Chapter 30
Office Hours
Renée
The next day at work, it takes considerable effort to not think about Jonah kneeling before me—desperate and perfect.
I sent him home shortly after that, but not without a kiss and not without a whisper in his ear that he should think of me when he takes care of himself tonight. I marveled at his restraint, at the way his hands gripped my hips and slowly let go.
Such a good boy.
It’s still early in the early afternoon, but this semester I don’t have any classes after two o’clock. I’m packing up for the day when there’s a knock at my office door that pulls me from going too far down the sexy rabbit hole I’ve fallen into.
“Delivery for Professor Wilde,” comes the voice of a tall man standing in my doorway. He’s hiding his face beneath a ball cap he’s pulled low, but his familiar body and blond hair poking out the back are a dead giveaway.
I rush to him, unable to fight the smile splitting my face in two, and remove his hat. “What are you doing here?”
Jonah gestures to the vase of rich burgundy dahlias he’s holding. “I came to ask if you were free October second.” I furrow my brow. “Yes,” he chuckles. “I know that’s your birthday. Amber told me.” He shakes his head. “I can’t believe you weren’t going to tell me it was coming up.”
I sigh, “It’s not that big a deal.”
“It is now,” he grins and shimmies the bouquet under my face. “You said last night I could take you out.”
I take the flowers and admire them. “I did say that.”
“So is that a yes?”
“Yes.” I smile. “You can take me out for my birthday.”
His reply is nothing more than the biggest Jonah Johanssen smile—so wide it creates deep ravines around his mouth.
God, how I want that mouth.
Arousal courses through my veins and charges my brain. I place the flowers on my desk, step away from him, and lock the door. His eyes round and my fingertips creep up his chest. “Last night you said you were good with me taking control. Is that still the case?”
He looks at me like I’ve just said something really stupid. “Oh yeah.”
“You always have the choice to stop, at any time, with no repercussions. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
I already have a sense of what I’d like to do with him, so I’m not too worried about establishing safewords and digging into our sexual interests and limits just yet. But there isn’t a shadow of a doubt this man likes the idea of a little naughty professor roleplay.
“Did you follow my orders when you got home last night?”
“Is this really happening?” he huffs.
I smooth my hands over his shoulders. “That depends, Mr. Johanssen... Did you do your assignment?”
He grins.1 “Yes, Professor.”
“You thought about me while you stroked yourself?”
He bites his pink bottom lip and nods.
“Did you record it?”
“Um... I...” his voice cracks. “I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
I step back, lean my ass against the desk, and cross my arms. “Then how am I supposed to grade you, Jonah?”
“Um...” He looks around my office like it’s going to provide him with answers. “I don’t know. But I’ll do anything you want.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Anything, hmm? Well I appreciate the offer, but I can’t show favoritism amongst my students, Mr. Johanssen. Surely you know that.”
My heart skips a beat when his knees hit the carpet. “Please,” he begs, and it’s like music to my ears. When he kisses my shoes, I can’t help appreciate how very trainable he is. “Maybe just this once?” he murmurs. He presses his lips on my bare ankle and slowly trails them to my calf.
I hum. “Just this once.”
“What can I do?”
I order him to stand, and I slide back on the desk until my feet are hanging. “You’re going to touch between my thighs and you’re going to show me how strong your hands are.”
He shudders. “Of course, Professor.” His breathless tone ratches up my need for him, and he’s hiking my long skirt to my thighs. When his broad hands skim up my legs and try to yank my panties, I grab his wrists tight.
“Everything stays on.” His gaze flicks from mine, down to where his hands are hidden under my skirt, and back up.
He tilts his head and I smirk. “Get creative.” From my hip to my aching center, he slides one finger under my panty line.
“That's it,” I encourage. I plant my hands on the desk to get a better view of my naughty little student.
When he finds my seam, I cant my hips ever so slightly, and he bites his lower lip.
When he pushes in, he and I can both tell I’m not quite ready.
Once again, I hold onto his wrist and guide that hand to my mouth before sucking his first two digits.
He gasps, his chest heaving as he watches me swirl my tongue around, wetting his fingers.
I pop them out with a messy squelch. “I don’t get wet as fast as I used to,” I tell him with absolutely no shame.
“If you wanna be with an older woman, you better know that.”
“Yes,” he whispers, and I’m surprised he can even speak from the way he’s still staring at me like I invented sex.
I spit on his fingers for good measure and his knees buckle.
I am going to ruin this man, I think with no small amount of glee.
With his dry hand, he pulls my panties to the side and smears his slick fingers through the slit—dipping in and dragging out slowly—grazing my clit with every pass. The chest-deep moan I let out is quiet, and my head falls back as he massages me.
“It’s not just about my grade, Professor Wilde. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”
“Yeah?” I ask, my voice growing shakier by the second. “When you were alone in your room with your hand on your cock, what did you think about?”
He circles my clit with both fingers and adds a little more pressure.
“I thought about your gorgeous pussy,” he admits, his voice thick and tinged with something feral.
“I thought about how warm and perfect it would be, and how many times I could get you off, if only you gave me the chance. I thought about you in my bed riding me, my face, my fingers.” He grunts and shoves them inside me with a powerful thrust. “I thought about bending you over this very desk so you’d know how crazy I am about you. ”
He adds his thumb to my clit while he strokes my G-spot, and I’m already seeing stars. “Yes,” I moan. “Keep going. You’re doing so good.”
My head is still thrown back, but then he surprises me with an open-mouth kiss to my neck. My chest heaves with aching nipples that are pounding on the door to my bra for me to unleash them. Ughh, his mouth would be so good there... but I stay the course.
Kind of.
His other hand, the one holding my panties to the side, is removed, and he wraps it around my waist before pulling me close. Our chests are touching and through his ministrations to my cunt, neck, and ear lobe, he asks, “Is this okay?”
That’s when I lose it.
Contractions erupt in my lower half and I grip his shoulders to ride out my orgasm for dear life. I can’t speak, but he understands when I nod frantically against his warm chest.
Is this okay? All he did was ask me if it was okay for him to hold me close and kiss my neck—and I came.
Correction: am still coming.
Suddenly our mouths are a gnarled mess of lips and teeth and heavy breathing. I ride his hand for as long as I can, and he never relents, never pulls away. He keeps the exact same pressure and rhythm until I’m fairly certain the second I open my eyes, the sun will be down.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he rumbles into my mouth, and—oh my God, did I just hear him swear?
I revel in his profanity and slowly make the trek down from my climax.
His hand and our kissing slow into appreciation for the other.
My mind is in the clouds and my fingers have found their way into his hair.
I drag my nails gently across his scalp and he goes limp.
His fingers are still inside me when I whisper in his ear, “You did so well, Mr. Johanssen. Do you think you could do one more thing for me?”
I’m still scratching his head when he nods, eyelids closed. I remove one hand and palm the erection trying to escape his zipper. His eyes fly open.
“I want you to ride my thigh and make yourself come. Could you do that for me?”
“Yes,” he says, an octave too deep.
I slide off the desk but keep my ass planted against the edge.
My hand glides down his rigid length and I cup his balls before squeezing—making it painfully obvious who calls the shots.
“You’re going to paint the inside of your pants and you’re not going to get a drop on my clothes, is that understood? ”
“Mhm,” he whines.
I pull him into me and command him to hold my hips. Jonah has to bend his legs significantly to make everything line up, but I love making him work for it. I tug his head down and nestle it into my neck. His breath is hot and his tongue glides over my pulse.
“Such a needy little puppy, aren’t you?”
“Yes, Professor,” he says, and the way he says it is so damn pathetic I could combust.
Heat blooms between our bodies from the friction of our clothes, and his thrusts pick up speed—every hard inch of him pushing into my soft thighs. The aching muscles between my legs involuntarily tighten and release with every stroke—coaxing me to find more more more.
"Did you think about these?” I arch and lean back to push his head into my chest—nails digging into his head. “And just how much you could take in your mouth?”
His reply is muffled by my ample breasts and blouse, but the way he’s nuzzling me sends his message loud and clear—and I want that.
I haven’t let anyone see my bare tits in all this time I’ve been attending parties and hooking up with submissives.
It’s been a soft limit I’ve held, but the idea of Jonah never seeing them, never touching them?
I think I’d be doing myself a disservice.
I want to watch him worship my breasts with tiny darts of his tongue and long, flat strokes.
With maddening nips and suffocating mouthfuls.
When Jonah’s breathing becomes erratic, I yank his face to mine and push my tongue into his mouth, and he groans.
“That’s it,” I murmur against his lips. “Come for me. Be a good boy and earn your grade, Mr. Johanssen.”
He bites my lip as his body stills. “Unghhhh. Fffffuuu—” he grunts, tortured and lovely. A few more jerks follow before he slumps against me, panting like the puppy he is. “Whoa,” he breathes.
Over every ridge and plane of muscles, I stroke my hands up and down his back. “Good boy,” I praise, my tone as gentle and soothing as my hands.
He kisses my lips and draws in a deep inhale. “Thank you.”
I smile. “Thank you for the flowers.”
For a while longer, we stand there soaking up each other’s pheromones and exchanging languorous kisses until our heart rates return to normal. The voices of people walking through the hallway just outside my office door have us both grinning like a couple of naughty kids.
“Sit down in my chair,” I say, and nudge him until he does.
I grab a bottle of water from my mini fridge and open a desk drawer to retrieve a Twix candy bar I have saved for the days I need a sweet fix.
He watches me like I hung the moon as I stand between his spread legs and hand him the open water bottle. “Drink this please.”
His brows raise. “What? No, that’s for you.”
“I won’t take a sip until you do.” I force him to take it.
“But... that’s not how this works. I’m supposed to get you water.”
I lean back against the desk and open the candy wrapper with a knowing smirk. “And why’s that?”
I flick my eyes to him and watch the confusion stir. “Because... I’m the man?”
A snort escapes me. “And I’m the Domme. It’s my job to take care of you after a scene like that. I need to make sure you’re cared for and you feel safe. So please drink your water...” I trail off with a smile and wait for him to drink half of it before handing him a Twix. “And eat this.”
“What if I don’t like Twix?”
I level him with a glare. “You’ve eaten every cookie my kids have ever made you.”
He chuckles and takes the chocolate-covered caramel cookie. “Guilty,” he says, and bites off half.
“Are you okay with what happened here?”
With a full mouth, he looks at me like I’m bananas. “Uh, yeah!”
“Good.” I hand him the second cookie. “Me too.” Something less fun must cross his mind because his focus goes distant for a moment. “What’s wrong?”
He takes his time finishing what’s left in his mouth before speaking.
At least he has good manners.
“Have you ever...” he starts, and looks around the room.
It’s my turn for my eyebrows to shoot up. “Done stuff in here?”
He lifts one shoulder, a picture of innocence despite that fact we defiled each other minutes ago. “Like with other students?”
“With no one, Jonah.”
“Really?”
“Really,” I confirm, praying he can feel my honesty.
“I’ve never had feelings for a student, and I’ve certainly never withheld grades for sexual acts.
Believe me, I'm all too familiar with students thinking they could tempt me,” I teasingly accuse, and he blushes because he knows he did that to me when he was my student.
“But that’s never a line I would cross.”
“I didn’t think you would,” he says. “I just... I don’t know why I even asked.”
I run my fingers across his cheek and cup the side of his face. “It’s okay that you asked. This is why aftercare is so important.” I kiss his forehead and hand him the water again.
“Did you enjoy it?” he asks. “Is there anything I can do better next time?”
“Next time?” I tease, and he flashes a smug smile because he knows as well as I do, there will most definitely be a next time.
1. Dirty Thoughts by Chloe Adams