva is his come, hot and thick and meant for me, and the thought makes me clench, my whole body bowing off the mattress.
“Oh Liam,” I moan as my lashes drift shut. “Yes, use my body. Trash my pussy to make yourself feel good. It’s all yours.”
I rub faster, my thumb circling my clit, the fingers inside me twisting and curling, hunting for that spot. The sheets bunch under my ass, the air in the room is cold but my skin is burning. I want to come so bad it hurts.
“Liam,” I pant. “Suck my tits. Put your big cock in… mmmm, just like that.”
I press down, harder, rougher. My teeth sink into my lip, the taste of iron blooming behind my tongue. I moan, soft at first, then louder. I don’t care if the neighbors hear. I want them to.
The orgasm builds, thick and wild, and I hold onto it as long as I can, hips grinding, toes curled, every muscle tight and perfect. When it hits, it slams through me, a white-hot shock that makes me see stars. I clamp a hand over my mouth and scream into it, riding the wave until it flattens me.
“Mmmph!” is my wild moan as my pussy clamps and spasms, hot gusts of nectar dripping down my thighs. “Mmmmm!”
I twist and moan, shivers running through my sweetest spot as I see the huge man before me, his face coated in my juices as he ejaculates as well, filling me with thick, virile male cream.
Afterwards, I lie there, ruined, the sheets a disaster, the air thick with the smell of sex and sweat. My heart is a runaway train, but for the first time all night, my head is clear.
I pull my pajama bottoms back up, sticky and cold now, and close my eyes. I can still feel Liam inside me, in my mouth, in my blood. I want more, but for tonight, this is enough.
