“Hide,” I whisper, and it’s a joke, but part of me is dead serious.
She grins, grabs her bag, and slips behind a bookshelf just as I crack the door open.
It’s the department chair, of course. He peers in, eyes narrowed, surveying the room like a crime scene.
“You all right, Thomas?” he asks. “You look flushed.”
I force a smile, blood still humming in my ears. “It’s the heat. The vents are busted again.”
He nods, not really caring. “The curriculum committee needs your proposal by tomorrow. Don’t forget.”
“Will do,” I say, and close the door before he can sense that there’s a beautiful, fertile female in my office.
I turn, breathless, and find Simone perched on the edge of my desk, legs crossed, lips parted in a slow, wicked smile.
“Next time,” she says, “I want you to make me scream so loud the whole building hears.”
I want that, too.
But for now, I settle for the promise of it—the way her words linger in the air, sharper than any insult, sweeter than any apology.
I’m already addicted, and there’s no cure.
I approach Simone,catching my breath, trying to keep my cool. She’s on my desk with one palm pressed to her chest like she’s steadying a runaway heart, the other twisting the hem of her skirt between nervous fingers. We’re both playing at calm, but I can feel the aftershock of her anger radiating between us—hot, dangerous, and, somehow, magnetic.
Her glare softens by degrees, the hurt draining into a wary kind of hunger. She leans forward, lowers her voice so it’s just for me.
“You really care?” she asks, not quite meeting my eyes. “You’re not just saying that because you want to fuck me?”
The question should sting, but all I feel is relief. It means she hasn’t walked out. Yet.
I take her hands, both at once, squeeze until I’m sure she feels it in her bones.
“I care about you too much, baby,” I rasp. “It’s a goddamn problem.”
She’s close enough now that I can see the pulse in her throat, quick and fluttering. My own is no better. I tug her forward, slow, and this time when I kiss her, it’s nothing like the anger-fueled collision we had before. It’s measured, devouring, a slow pull that leaves us both undone. Her lips go slack against mine, her body melting into the space where mine ends.
When I pull away, she’s pink and shining, her eyes glassy with something halfway between hope and despair. I want to fix it, but I also want to ruin her again.
I drop to my knees, right there on the cheap wool rug, and then lie back so that I’m flat on the ground. I look up at her. She looks down, suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Making it up to you,” I say. “An apology for last week’s incident.”
She snorts, but it’s a little uncertain. “Okay, but what are you doing? What am I supposed to do?”
I laugh, all teeth, the thrill of it buzzing up my spine. “Take off your panties, Simone. Come place that pretty pussy on my face.”
She’s totally still, staring at me.
“You’re serious. Here, in your office, when the department chair just came by.”
“I’m totally serious,” I say, and pat the rug. “Let me worship you, Simone.”
There’s a long moment where I’m convinced she’ll bail, throw up a wall, maybe even hit me again. Instead, she shakes her head and bites her lip. Then, she lifts her skirt, and slowly, pulls off a pair of baby blue panties, so sheer and lacy that they’re hardly even there.
“You’re a maniac,” she whispers, but I can see how her pussy glistens with arousal already. It’s perfect—she’s as bald as a baby, flushed pink, the inner lips glistening with slick. I can smell her arousal, sharp and sweet, and for a second, I just stare, awed.
