Page 45 of Misadventures with a Professor
My hands have found him under his trousers, and I’m giving him a teasing squeeze. He’s as hard as a spike.
“I’ll just take a minute,” I promise, and he growls, already mounting the bed and unfastening his pants.
“The hell you will,” he says darkly, and then my lips are being parted by the plump, swollen head of his cock as he feeds it into my mouth.
“Fuck,” he hisses as I instinctively suck around him. “Yes, girl, just like that, just like that.” And after I’ve sucked him to his satisfaction, he pulls himself from my mouth and straddles my stomach, yanking down my dress and my bra to expose my tits. I love seeing him like this, feral and quaking with unfiltered lust, and there’s something so primal about seeing a man normally as refined as Oliver do something as crude as mark me with his come. But that’s what he does, his one hand braced on the headboard above me, and his other hand fucking his cock as if he’ll die if he doesn’t empty himself immediately. I watch the dusky head disappear and reappear in the ferocious circle of his grip, and then I moan in fascinated lust as his orgasm leaves him in thick, white ropes all over my bare tits.
It’s so fucking erotic that I’ve nearly forgotten about everything that’s come before, and I beg him to rub me again, to fix the new empty ache he’s made inside me, and by the time we come again and clean up, we’re both ready for a nap.
Tomorrow, I think drowsily as I fall asleep. I’ll tell him tomorrow.
Chapter Fourteen
Oliver
Zandy’s been acting strange.
I noticed it yesterday before I whisked her up to my bed, and I’m seeing it again today as we start our work for the morning. And I think I know what it’s about, which means I’m currently sitting at my desk ruminating not over a photographic illustration of the courtship process, as I should be doing, but over what I should do next.
I mean, it’s obvious what I should do next. I should talk to her. But I’m a gelded coward, because even the mere thought of saying what I need to say out loud has me retreating.
A small sigh sifts over to me from Zandy’s desk, and I look up to see her running the top of a pen along her mouth, along the seam of those sinful lips. She’s got one hand spread low on her belly, and her eyes are distant. She’s beautiful. Beautiful and smart, and she’s pried open locks inside me that I thought were sealed shut for eternity.
What am I doing with her? Why can’t I be as brave and reckless as she ca
n, and why can’t I just admit how I feel? Admit that I want her and love her and need her for longer than the summer?
Because that’s what she needs, isn’t it? That’s what this new distance of hers is about? She’s finally realized that I’ve given her nothing more substantial than my cock and the palm of my hand, and even though we promised nothing more between each other, it’s catching up with her. She’s adjusting her feelings and expectations, and….and I don’t want her to. I don’t want another morning like the one in London when I woke up alone. I don’t want there to be any reason she thinks she has to leave me.
I want her to know how I feel.
“Zandy,” I say softly. “Come here.”
I’ve summoned her to my desk countless times since she’s arrived at my home, but this is the first time I feel nervous as she approaches, the first time I have no idea what happens next. But despite that, my cock hardens as she walks toward me in her little tweed skirt and schoolgirl-ish blouse—exactly the kind of outfit that tempts me to distraction. I’m going to fuck her after we talk, I decide, to reward her for being so perfect.
She’s ready to kneel or to bend over my desk, and her eyes flare with pleased surprise as I pull her down into my lap.
“Miss Lynch,” I murmur, brushing some of that coffee-dark hair away from her face.
“Professor,” she says, the word as always staining her cheeks with an adorable pink. I kiss those cheeks now, then her plush mouth, sliding my tongue against her lips until she opens for me and I can kiss her the way I want. Deep and devouring. Claiming and hungry.
“I love you,” I say against her mouth, and the words leave me like my own breath, like water from a spring. As natural as anything, as easy as being alive. And at the sound of them in the gentle summer air of the office, I feel a surge of happiness so real that I can’t believe I’ve waited so long to say them. I should have told her the minute I realized. I should have told her and then told her nothing else for the rest of my life.
Except while I’m smiling against her lips, I realize that Zandy’s gone completely rigid in my arms, and when I pull back with a concerned gaze to look at her, I see nothing but pure panic in her face.
Dread sends my stomach plummeting to my feet, and suddenly a horrible thought wedges its way into my mind. What if she doesn’t love me? What if she doesn’t care for me at all? What if—oh God—all the sighs and the distant looks have been because she wants to be free of me? What if she wants to be free of my deviance? My perversions?
My kink, as she so innocently calls it?
It’s Rosie all over again, except worse, a thousand times worse, because I didn’t love Rosie like I love Zandy. Not even close, not even a little bit. If Zandy doesn’t love me, I’m not sure I’ll survive it.
But before I can complete my own terror spiral, I see that Zandy’s sapphire eyes are brimming with tears, and I reach up to brush them away. She catches my hand with my fingertips on her cheek, nuzzling against my palm like a distressed kitten, and it breaks my heart to see her so upset. And it breaks my heart again to think that she might be upset because she’s going to refuse me. Because I confessed to loving her and now she’s trying to find the words to tell me that she doesn’t love me back.
“Zandy,” I say in a choked voice. “You don’t have to—I mean, I shouldn’t have—please don’t—”
She presses her own fingers to my lips now, meeting my eyes with the shining blue of her own.
“I love you too, Oliver,” she whispers, but she doesn’t sound happy. She sounds anything but happy, and her words are like twin swords of joy and pain right to my heart.
