Page 93 of Pink Ink

I blink through my teary vision to make him out through the blur. Wrinkles paint his forehead, as another hand threads through my hair. I take a deep breath before forcing myself to loosen my body.

“Go on. Take me—fuck,” he grunts. “Yes. Fuck. That’s my girl.”

I moan, and that only makes him buck. My nails dig into his toned thighs, and I give in to the temptation. My eyes roll to the back of my head as soon as pressure hits my sex. The muscles in my neck vibrate with my groan.

Maddox loses it. There’s no control to his movements, curled over, jerking, bucking his hips without restraint. Eyes are glazed over, drifting between half-lidded and shut. Brows furrow, cursing and murmuring my name and grunting quietly.

Saliva, tears, and the residue of his come paint my cheeks and swollen lips. We’re both too helpless to stop as I chase my pleasure with him in my mouth. The same sick thrill of power courses through me seeing him so gone, fucking my throat like he’s operating with his hindbrain becauseIbrought him to that state.

Maddox pulls all the way out suddenly, drags me to my feet, and slams his lips to mine, devouring me with as much ruined control. One of his hands strays to the base of my skull. The other wraps around the column of my throat, molding me to his will. He deepens the kiss, backing me up or moving me to the side or—I don’t know anymore.

The only thing clicking is him and his lips and that this is the only thing that matters. It’s the only thing that’s ever felt right.

I can barely breathe from his hold on my throat and his tongue pushing into my mouth, kissing me like a drowning man gulping down air. His hard length is plastered against my stomach, and my core screams with the need to feel him inside me.

The desk hits the back of my thighs, and he lifts me onto the table without care for the ensuing chorus of clattering. There’s no care about the nearby window, or the people who might be on the other side of the door. Neither of us breaks the starved kiss until I tug at his top.

Maddox draws back. We breathe hard, staring at each other, only he’s looking at me with animalistic glee, dragging his eyes from my parted legs and bunched skirt to my bare chest, then my abused lips that he traces with his thumb, smiling like he’s won the lottery.

“Look at you, all nice and pink for me.” Time seems to slow as Maddox’s hand drops to my chest to twist my tender nipples between his fingers, and he watches mesmerized. “So beautiful.”

The air between us grows weight. I can’t have him go slow and gentle with me. It’ll hurt too much once this is over if I know what him treating me tenderly feels like. I pull him closer by his shirt, plant my lips back onto his, and he’s back to pawing at my flesh.

We undress each other at the same time: I’m unbuttoning his top; he’s throwing my boots to the side, ripping off my stockings and panties,leaving my skirt and harness. As soon as he’s content with his work, my nipple is in his mouth and he’s groping my other breast with the same frantic need I have thrumming through me.

This wasn’t on my bingo card for this year. Or lifetime. I never thought I’d be sitting half naked on my professor’s desk with the taste of his come in my mouth.

I most definitely didn’t think I’d be doing it on a weekday while there’s still daylight outside and people who are no doubt on the other side of the wall—a fact that hasn’t crossed my mind in far too long.

The thought pumps the brakes in my head.

This is the real crossing. Not the locking of the door or the meeting of our lips. This is the next step, the threshold that cannot be uncrossed. I can’t think clearly or formulate what I really want to ask, but I need to know that we are really taking that step together.

The question comes out as a blurted “Are we going to have sex?”

He pauses, arching a brow. “I’m not going to have sex with you, Miss Sinaga. I’m going to fuck you. The effect would be the same. Your ability to walk won’t be.”

My eyes fall to his cock that’s twitching and leaking with more precome. My core throbs around nothing, and right now that’s answer enough for me.

When I meet his eyes, he’s already watching me—not with judgment or the arrogant tilt I might have expected. More like I’m a project he’s trying to work out.

I frown when he stops me from removing his unbuttoned top. He rolls on a condom he got from who knows where and lines himself up at my entrance before I can overthink it.

He presses something long and thin against my lips. “Bite.”

My lips part on instinct. I glance down at the paintbrush. He can’t be serious, can he?

I hesitate before complying with his order, clamping down on the paintbrush. The wood dents under my teeth, and he lowers his lips to my ear.

“Remember, love, not a sound. I’d hate for anyone to hear.”

It’s the only warning I get. He grips a hand on my harness and fills me with a single thrust. Pleasure explodes through me. I throw my head back, biting down on the paintbrush to muffle the sound. The stretch stings, but it’s barely noticeable against the pure bliss of having him inside of me.

My hand flies behind me. Papers and books go soaring through the air, hitting the floor with a hard thud. I gasp, but he doesn’t stop driving his hips forward, lost to the motion of fucking me. It takes several tries to contort around to look at the items that have fallen from his bag.

I still. That’s…

Ice chills my veins at his serious expression. I can’t say a word without taking the brush out of my mouth, and he offers no explanation for why there are sketches of me strewn across the floor.