36. 36
36
Tilly
“ I told you it would be okay.” Dexter holds my hand as we head for the subway. The two glasses of wine I’ve had to drink gives the late October evening a shimmery glow.
Or maybe that’s just because I’m with Dexter.
“I like them. They’re nice.” And they were. Welcoming, and polite; asking just the right amount of questions to make it seem like they were interested in the answers and not just giving me lip service.
“I wouldn’t call Nick nice, but I like him.”
“I can’t believe Cady is a billionaire.” And beautiful, I think to myself. They were all so attractive.
“Yeah, that’s kind of wild. Max’s father has money, but he’s got nothing on Cady.” Dexter stops suddenly in the middle of the sidewalk. “Damn.”
“What’s wrong?”
“I forgot something in my office.”
“We’re not far. We can go get it.”
“My office at the university.”
“It’s almost eleven o’clock. Who’s going to be there at this hour?” Maybe it’s the wine, but I really want to see Dexter’s office. I’ve met his friends, now I want more. As close as we’re becoming, there’s still a distance between us, despite how physically close we are.
I want to know more of him, to move past this distance.
“It’ll be an adventure.” It’s the same thing I would tell the girls when they were little and hesitant about doing something.
“I don’t know, Til. You’re the one who’s so worried about people finding out.”
I love it when he calls me Til. Only Juliet has ever shortened my name. Carlos called me Matilda when he was annoyed, which only annoyed me.
Thinking about Carlos is annoying too.
“Well, tonight, I’m not worried about a thing,” I tell him. “I had fun with your friends. I’m looking forward to taking you back to my place and—”
“Don’t say it,” Dexter cuts me off. “Or we’ll have to go straight home—straight back to your place and we won’t be able to stop anywhere.”
“Why?” I drop my gaze and look up at him through my lashes, like a coy courtesan. “Do you like it when I put you in my mouth?” I whisper the words. A few weeks ago, there would be no way I could say anything like that, and definitely not in the middle of a sidewalk where anyone could hear.
If I’m teasing him like this, then I won’t think about how Dexter slipped up at called my apartment home.
Yes, I heard that, but I’m not sure what to think about it.
“What do you like to put in your mouth?” Dexter’s voice deepens when he’s talking sexy, or talking dirty, or whatever it’s called. His voice changes and his eyes get darker and all my insides tighten and I’d let him do just about anything to me.
I have let him do just about anything. “You,” I say softly.
“What part of me?”
“Your cock,” I whisper.
“Louder. You know I like to hear you.”
“Your cock,” I say in my normal voice. “Your cock,” I cry suddenly, the words spiraling into the night sky, then clap my hand over my mouth.
Dexter laughs and pulls me close. “What did I do before you?” he asks, leaning down, his mouth so close to mine.
“Have less sex?” This time it’s me who leans in, balancing on my tiptoes to press my lips against his. I meant it to be a peck, a brush of my lips against his, but his lips part and deepen.
Dexter’s voice isn’t the only thing that makes my insides tighten. I can’t get enough of the way he kisses me—like he’s putting his entire being into it. Like he’s an artist creating his best work. Like kissing me is the only thing in the world that he wants to do.
It’s the only thing I want to do right now. Even right here in the street with people walking by with muttered complaints to get a room. Or giving a wolf whistle, as Dexter kisses me on and on.
But all too soon, Dexter pulls back with a groan.
And we turn at the next set of lights and walk toward the university.
The campus is spread out throughout downtown and misses out on the secluded aspect of a smaller campus, but tonight, it feels like it belongs to just the two of us.
Fallen leaves skitter along the sidewalk, the chill breeze brushing the back of my neck and making me wish I’d brought a hat. Street lights make circles on the ground. In the distance, I can hear a group of students—probably drunken ones—laughing and shouting.
Dexter is quick to look toward every noise, but it doesn’t bother me that we’re here. It’s stopped bothering me weeks ago, that Dexter is a professor and I’m his student.
I just didn’t realize it until now. He’s simply Dexter now, who happens to be the professor of a class I’m taking. I’m more concerned with the age difference—which hasn’t been any problem, except in my mind—and how my daughters will react when they meet him.
It’s now a when , not an if . Dexter is now a part of my life, and I’m ready for him to become a bigger part.
And I’m almost ready to tell him I’m in love with him.
Although the thought of that gives me more of a chill than the cool breeze.
So does the fact Dexter dropped my hand once we neared the university campus. Our unconventional relationship may no longer bother me, but Dexter has proven tonight how he still worries about it.
“I’m a student you bumped into out at a bar and I need my essay back to change something,” I tell him.
Dexter turns to me with a frown. “Are you okay with this?”
“I am,” I say as truthfully as I can. “Let’s just go, okay? And then we can go home.”
The building that houses Dexter’s office isn’t far, and no one is around as he unlocks the door and gestures me inside. It’s on the second floor and it’s tiny.
But it’s him.
The office is full of books. I’ve been to his apartment twice, and I thought there was a lot there, but this is like a library stuffed into an eight by ten room.
“Just give me a minute,” he says, going to his desk to rifle through the papers.
“Who’s here at this time of night?” I ask, turning in a circle to take it all in. The room even smells like him—spicy musk scent, the coffee he constantly drinks, and the cinnamon gum he chews. The plant I bought him a few weeks ago sits by the window. He had told me he had nothing alive in his office or apartment and I had bought him plants for each.
It’s nice to see that they’re still alive.
“Security wanders around, but there shouldn’t be anyone in the building. We’re not supposed to be here.” There’s a note of worry in his tone, and I’m surprised I’m not more nervous. Breaking the rules was never something I did as a child or when I was married to Carlos. I was a good girl in everything I did.
Lately, I haven’t been feeling too much like a good girl with Dexter.
He makes me feel like it’s good to be bad.
“Isn’t it a little exciting that we’re here?” Dexter looks up. “A little… sexy…”
“Tilly.”
I slide around his desk and lean against him, letting my hands roam under his jacket. “I want to put you in my mouth,” I whisper. “Here. I want your cock and I want it here. In your office. So you’ll think of me when you’re in here.”
I always want him, but after tonight, meeting his friends and being here in his office, my desire for Dexter has ramped up tenfold. So much so that the throb between my legs is becoming too much to ignore. Or wait for Dexter to help me with it.
I’ve gotten better at initiating things with him, more than I ever thought possible.
When would I have ever told a man I wanted to suck his cock?
“I think of you all the time anyway.” Dexter glances down at the bound papers in his hand. “Found it. We can…”
“Stay for a minute?” I slide my hand down to the front of his jeans. He’s hard. I knew he would be. “Do you really want to go home right now?”
“Tilly.”
“Dexter,” I say coyly. “You can be quick.”
“I don’t want to be quick.” He grabs me, spinning me quickly in front of him, my ass pushed against his desk. “But I need you to be quiet.”
“I’ll be really quiet if your—” He turns me so my back is to him, and starts fumbling with the button on my jeans. “I want you in my mouth.”
“No,” he husks. “I want to be inside you. I want to make you come and I want you to be quiet this time.” He uses the sexy talk voice and who am I to argue? Because everything inside me has turned to liquid and I can’t wait to have him inside me.
In a moment, my jeans are around my ankles, my underwear following. And Dexter leans me over his desk.
“I’ve thought of bending you over this so many times,” he says roughly, his hands full of my breasts before sliding down to the softness between my legs. “Usually in the middle of a class.”
“I think of it too,” I tell him, suddenly breathless with anticipation. It’s always like this with Dexter—it’s as if I’m desperate for him.
Maybe I am.
“You’re so wet,” Dexter croons, notching the tip of his cock at my entrance. “I love it that you’re always ready for me.” He opens my legs with his knees and then, hands gripping my hips, he pushes inside of me.
He fills me completely. It feels so good—he feels so good, sheathed inside me to the hilt. As he rocks against me, I moan loudly.
“No.” He stops, and pulls almost all the way out. “I hate this, but you have to be quiet. If the security guard is up here—”
“I’ll be quiet,” I promise my breath ragged from want. “I’ll be good.”
“If you were being good, we wouldn’t have this problem,” Dexter says in a low voice, moving in the way that is always the best distraction.
“What problem… mmm —” I press my lips together to muffle the sound. “—is that?”
“The issue is that you’re bent over my office desk and I love the sight of it.” He rocks into me, pushing deep and I press my lips together. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You always do. So wet and ready for me.”
“Dexter…” How did I manage to have sex quietly for so many years? Already, after only a few thrusts, I want to moan, to cry out how good it is.
It always is.
It gets better. Dexter starts slowly, thrusting into me all the way, and then pulling out so only his tip remains, before slamming into me again.
It’s delicious torture, made worse by the fact I can’t make a sound.
“I’ll stop if you make noise,” Dexter threatens. I only nod and spread my arms across this desk, looking for something to grip.
I didn’t expect this—this pounding. Dexter is thrusting into me, hard enough for me to have to stifle the groans. I thought I’d get down on my knees and—
“Yes.” That one slipped out. “Oh my god, yes.”
“Quiet.” He puts a hand between my legs, easily finding the nub of nerves and sensations that has seemed to elude so many men throughout the world.
Dexter knows his way around me now, like the back of his hand. And he knows exactly how to touch me—how much and how often, playing me as expertly as a concert pianist fingers the keys.
He fucks me and he fingers me and I can do nothing but hang on, trying desperately to smother the moans and the cries and the— “Dexter! I’m—”
And then I’m coming, the waves of pleasure crashing over me like a tsunami, and I can’t help but cry out.
“Shh!” Dexter pulls his hand from between my legs and slaps it over my mouth.
I can smell myself.
And—I open my mouth and lick his finger.
Dexter puts it in my mouth and I suck on it, tasting myself.
“Jesus Christ, Tilly, you can’t—” he hisses, his thrusts become harder, more urgent. Like he can’t stop.
I don’t want him to.
I’m close again, so close when Dexter gives a strangled gasp and gives a final thrust, he doesn’t pull out; he puts his hand back and rubs me to another orgasm, one that has me coming with both hands over my mouth.
“Tilly,” he breathes as he pulls out. “You’re—”
“Only with you,” I finish. “This is all because of you.”
Or maybe Dexter just woke me up. Maybe I was like this always and no one bothered to check.