He smooths the hair away from my face and kisses the crown of my head gently.
“Try to sleep now, sweetheart.”
But asking me to sleep when I’m lying naked in bed with him is like asking me to stop breathing or remove my own arm from my body. It’s utterly impossible and completelycounterintuitive. I’m lying in my fated mate’s arms and my body wants more of him. All of him.
I missed him while he was gone. I missed this closeness between us.
I place a warm kiss on the smooth skin of his chest, basking in the strange warmth of it against the tender skin of my lips.
“Sleep, Briony,” he tells me in that booming voice of his – which is a mistake because that voice has always sent shivers down my spine.
“I don’t want to sleep,” I say.
I push against his shoulder, rolling him until he’s flat on his back. Then I’m crawling over his body until I’m sitting, straddling his lap.
He gazes up at me. “This isn’t sleeping, Miss Storm.”
“I can close my eyes and pretend I’m asleep if you prefer, Professor.”
He reaches up, brushes my hair over my shoulder, then traces his fingertips over my shoulder, down my breastbone to my breasts. He inhales an unneeded breath of air and then traces the curve of my breasts to the peaks of my hardening nipples.
“Such a brat,” he mutters.
Then his fingers sweep back up to my neck, and his eyes flash a hungry red.
“You can take some if you want,” I say.
He growls and wraps his fingers around my throat.
“Don’t tempt me, Briony. I’ve taken enough for today. I need no more.”
“But it feels so good,” I whine, swiveling my hips and grinding myself against his stiffening cock. “When your fangs are in my neck. It feels so good.”
He groans. His hand tightens around my throat, and for a moment I think I’ve tempted him far enough. Then his grip slackens, and so does his body, and that flash of crimson redvanishes from his eyes, the swirl of ocean blue returning instead to his amber gaze.
“Not tonight, my little brat,” he says. “Tonight you’ll have to be content with my cock deep inside your pussy.”
Before I know what he’s doing, he’s spun me around 180 degrees, taking a grip of my hips, lifting me up and then slamming me down on his waiting cock. I’ve never done it this way before – straddling his lap but facing away from him – and I’m about to complain. I want to see his face, his beautiful, jaw-droppingly handsome face. A face that probably has every girl and boy in this academy fantasizing.
But then he’s lifting me up and slamming me down again, and I understand exactly why he’s positioned me this way. It hits every sensitive part inside me and I cry out from the ecstasy of it.
“Do you like that, Miss Storm?” he asks me, his fingers sinking into my flesh, his thumb sweeping over the globes of my ass.
I can’t respond. Not when he does it again, and stars shoot across my vision.
“I said, Miss Storm,” he repeats, “do you like that? You should know by now to respond when your teacher asks you a question.”
“It feels so good, Fox. Too good,” I moan.
“You know what’ll make it even better, my little mate?”
I shake my head frantically from side to side, already feeling the tears welling in my eyes because it’s too much, too good. I’m not sure I can bear it.
“Touch yourself,” he says.
“W-w-w-what?” I stammer.
“Touch yourself. Touch that sensitive little nub of yours while you bounce on my cock. Make yourself come.”
