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“If you don’t let me come soon, I’ll do it myself,” I warn.
“If you threaten me again, I’ll make sure the next ten times we’re intimate go exactly like this, with you begging me to fill your greedy cunt. Understood?” His tone is harsh and I bite back my retort, secretly loving the way he plays with my body like the strings of a violin, pulling me taut and making me sing for him. “You’ve had a difficult week, so I’ll give you a hall pass. Lay back and let me fill you with my cum, Calista.”
Relief bursts inside me, and I slump back against his pillows with a smile on my face and a sense of satisfaction so great, I’ll be coming in no time.
He gives me another playful roll of his eyes before flicking his gaze to the wrought-iron headboard above me. “Hold on to the headboard and don’t even think about keeping your screams from me.”
“Yes, Professor,” I agree, gripping the cool metal bars above me as he eases himself in between my legs.
He presses a hand to my throat and the other to my lower abdomen, pushing his cock so deep, I’m nearly certain he can feel it through the palm bracing himself over me.
“Tell me when you’re close,” he demands, tightening his grip around my throat as if he doesn’t want me to be able to answer so he has further reason to punish me.
“I’m close,” I manage to grit out, pleasure already coiling tightly as he pounds into me with punishing thrusts, every press of his pelvis to mine like a jolt of electricity to my clit.
“That’s my good fucking girl,” he grunts out. “So.” Thrust. “Fucking.” Thrust. “Good.” My chest heaves with the effort it takes to remain present rather than floating off into oblivion, my vision narrowing to a blur, pleasure rippling over me and down my spine like a rush of warm water. When he moves the hand braced on my low belly further down, swirling the tips of his fingers over my clit, I see stars. I clamp down around him, and he whimpers, dropping his forehead to mine. “Come for me, my ruin.”
His words are like a match to gasoline and my body reacts to them with a similar explosion ricocheting through me, my back bowing off his mattress as I gasp for breath. He releases his grip on my throat enough for me to scream his name, allowing the words to come out clear.
He pounds into me relentlessly, my body still spasming with aftershocks of my arousal.
“Fuck yes, baby. Your pussy was made for me,” he groans out, body tensing before he’s spilling inside me, groaning with my name on his tongue.
We remain cradled in each other’s arms for a long while, neither of us in any hurry to get cleaned up. It isn’t until a gust of wind pushes the old window open, blasting us with a frigid chill and a flurry of snow coats the floor, that we manage to untangle ourselves from one another.
My muscles are loose and languid as I stretch out beside Alastair, curling myself around him with a leg tossed over his hips.
He cups the back of my head, pressing a kiss to my temple. I gaze up at him, taking in the worn leather of a book in one hand, dark-framed glasses pressing down the bridge of his nose and the relaxed expression he wears as he reads to me.
“Will you stay the night with me again?” he asks, flicking his gaze to the window where snow now coats the stained glass and the sun has set, leaving darkness in her wake.
“I’m not sure I could leave even if I wanted to,” I tell him, not realizing how the admission might sound until the words are already past my lips.
He furrows his brow, closing his book and setting it on the dark wooden nightstand beside him, giving me all of his attention. “What do you mean by that?”
“I’m not using you to protect me. That’s not what I meant.”
He strokes his thumb over my cheek, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. “I hadn’t thought you did.”
My shoulders slump. “I just meant that it doesn’t feel safe to be anywhere but in your arms, what with everything that’s going on right now.”
“I wouldn’t want you anywhere else,” he murmurs, pressing another kiss to the crown of my head before sitting up and dragging me into his lap. “I won’t let anything happen to you, Calista. You know that, right?”
I want to tell him that he can’t say things like that, not when there are so many factors at play here. But I don’t. I don’t because something deep inside me knows what he says is true. He has never given me any reason to doubt how safe I am with him, and it’s that which gives me the push I need to confide in him with all of the fears that have built up these last few weeks.
I speak of the horrors that have become our recent reality and the dread that has followed: how every creak of the floorboards makes me startle, how I no longer trust the sound of my own breaths at night, and how I wonder if the university itself is complicit in this relentless cruelty. I confess my fears to him like they’re sins, and he listens without complaint. His stillness soothes me, as does the warm palm that remains pressed to the base of my spine. His eyes remain steady and unwavering, providing me with warmth and comfort.
When I’ve gotten everything I’ve been feeling off my chest, a lightness settles into my bones and I sag in relief against him, pressing my ear to his chest. The steady thump of his heart soothes me, a constant reminder that so long as his heart beats in his chest, I am safe. Each time I’ve faltered, he has been there to guide me to safety, and that is something I do not take lightly.
“Would you like some tea?” he asks, murmuring into my hair, dragging steady lungfuls of my scent into his nose.
“Chamomile?”
His lips quirk. “Chamomile, it is.” He shifts me so I’m left resting in the center of his bed, surrounded by thick blankets and the warm glow of flickering candlelight as he throws on his robe and heads out into the hall, locking the door behind him.
The room feels different without his comforting presence, though remnants of him remain surrounding me, calming the beating drum of my heart as it presses against my eardrums. The room is too quiet, though the storm howls against the glass. Too large, even with the scent of his cologne clinging to the air.
As time ticks by, my restlessness grows and I bolt from the bed, trailing my fingers over the edges of his bookshelves. I take note of each detail that has changed with the season.
