Asa #2
Jorak pulls my pants down over my hips, his eyes dark and blown wide with hunger as he looks at me.
I’m sprawled on the desk, my back against the hard wood, my legs draped over his shoulders.
I want to be taken. I want him to fill the emptiness that’s been hollowed out of me by three days of silence.
"Look at you," he murmurs, his voice rough as sandpaper. His thumb brushes over my slit, catching a string of slick and spreading it over my opening. "Dripping for me in your own classroom. What would your students think, Professor? If they saw how much their teacher loves being handled."
I let out a high, broken whine, my hips arching off the desk. "They'd think I have excellent taste. Fuck, Jorak. Please."
He smirks, a sharp, dangerous expression, and then he’s turning me over.
He grabs my waist and flips me onto my stomach, my chest pressing against the cool surface of the desk.
He drags me to the edge until my feet are on the floor but my torso is pinned down, my ass tilted up at him like an invitation.
I feel him line up against me and then push in, just the head at first, stretching me open until I’m sure I’ll break.
"Relax, Asa," he whispers, his hand coming up to rest gently around the back of my neck. It’s a dominant gesture, a reminder of who owns this moment, but his touch is steadying. "Take it. Just take it all."
He thrusts, a deep, punishing surge that buries him in me to the hilt.
I scream into the wood of the desk, my fingers clawing at the edge of the table.
He’s so big he displaces everything, filling me until there’s no room for thoughts, no room for arguments, only the overwhelming sensation of being filled by my Enigma.
He starts to move, his pace fast and unrelenting. He’s fucking me with a desperation that mirrors the fight we just had, hard, aggressive, and possessive. Each thrust slams me forward against the desk, my chest dragging against the wood, my breath coming in short, jagged gasps.
"You’re so tight," he groans, his hand tightening slightly on my neck, pulling my head back so he can see my face. "So fucking wet. You were waiting for this, weren't you? Even when you were yelling at me, you were thinking about this."
"Yes," I sob, my eyes fluttering shut. "Yes, damn you. Harder, Eni. Please, harder."
He obeys, his hips slamming into mine with a rhythmic, wet slapping sound that echoes in the vaulted ceiling of the hall.
I can feel the Black Current through the connection, but it isn't the jagged static of a flare. It’s a smooth, thrumming heat that flows into my marrow, stabilizing me even as he tears my composure apart.
I’m so close I can feel the tension winding up in my gut, a coiled spring about to snap.
I reach back, fumbling for his hand, and he weaves his fingers through mine, pinning my hand to the desk as he pummels into me.
The friction is perfect, the angle hitting my prostate with every stroke until I’m seeing stars.
"Come for me, Asa," he commands, his voice a low growl in my ear. "Show me how good I make you feel. Let me see it."
The orgasm hits me like a freight train.
I cry out, my internal muscles clamping down on his cock in tight, rhythmic pulses.
I come so hard I can't breathe, my vision white-hot and blurring at the edges as my release overtakes me.
A second later, Jorak lets out a raw, guttural shout, his body tensing as he thrusts one last time, burying himself as deep as he can go.
He doesn't knot me but he stays inside me, his forehead resting against the back of my head, both of us shaking and slick with sweat. The silence that follows is heavy, but the static is gone. The room is finally quiet.
After a long minute, he pulls back, the sound of his departure a soft, wet pop that makes me shiver.
He reaches for a box of tissues on the podium and starts to clean me up, his movements surprisingly gentle.
He wipes the slick from my thighs, then turns me over and kisses my forehead, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw.
"You’re a mess, Professor," he murmurs, though there’s no edge to it now. Just a quiet, exhausted affection.
"Your fault," I croak, reaching for my glasses. I find them near the edge of the desk and slide them back on, the world snapping back into focus. The classroom looks the same, but the air feels scrubbed clean.
I sit up, pulling my shirt back on and buttoning it with trembling fingers. Jorak watches me, his eyes tracking every movement. He looks more settled than he has in days, the jagged energy of his aura smoothed out into a dull glow.
"You can't protect me from everything, Jorak," I say, looking at him over the rims of my glasses.
The argument is still there, beneath the surface, but the teeth have been pulled.
"The ESA is going to keep pushing. Mercer is going to keep calling.
We have to find another way to handle this that doesn't involve you hiding me in a corner. "
Jorak zips up his pants and adjusts his belt, his expression turning somber. He steps closer, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers linger there, warm and steady.
"I know," he says, his voice barely a whisper. "I know I can't. But God, Asa... I wish I could."