I hum. “Just this once.”
“What can I do?”
I order him to stand, and I slide back on the desk until my feet are hanging. “You’re going to touch between my thighs and you’re going to show me how strong your hands are.”
He shudders. “Of course, Professor.” His breathless tone ratches up my need for him, and he’s hiking my long skirt to my thighs. When his broad hands skim up my legs and try to yank my panties, I grab his wrists tight.
“Everything stays on.” His gaze flicks from mine, down to where his hands are hidden under my skirt, and back up. He tilts his head and I smirk. “Get creative.” From my hip to my aching center, he slides one finger under my panty line. “That's it,” I encourage. I plant my hands on the desk to get a better view of my naughty little student.
When he finds my seam, I cant my hips ever so slightly, and he bites his lower lip. When he pushes in, he and I can both tell I’m not quite ready. Once again, I hold onto his wrist and guide that hand to my mouth before sucking his first two digits. He gasps, his chest heaving as he watches me swirl my tongue around, wetting his fingers. I pop them out with a messy squelch. “I don’t get wet as fast as I usedto,” I tell him with absolutely no shame. “If you wanna be with an older woman, you better know that.”
“Yes,” he whispers, and I’m surprised he can even speak from the way he’s still staring at me like I invented sex.
I spit on his fingers for good measure and his knees buckle.
I am going to ruin this man,I think with no small amount of glee.
With his dry hand, he pulls my panties to the side and smears his slick fingers through the slit—dipping in and dragging out slowly—grazing my clit with every pass. The chest-deep moan I let out is quiet, and my head falls back as he massages me.
“It’s not just about my grade, Professor Wilde. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice growing shakier by the second. “When you were alone in your room with your hand on your cock, what did you think about?”
He circles my clit with both fingers and adds a little more pressure. “I thought about your gorgeous pussy,” he admits, his voice thick and tinged with something feral. “I thought about how warm and perfect it would be, and how many times I could get you off, if only you gave me the chance. I thought about you in my bed riding me, my face, my fingers.” He grunts and shoves them inside me with a powerful thrust. “I thought about bending you over this very desk so you’d know how crazy I am about you.”
He adds his thumb to my clit while he strokes my G-spot, and I’m already seeing stars. “Yes,” I moan. “Keep going. You’re doing so good.”
My head is still thrown back, but then he surprises me with an open-mouth kiss to my neck. My chest heaves with aching nipples that are pounding on the door to my bra for me to unleash them.Ughh, his mouth would be so good there...but I stay the course.
Kind of.
His other hand, the one holding my panties to the side, is removed, and he wraps it around my waist before pulling me close. Our chests are touching and through his ministrations to my cunt, neck, and ear lobe, he asks, “Is this okay?”
That’s when I lose it.
Contractions erupt in my lower half and I grip his shoulders to ride out my orgasm for dear life. I can’t speak, but he understands when I nod frantically against his warm chest.
Is this okay?All he did was ask me if it was okay for him to hold me close and kiss my neck—and I came.
Correction: am still coming.
Suddenly our mouths are a gnarled mess of lips and teeth and heavy breathing. I ride his hand for as long as I can, and he never relents, never pulls away. He keeps the exact same pressure and rhythm until I’m fairly certain the second I open my eyes, the sun will be down.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rumbles into my mouth, and—oh my God, did I just hear him swear?I revel in his profanity and slowly make the trek down from my climax. His hand and our kissing slow into appreciation for the other. My mind is in the clouds and my fingers have found their way into his hair. I drag my nails gently across his scalp and he goes limp.
His fingers are still inside me when I whisper in his ear, “You did so well, Mr. Johanssen. Do you think you could do one more thing for me?”
I’m still scratching his head when he nods, eyelids closed. I remove one hand and palm the erection trying to escape his zipper. His eyes fly open.
“I want you to ride my thigh and make yourself come. Could you do that for me?”
“Yes,” he says, an octave too deep.
I slide off the desk but keep my ass planted against theedge. My hand glides down his rigid length and I cup his balls before squeezing—making it painfully obvious who calls the shots. “You’re going to paint the inside of your pants and you’re not going to geta dropon my clothes, is that understood?”
“Mhm,” he whines.
I pull him into me and command him to hold my hips. Jonah has to bend his legs significantly to make everything line up, but I love making him work for it. I tug his head down and nestle it into my neck. His breath is hot and his tongue glides over my pulse.
