Chapter 25
Skye
By the time class ends, I am a complete mess.
I don't remember half of what Gage said, only how he said it.
The gravel in his voice when he looked in my direction.
The way his fingers curled around the edge of the podium, like he was holding himself back.
It seemed like if he didn't, he'd come straight for me.
My thighs clench together under my desk. I'm wet. Not a little aroused but soaked and needy. Every movement of my legs makes me feel it, a slick ache that throbs with every heartbeat. I keep shifting in my seat, pretending it's just discomfort, but I know the truth. It's him. It's always him.
He barely looked at me during the lecture, but every time our eyes met, it was like a jolt straight to my core.
There was heat in his gaze, a silent promise of what was to come.
Every word out of his mouth had an undertone, and I was hanging on every one of them.
I could tell he was trying to keep his composure.
It was clear to me, seeing the strain in his jaw and the white of his knuckles where he gripped the edge of the podium.
Even though he moved with the same deliberate confidence he always has, today it was tinged with something rawer.
And every time he glanced in my direction, I felt it.
I felt him. I was too aware of my body, the way my nipples pebbled inside my bra, the way my pulse quickened whenever he stepped closer to the front row.
When he started writing on the whiteboard, his back to the class, I stared.
I couldn't help it. The way his shirt hugged the broad muscles of his shoulders, the dip of his waist, the way he occasionally rolled his sleeves up like he was preparing for something more than a lecture.
Then the memory of our classroom scene and how he pushed me against the whiteboard made me wetter.
He turned back around and caught me watching.
His mouth twitched like he was fighting a smile, but his eyes, they darkened.
Just for a second. Just enough to tell me he'd been thinking the same thing.
That he wanted to bend me over the nearest desk and take me hard and fast until I screamed for him.
So that's why I'm on my way to his office to do something about it. I keep saying there is no way I'll get through the rest of the day, and he has to be hurting as much as I am, right?
The second the final student filters out, I shove my notebook in my bag and head straight for his office. I don't even knock. Instead, I slip inside, close the door, and turn the lock. My heart is racing as I turn to face him.
He looks up, startled for a second, then his gaze darkens as it travels down my body. "Skye."
My name on his lips is like a match to gasoline. The way he says it like a warning. It’s rough, hungry, and makes my knees weak.
"I couldn't concentrate," I breathe, taking a step toward his desk. "Not on anything. Not after that."
He leans back in his chair, but his eyes never leave mine. "After what?"
The question is innocent enough, but there's nothing innocent about the way he's looking at me. Like he's already undressing me with his eyes. As if he's remembering exactly how I taste.
I move closer, my bag sliding off my shoulder to hit the floor with a soft thud. "The way you kept looking at me. The way you gripped that podium like you were remembering our time at Club Red just like I was."
His jaw ticks. "Skye…"
"Tell me you weren't thinking about it." I'm standing directly in front of his desk now, with my hands pressed against the polished wood. "Tell me you weren't thinking about having me against that whiteboard again."
His breath catches. I watch his chest rise and fall, the controlled rhythm betraying just how much control he's exerting.
"This is inappropriate," he says, but his voice has that delicious roughness that tells me he's affected. "Anyone could walk by."
"The door is locked," I remind him, circling his desk slowly. My fingers trail along the edge, and I feel his eyes tracking every movement. "And your blinds are closed."
When I reach his side, he swivels his chair to face me. There's a war happening behind those dark eyes, duty versus desire.
"I have another class in forty minutes," he says, but his hands are already reaching for me, gripping my hips and pulling me between his spread legs.
"Forty minutes is plenty of time," I whisper, my voice husky with need as I straddle him in one fluid motion. His hands tighten on my hips, and I can feel him hardening beneath me. "All class, I thought about this."
His eyes darken to near-black as I settle against him, the thin fabric of my skirt riding up my thighs. "This is reckless," he murmurs, but his hands are already sliding up my sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of my breasts through my blouse.
I roll my hips against him, feeling his hardness beneath me. The friction makes me whimper.
"Christ, Skye." His voice is strained, his control slipping. "You have no idea what you do to me. I couldn't focus on a single fucking word I was saying today."
"Show me," I challenge, my fingers working at his tie, loosening it with urgent, trembling hands. "Show me exactly what I do to you."
He growls, actually growls, as his hands leave my hips to tangle in my hair, yanking my head back to expose my throat. His mouth is on me in an instant, hot and demanding against my pulse point.
"I watched you squirming in your seat," he murmurs against my skin, teeth grazing the sensitive spot below my ear. "Crossing and uncrossing those pretty legs. Did you think I wouldn't notice how wet you were getting?"
I gasp as his hand slides up my thigh, pushing my skirt higher until his fingers brush against the damp fabric of my panties. "I couldn't help it," I whisper.
"No?" His voice is dark velvet, dangerous and thrilling. He traces the edge of my underwear, teasing but not giving me what I need.
"Then let's see just how wet you got for me during my lecture," he says, his fingers hooking into the elastic and tugging the fabric aside. The first touch of his skin against my slick heat makes us both groan.
"Fuck, Skye. You're soaked." His fingers glide through my wetness, gathering it, spreading it. "All this just from watching me teach?"
I can barely form words, my head falling back as he circles my clit with maddening precision. "Yes," I manage to gasp. "God, yes."
"Such a dirty girl," he murmurs, his free hand still fisted in my hair, keeping my head tilted back so he can watch my face. "Getting this wet in the middle of class, thinking about your professor's cock."
I reach for his belt, unfastening it with shaky fingers. He helps, pulling it free and tossing it aside.
His pants come undone under my eager hands, and I slide my palm over the rigid length of him. Even through his boxer briefs, I can feel how hot and hard he is. He hisses through his teeth when I squeeze him.
"You've been thinking about this too," I accuse, my voice breathy as his fingers continue their teasing exploration. "Admit it."
"Every fucking second," he growls, capturing my mouth in a bruising kiss that steals my breath. His tongue slides against mine, demanding and possessive. "Watching you take notes, biting your lip, looking up at me with those innocent eyes while I know exactly how filthy that pretty mouth can be."
I moan into the kiss as his fingers find my entrance, teasing with shallow thrusts that make me squirm against him. I want more. I need more.
"Please," I whisper against his lips, my hips rocking against his hand. "I need…"
"I know what you need," he cuts me off, his voice dark with promise. He pulls his hand away from me completely, ignoring my whimper of protest. "Stand up."
He spins me so my back hits his desk. He sweeps a stack of books and papers to the floor without a second thought. "Up."
I hop up onto the desk, legs parting instinctively for him. He doesn't hesitate. He drops to his knees and pulls my panties aside, diving in like a man starved.
The first sweep of his tongue has me crying out, my hands flying to his hair to hold him against me. He licks me like I'm his favorite flavor, broad strokes that make my thighs tremble around his head.
"Quiet," he warns against my slick flesh, his breath hot. "Unless you want the whole department to know what a needy little thing you are."
I bite my lip hard enough to taste copper, trying to muffle the sounds he's pulling from me. His tongue circles my clit with devastating precision before he pulls back to look at me. His mouth is shiny with my arousal, his eyes wild.
"Look at you," he says, sliding two fingers inside me without warning. I arch off the desk, a strangled moan escaping despite my efforts. "So fucking wet for me. So ready."
He steps between my legs, replacing his fingers with the thick head of his cock. The stretch is exquisite, making me gasp as he fills me inch by torturous inch.
"Is this what you were thinking about during my lecture?" he asks, his voice strained as he bottoms out inside me. "My cock stretching you open."
"Yes," I gasp, my nails digging into his shoulders as he holds himself still inside me. The feeling of being completely filled by him is overwhelming, perfect and maddening all at once. "I couldn't think about anything else."
He pulls back almost completely before thrusting deep again, setting a rhythm that has me biting my lip to keep from crying out. The desk creaks beneath us with each powerful stroke, and I pray no one walking by notices the sound.
"Touch yourself," he commands, his voice rough with barely contained control. "I want to watch you come apart while I'm inside you."
My hand slides between us, fingers finding my clit as he continues to move within me. The dual sensation makes my vision blur, pleasure building with each thrust.
"That's it," he murmurs, watching my face intently. "God, you're perfect like this. So fucking flawless."