7. Felicity
7
Felicity
H e’s up in a flash, kicking the stool aside and shoving his pants down his thighs. He slides up and down my slit, nudging me open with his broad head until I’m tilting my hips and biting down on the leather strap of the belt he used to tie up my wrists.
“Please, Jonas. Do you want me to beg?”
“It’d be nice,” he murmurs and I can hear the smile in his voice as he rocks an inch in and out of me, playing just the tip so I’m grinding my teeth to keep from snapping. “You can be my good girl for once and then you can ask me nicely to be a good boy for you.”
Indignation rises up in me as I turn my head, spluttering, “I can—wha— oh, god! ”
Without warning, Jonas drives into me, full and hard. He gives me every glorious inch and I gasp, arching as the sudden invasion triggers an unexpected orgasm.
“More. Please, give me more. Fuck yes, Jonas. Just like that. Take me hard.”
“You just can’t stop, can you?” he grunts, hips driving into me as I come apart around him. “Can’t stop issuing orders and commanding my dreams. Taking charge of me, of the class, of whatever this is that exists between us. But when your control snaps,” His hand slides around my neck, collaring my throat and pressing on my pulse. “It makes me so fucking hot. You’re the most beautiful dark angel I’ve ever seen. In my dreams, you come to me through the haze of smoke. In silky skirts and lace I want to rip apart. You come with a painted mouth that begs me to part it with my cock.”
Oh shit.
I want all of those things. I want them with every fiber of my being, to be able to tempt and tease him until control is the thing we bat back and forth between us. But I can’t answer, reduced as I am to shuddering breaths and gasps. The heat in my body scorching a path straight to my pussy where he pounds into me in short, relentless strokes.
“You make me wild, Felicity. I crave you every minute of every day, and whatever you ask of me, I will deliver.” He releases his hold on my throat, his lips trailing hot against the shell of my ear.
“ God, you feel so good inside me. I love the feel of you bare and buried deep.” I rock back against him, holding onto the shelf for leverage. “I want to come, Jonas. I want to come on you. Please.”
“Whatever you ask of me, darling, it’s yours. Even my heart.” Then he reaches between my legs, slides his fingers against my clit and I fall apart on him, knocking several books off the shelf as he tumbles with me. For a long moment, he pulses inside me and neither of us move.
When he presses a kiss to my cheek and pulls out, my skirt slips back into place. But underneath it all, I can still feel his cum as it slips free and coats my inner thighs. I turn to face him, breathless and heart still hammering as he tucks himself away. He flips his hair out of his eyes and those ocean blues turn to me, full of affection and an emotion I’m too afraid to name.
“Did you mean it?” I ask as he wordlessly frees me from his belt and gently massages the pink marks made from my straining against them.
He bends his head, kisses each of my wrists and shields his gaze from me. “I always mean what I say, darling.”
I tuck my hand under his chin and tilt his face up to mine. Then I press my mouth to his, soft and sweet and full of all the things I feel but can’t speak aloud.
When I pull away from him, I’ve got tears tracking down my cheeks.
“For the record, I don’t find you too cold, too distant, or too controlling.” He cups my cheeks, brushing away my tears with his thumbs. “I find you alluring. Hot. Refreshing. Sometimes, we try so hard to make something work when it’s not right that we deny ourselves, our needs, and think that’s what we deserve. Other times, we’re afraid to trust the thing that is right, the thing that meets the needs we’ve not even spoken aloud, because we think it’s more than we deserve.”
“How can you possibly know that?” I cross my arms under my breasts, trying to ward off the fragility I feel at being so exposed. But it’s impossible because Jonas has an old soul, one that grants him the innate ability to see inside me and root out my truths.
“Because I saw myself in you the night we met. I saw how you sacrificed your comfort, your evening, your dignity to put other people’s needs above your own. I watched you smile at your family, cheers the happy couple who’d wronged you, and see you deny men who weren’t the right fit. And when you crashed into me, you didn’t deny the pull you felt. You didn’t run away from the connection that we formed in that brief moment of when we collided. You took hold of the moment, of me.”
His fingers slide over my shoulder, where my tattoo lay hidden under my blouse.
“To thine own self be true.” He murmured. “That’s what you did, and that’s what’s inspired me. You.”
* * *
I find myself skipping coffee breaks with Hannah these days, turning up early to my classroom to see Jonas. I know it’s wrong to secretly date my student, but he’s graduating in a few weeks’ time. And it’s not like he’s scandalously too young for me.
He’s legal.
And above drinking age.
But the guilt still weighs heavy in my stomach as we sneak around campus during my in-between class breaks, kissing in empty stairwells, fucking in private library study rooms, and making a mess out of every surface of my office.
Which reminds me, I need a new plant pot after we accidentally knocked my favorite one down and it shattered.
It’s been two weeks since that day in the library, and we’re halfway through the semester. I’ve come to really enjoy his company as I sit in the classroom, idly chatting while I grade papers or pore over other research and prepare for my day. It’s like our own little ritual.
Jonas has started bringing me cups of coffee even though he doesn’t drink the stuff—nothing to do with his upbringing this time, he says. He just prefers to stick to water and warmed cups of tea with honey.
Most mornings, I find him with his head buried in a book, but sometimes, like today, I walk in to find him strumming a guitar.
“Working on a song?” I ask, accepting the steaming cup from him as I kiss him and slide into my seat at the head of the class.
“Not really. I’m supposed to be joining the band for a multi-artist talent show at the off-campus pub tonight.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, you should come.”
I laugh. “I don’t know about that. It’d be weird, right? A teacher coming out to see the campus talent?”
“It’s a fundraiser for the new performing arts center, so you’d be supporting a good cause. You won’t be the only faculty in attendance. It won’t be weird at all.”
“I’ll think about it.”
But when the time comes, I find him at my office door looking delectable in his ripped skinny jeans, a torn and patched open vest over a white T-shirt, and that fedora I’ve come to enjoy stealing from him.
The effect is immediate as I remember the electricity of our first meeting. The ripple of desire rising inside me and making my core pulse with need.
“Professor Navarro,” he says, filling the doorway. “The show’s in an hour. You coming?”
“Just a minute. I need to speak to you about something.”
He enters my office and at my gesture, closes the door.
I come around my desk as he settles into the chair across from me. The one meant for students to come chat to me about their papers, their ideas, their standing my class. But seeing Jonas, expectant and open, makes me sigh.
“Look, it’s too late for you to drop my class—”
“Oh, I—”
“No, shh.” I press my fingertip to his mouth to silence him and he quirks a brow. “Let me finish.”
He nips the pad of my finger and lust spirals low in my belly. I drop my hand, but he laces his fingers through mine. “Go on.”
“It’s too late for you to drop my class, but I wanted you to know that this thing between us is more than just a fling.”
He arches a brow at me. “Oh, darling, that’s not news to me. You weren’t a fling for me from the start.”
“What I mean is, I have real feelings for you, Jonas.” I take a deep, steadying breath. It’s a risk, admitting to everything, but I’ve come to trust him. I’ve learned I don’t have to hide my desires from him or pretend to be someone I’m not. Best of all, Jonas has taught me that I am loveable as I am and that I’m worthy of it. That the contradictory parts that make up my whole are beautiful. I don’t have to limit myself, not like I have with others.
His eyes go soft and he drops kisses along my knuckles. “Are we making confessions now, Doc?”
“Yes, actually.” I tug on his arm, bringing him to stand in front of me. “I like you. A lot.”
“I like you, too, Felicity.” His hands glide up my thigh. “I like that you’re cautious and careful, guarded and kind. I like that you’re just as passionate about big-L literature as you are about smutty romance novels. I like that you can’t start your day without coffee and that you look for me every time you enter the classroom. But I especially like this.”
He finds me, already wet and waiting.
I should tell him that I mean to go to the Dean in the morning. I’ll confess that I’m involved with a student and face whatever the consequences are.
“Do we have time?” he asks, fingers toying with my clit. “I bet I can spread that cream of yours over my tongue in under ten minutes flat.”
I laugh.
But I can’t bring myself to make my mouth form the word no or to say not yet .
Not when my heart is pounding because he appears in my doorway like a fever dream, full of sex appeal and swagger. Not when those clear topaz eyes of his undress me and his woodsy spice scent fucks with my brain function. Not when I’m plagued with nightly dreams of his body, his exploratory kisses and rough hands and the tender thought that my perfect little boy toy just might be my best shot at a relationship that actually feels fulfilling.
So I swipe his hat and place it on my head. I push him down to his knees and lean against the desk as he slides my skirt up.
“You were only meant to be a one-time thing,” I murmur, sighing when his kisses blaze a path up my thigh. “You were such a beautiful dream. Perfect in every way. And then you come in here, hearts in your eyes and honesty on your lips. You make me want all the things I shouldn’t. You make me want to be bold.”
“So be bold, Felicity. Take what you want.”
With my legs spread for him, I tug my panties to one side and lead him to my cunt. At the first swipe of his hot tongue against my flesh, I hiss out a breath.
“Don’t toy with me, Jonas. You made some high claims, so put that pretty, pouty mouth of yours on my cunt and make me come.”
“God, you’re so fucking hot when you’re bossy.” He groans against my thigh, rubbing his lightly stubbled cheek against the sensitive skin there as he turns and wraps his lips around my clit, sucking hard enough to draw a curse from my lips.
I brace one hand against my desk, keeping the other locked on his hair so I can grind against his face.
With one leg raised, braced against the chair meant for students to sit across from my desk while we discuss serious literature and late submission of papers, I angle my cunt to his tongue. He laps at me with fervor, his moans lost against my skin as fire burns through my body.
With every filthy kiss, I’m pushed closer to the edge.
But before I can get there, the door flies open with a bang.
“Hey, what are you still doing h—” Hannah stops short, frozen in place as I jackknife upright, knocking Jonas off balance.
“Ohmygod. Shit . Hannah, I can explain—” I yank my skirt down and reach down to help Jonas back up.
But when I look up, Hannah’s not looking at me. She’s looking at Jonas.
“Joey?”
“Hi, mom.”