6. Jonas
6
Jonas
I t takes me six weeks to break down her resistance.
I show up to class early, grab a seat up front, and I always stay late to pick her brain or ask a question or two about the text. She shuts down any attempt at innuendo or flirting at first, but by week two, I’ve taken to walking her back to her building and she’s gotten comfortable enough to crack a joke or two.
Each of our short walks through campus turns into a little game.
We trade secrets and truths, doling out pieces of ourselves as we stride side-by-side through the falling October leaves.
“So if you’re spending all your time studying, what’s going on with the band?” she asks, squinting up at me through her glasses.
“I’m still with the band, but I stepped down this semester into a lesser role so they can mesh with another singer while I focus on finishing all the credits I need to graduate. I can’t keep dragging it out. My moms will kill me.”
“You’ve stepped down?”
I kick at the leaves swirling around my ankles. “Yeah, I’m taking some time to re-evaluate and figure out what makes me happy.”
“Isn’t the dream to make it big, tour the world, become a superstar?” She turns away from me, face forward and expression clouded. “I can hear it now, everyone chanting your name. Jo-nas, Jo-nas, Jo-nas.”
“Nah. It’s not my style. I’m more of a homebody. My on-stage persona is pretty exuberant, but off-stage, I keep things low key.”
Her gaze drifts over me, disbelieving.
I stifle a laugh. “You read all those smutty romance novels. You ought to know better than to judge a book by its cover.”
“I’m not judging.” She peeks at me behind her glasses through thick, dark lashes. “I’m just surprised. Many of my students seem primed on chasing fame and fortune.”
“I’m not like many of your students, Felicity.”
She doesn’t miss the change in my meaning or tone, but she only purses her lips.
By week three, I learned that she’s always wanted to teach English and get lost in words. She enjoys what she does and from sitting in her class, I know she’s good at it. Passionate about the subject matter, about analyzing text. The downside is that she turns that beautiful, analytical mind on herself.
Critiquing her every move, her every decision.
By week four, I regularly accompany her on walks to the library or back to her office, but I don’t enter again. Not without invitation or reason, because the only thing I can think of when I’m in there is locking us in until she admits that she wants me as badly as I want her.
And I know she does.
I can see it in her eyes whenever they linger on me. I can tell by the way she doesn’t shift away when my arm brushes against mine, and in how her steps slow to draw out our walk. I love the way her gaze seeks me out the second she steps into the classroom and how her shoulders relax a little, those pert, full lips tilt for a moment before she wrestles herself back into that tightly wound control I’m dying to unravel.
Bit by bit, I’ve tugged at her strings, willing her to open up and share parts of herself with me.
By week six, I accompany her into the annals of the library to track down a book, she slips and says all her previous relationship fell apart because of her.
“How can you say that? There are two of you in that relationship. Both of you are responsible for its upkeep. It doesn’t just fall on one person’s shoulders.”
“Because they all left me, Jonas. They all told me I was too cold, too distant, too controlling. They’re not wrong.” She sighs, her steps quickening as she hustles up the stairs of the library to the sixth floor for another text. “Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s not an appropriate topic for us to discuss.”
I follow her into the stacks, whispering as the motion-sensor lights flicker on above us. “I’m not just your student, you know.”
She stops short, blinking. “Of course you are, Jonas. You can’t be anything else.”
Annoyance flares up inside me as I grasp her wrist and spin her into my arms. Up here, amid all the enormous, dusty texts, it’s deserted. We’re safe, however momentarily, from any prying, curious eyes or ears.
“Are you saying that because I’m enrolled in your class, or because you truly believe there’s nothing here between us?”
She’s gasping for air now, the book in her arms pressed tight against her chest and digging into my belly.
“I’m saying it because it’s true. We had a good time together, Jonas. That’s all it can be.”
My jaw tightens. “Because that’s all you wanted from me and you’ve had your fill, or because you’re still focused on putting up barriers between us?”
“I’m not putting up barriers. They’re just there.” She stares hard at my mouth.
I reach up and tug on her hair and her eyes drift shut. “They’re there because you insist on keeping them there. You can choose me, you know. We can overcome things together.”
“I shouldn’t.”
“You should do what you please,” I say, groaning a little as she licks her bottom lip and my cock springs to life. “Or you can let me give you what you’re too afraid to ask for.”
I press into her curves, letting my length dig into her softness.
Her eyes shut and her mouth falls open on a sigh. The book she’s holding tumbles to the floor with a loud thunk and she lays her hands on my chest, fingers splayed as she seeks the feel of my nipples under my shirt.
“I can see how hard you’re fighting to hold it together, Felicity, but all that does is make me want to see you lose control.” I press my head to hers, inhale her sweet scent and slip my arms around her waist. “You trusted me with it once, trust me again.”
“I do trust you. More than I should. More than I’ve trusted any other partner I’ve had,” she whispers, eyes wet with unshed tears. “Don’t you understand? It isn’t normal, what’s happening here.”
“What’s not normal? I’m a man with a hunger for a sexy, smart woman. We both have certain appetites that the other person likes to feed. And I genuinely like you. I think you like me too, but you don’t like admitting it.” I reach up for her breasts, tweaking each bud through her thin blouse until her head falls back against the books. “Sounds pretty fucking normal to me.”
“I could lose everything.”
“You won’t,” I vow, nibbling at the curve of her neck. “But if you do, I’ll help you rebuild it.”
Her laugh is sharp in the silence of the stacks. “They’ll fire me for this.”
“You’re tenured. It’s not that easy to fire you.” My hand snakes under her flowy skirt, sliding along the thin material of her stockings. I groan when I feel the garter snaps. My naughty little professor does love her lingerie. “Tell me you don’t want this. Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll stop.”
“I… don’t… Jonas, ” Her breath hitches as I cup her heat and run the pad of my middle finger across her soaking lace-covered slit. “Oh, god, I don’t want you to stop.”
Then her fingers fist in my shirt and she pulls me in for a heady kiss. It’s a kiss for control, one marked by clashing tongues and fevered nips. I sink my teeth into her lower lip, sucking hard to soothe the ache as her hands skate across my stomach, making my every muscle jump.
My hand continues to work over her hot center, slipping beneath the lace to slide against her bare flesh. She gasps into my kiss, opening her legs for me as I dip into her tight, hot channel. With two fingers, I thrust in, stroking her hard and fast.
She arches, breaking the kiss and locking her eyes with mine. In the moment, our connection feels more intimate now than when I was buried deep inside her. Her desires are evident to me, written in the heat of her gaze, the stuttering rise and fall of her chest, the way her hips jump to meet my hand.
“Look how much you’ve missed me, baby. You’re dripping all over me,” I murmur against her mouth, fingers pressing against that spot that makes her arch and moan. “You’re so ready for me to take you here.”
“Do it,” she gasps.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” I chuckle, pressing a kiss to her throat. “You don’t get to top me from the bottom. Today, you’re giving up the reigns. You can have them back when I’m finished.”
Her hips jerk as I find that place inside her again and grind the heel of my hand against her clit. With mutiny in her eyes, she grabs hold of the bookcase shelves and lifts her chin.
“Make me give it up.”
I smile at her, my fingers plunging deeper, stroking harder as my cock strains painfully against my jeans.
Her head presses back against the heavy books lined up behind her, her knuckles turning white as she holds onto the shelves for support. I lift one of her legs, planting her foot on the kick step stool and opening her up to me further. I push her skirt out of the way and watch the obscene view of my fingers disappearing into her lush, wet cunt over and over.
“That’s it, darling, ride my hand like you’d ride my dick.”
She gasps as I flip open her blouse buttons and lean into suck her nipples through the lace of her bra. Moaning, she rocks against my hand and guides me to her other breast where I suckle long and hard as her pace picks up and I slip another finger into her and find her clit with my heel.
Finally, when I graze her nipple and grind my hand against her clit, she breaks. Coming with a muted scream, Felicity pulses around my hand as I murmur praise into her ear.
Then I withdraw and make a show of licking her juices from my wrist, my palm, my fingers. My cock is rock hard and dripping, but still I don’t free myself from my pants. Instead, I suck on the silver rings and hum at her taste, her scent. Then I undo my belt. Excitement and anticipation dance in her eyes as I take each of her arms and draw them in front of her.
“I want to take you here, against the books, raw and hard. But I don’t have a condom.”
She blinks. “I’m clean and have an IUD.”
“I’m clean, too,” I pause, pressing the leather to her wrists. “Do you trust me, darling?”
“Yes.”
“What’s your safe word?”
“Mathematics.”
I quirk a brow and she shrugs.
“I don’t like math. It’s basically a red light for me.”
“My naughty little professor wants to be taken in the stacks,” I click my tongue as I wrap her wrists, cuffing her with my belt and spinning her back to face the books. Stretching her grasp to the shelf above, I reach around her to hands delve into her shirt, cupping her heavy breasts and kneading them, pulling on her tips until she squirms against me, rubbing her ass against my heavy, insistent bulge. “Can she say please?”
She shoots me a glance over her shoulder, her lips primly pursed and brown eyes flashing.
Make me, she’d said.
I spank her ass hard. The resounding crack echoes through the empty library floor and a deep, aching moan passes her lips.
Then my naughty little professor bends at the waist, widening her stance and offers up that sweet, luscious ass for another. This woman will be the death of me, but fuck, I love that about her. The push, the pull, the fight.
She exhilarates me, lighting my fire from the inside.
Making me want to assert myself more in my life. Making me want to take control of my future. And that includes having her in it.
I bite back a smile as I lift her skirt, exposing her ass and dripping cunt to the cool air-conditioned space, then I bring my hand down on her other cheek. She hisses as the imprint of my hand blooms pink on her tanned skin.
Still, she holds silent, thighs quaking and slick as I kick the step stool over and sit on it. My face now lines up perfectly with her cunt and she bites down on her lower lip, eyes shining with raw desire.
“Ready to give me full control yet, Professor?”
She shakes her head no.
“Want to study some math?”
She shakes her head no, and a vicious wave of want swipes through me so that I have to cup my own cock, giving it a little stroke to ease some of the pressure. Our little game is still going, and she’s not ready for me to give up but I might burst the second I slide into her hot channel if she doesn’t let me in soon.
So I grab hold of her hips, dig into her flesh and pull her back to my mouth. I drag my tongue through her slit, tracing each of her lower lips before circling that tight, sensitive bundle of nerves. She whines above me, grinding her hips into my face until her thighs shake with need. I moan into her cunt, loving her tang on my tongue and the wet noises our bodies make as she slides over my chin, my mouth. Then she’s whispers something. A chant, a plea.
I pull back and rasp out, “What was that, darling?”
“ Please .”
“Please what?”
“Please fuck me, Jonas. Please.”