Chapter 30 #2
He teased me with his fingertips, deliberate and devastating. “We fucked in a chapel, Gabrielle.” His breath scorched my neck, his touch dizzying. “That act alone obliterated the line.”
I shuddered—a sharp, exquisite wave—as his fingers finally slipped inside me. “Underneath the chapel,” I corrected, the words almost lost in a rush.
“Still sinful.” He pumped his fingers, drawing a ragged sound from deep within me.
“You’re only my student for two more days.
” He nudged my thighs apart, settling between my knees, his breath hot and demanding against my skin.
“And you’ve followed all the rules.” His tongue flicked against me, quick and devastating.
“Be a bad girl now and break those rules for me.”
I moaned low, drawn out.
He looked up, gray eyes molten and urgent. “Consider this office hours,” he said, his voice dark and coaxing. “House call edition.” He paused, teasing. “What do you still need help with, Miss Clark?”
I shivered, head spinning, fingers clutching the sheets. “Waves,” I gasped, the word catching on a breath. “I get how frequency and amplitude work. Technically. But…”
“But?” he prompted, that smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“But why does higher frequency feel…stronger?” I breathed. “If the amplitude’s the same, shouldn’t it all feel the same?”
He stilled, a wicked smile playing at his lips—hot and unholy. “Funny you should ask.” He slid off the bed. “Where do you keep your vibrator?”
I blinked at him, dazed. “My…what?”
“Every woman has one,” he said, amused. “Or so I’m told. Where’s yours?”
Heat flushed through me. “Second drawer of my nightstand.” The words were a reckless, breathless confession.
He moved to the drawer, retrieved the vibrator, and held it loosely in his hand—off, but somehow humming with promise. He returned to the edge of the bed, his gaze sharp, scientific, and entirely indecent.
“Frequency is measured in…?” he asked, dragging the smooth curve of the toy along my inner thigh. Not enough pressure to satisfy. Just enough to make my skin chase it.
“Hertz,” I whispered, my voice barely there.
“Good girl.” His mouth curled. “And another way of saying Hertz?” He teased the vibrator against my clit.
My breath hitched. “Pulses…per second.”
He nodded, pleased. “Exactly.”
He clicked it on at the lowest setting. The vibration hummed through me. I gasped and arched beneath him.
“This lovely little device is delivering energy to your nervous system at…” He paused, voice dark and wicked. “Let’s call it fifty pulses per second. Fifty Hertz.”
He moved the vibrator in slow, tantalizing circles. I whimpered, my body tightening with the effort of staying still.
“Now,” he said, coaxing me, “assuming amplitude stays the same…but I increase the frequency to…” He turned the dial. “One hundred pulses per second. Are the pulses any stronger?”
The new intensity crashed through me, and I struggled to find my voice. “No,” I gasped, the word nearly lost on a breath.
The vibrations were relentless and consuming as he asked, “Then what have I done to the amount of energy delivered to your…stimulated nervous system over time?”
I shuddered, my whole body taut and trembling. “Doubled it,” I moaned.
His laugh was unrestrained, full of delight and mischief, and it sent another wave of heat through me.
“Precisely.” He turned the dial as high as it would go. The vibrator whined, and the surge of sensation lit up every nerve ending I had. Too much. Almost unbearable. But I couldn’t pull away.
He pinned my hips down with his forearm, the force of it exquisite, and the vibration seared through me, fast as lightning. He watched as I writhed, as my body strained against his hold, desperate for more but too overwhelmed to take it.
“With all this energy I’m sending through you,” he said, teasing and sure, “there’s only so much these sensitive nerves can take until they…overload.”
The words barely registered before the world shattered white. My muscles clenched around the sensation, my voice breaking into a cry.
I came back to myself slowly, breathless and undone. The duvet was bunched beneath me, and my skin pulsed with aftershocks. Cal shut off the vibrator and eased it away, his eyes never leaving mine.
“In biosexual terms,” he said, his mouth curving into that wicked grin, “that ‘overload’ is called an orgasm.”
I let out a shaky, incredulous laugh, the sound raw and unconfined.
“That was your best lecture yet,” I managed, my breath still catching.
He pulled me up, wrapping me in his arms, the motion tender and possessive. “I know,” he said, cocky, unrepentant.
I tipped my chin up, lips grazing his ear. “Five stars, Professor,” I whispered, letting the title drip like sin between us.
He went still for half a heartbeat—just long enough for me to feel the shift—then let out a low, dark groan and gripped my hips.
“Say that again,” he growled, voice thick with hunger, “and I won’t stop until you forget your own name.”
I leaned in, lips brushing his jaw. “Thank you for the lesson, Dr. Hawthorne.”
He let out a low, guttural sound and buried his face in my neck, tension rolling through him like thunder. “Christ, just get me through the next two days,” he breathed. “Freedom is so close I can taste it.”
I didn’t answer. I just kissed him like I could bend time.