So I trail my lips over the fabric of her dress down until I kneel between her legs.
I nibble her inner thigh as I slide with my hands first under her dress to push it up. I pull the string to the side and hold it with the dress with one hand. I look up at her, a devilish smirk on her face as I brush with my fingers over her labia.
I gaze at her the entire time, and with every single one of my movements, her eyes flicker a bit more.
Then, I lean in, kiss her pubic, and trail further down with my tongue. I let it circle around the clit, just a little bit, before I enter her with two fingers. She throws her head back, and I growl in desire as I watch her from down on my knees.
I fuck her with my finger slightly bent up, suck her clit, and trail around it with my tongue until she rolls her hips and gasps.
I just continue with what I do until she grabs my head and presses it into her. I stop and let her ride out the pulsating orgasm.
I slip my fingers out of her, and she pulls me up and into a kiss.
“See,” she says, “That was the least mid-core you have ever done.”
8
JANE
PLAYLIST: RUNNING UP THAT HILL — PLACEBO
“Excuse me, but this is a women’s restroom,” I say to a very stiff suit-wearing man who blocks the door.
“I am aware, Ma’am, but I was ordered not to let anyone enter.”
“Who ordered you?” I ask, slightly annoyed, because I really need to use the restroom.
“I can’t say,“ he says, but at that moment, the door opens and an extremely beautiful, but entitled-looking, young woman with long blonde hair exists, and the man moves out of the way.
I aim to get into the bathroom, but before I have my hand on the door, it opens a second time, and Amelie Degard steps out of it. She looks at me, her eyes widen, I stare at her, and mine narrow.
Her pupils are dilated, she has rose cheeks, and looks otherwise very pale. Without thinking, my hand snaps to her jaw. I don’t know why I do it. I don’t touch people, but I feel this need to grasp her, shake her, make her come to her senses.
“Have you been taking drugs again?” I ask her as I move her head in a way that allows me to check her pupil reaction with the corridor light.
I can see her defensiveness flickering in her eyes.
“So what if?” she says, and for the first time, I see the girl acting her age.
“Who are you?” asked the blonde girl next to her. I dislike her immediately.
“Professor McKenzie, and you better leave,” I say harshly. “You’re coming with me,” I say to Amelie and let go of her. “Get to my office and wait there for me.”
I am already waiting for the blonde girl to attack me, but nothing happens. It’s an awkward moment, and I’m more than glad that Amelie walks away. I use the bathroom, and then catch up with Amelie.
She says nothing, and I am not even sure why I am doing what I do. After what happened on Friday, I should stay away from her. I should keep her at a distance. Instead, I had to run into her and had to confront her.
Now, I have to deal with the aftermath. And the aftermath rounds on me the moment the door to my office is closed.
“Who do you think you are?” she says angrily. “Walking around like you are my mother, policing whatever I do.”
I sit down and take a moment before I answer, because I am two parts angry with her, and one part is envious of her daring, something I could never acknowledge. I never allowed myself to overstep a rule or a boundary. I never dared talk back, and she—she just does things. She’s a doer who doesn't think about the consequences, while I overthink everything until the situation eventually goes away.
She paces up and down in front of me.
“Please, sit down,” I say.
“I don’t want to sit down. I don’t even want to be here. I have a lecture.”
