Chapter Sixteen Bram
Chapter Sixteen
Bram
I drag in a deep breath, a lungful of jasmine-scented academic, and then I slide a hand to the nape of her neck and pull her away from the wall. I guide her over to my desk.
“Professor,” she says in a low voice. “What are you doing?”
“You were right,” I reply, and I allow myself the satisfaction of cupping her between the legs.
God, she’s so hot there, hot and soft, a place made for me to play around in.
She squirms back against me with a moan, searching for friction, which I don’t give.
Instead, I turn and carefully yet unyieldingly push her back onto my desk (after moving her laptop, of course, I’m not that reckless).
She’s lying along the length of it, some papers for who-gives-a-fuck-what underneath her, and her legs are dangling off the edge.
“I want to be good, but I can’t when I’m around a bratty little thing like you. ”
Her chest lifts with a surprised inhale; I’m already pushing her shirt up to reveal the softness of her stomach, her deep navel, her stiff nipples.
“You’re a good student, Ms. Kowalczk, or you can be when you apply yourself. Tell me: What should I do about this? About this woman living in my house who gets wet for me? Who says I can have her cunt and no one has to know?”
“Oh god,” she moans, hips shifting on the desk. “You should—you should do whatever you want with her.”
“You think so?”
She nods on the desk, hard enough to send some papers sliding off the edge, and her hands go to her tits, to her stomach and then push down, like it’s agony not to touch herself right now.
I stop her. “I don’t think so, Madelyn. I think it’s very bad of you to touch yourself when you know very well I’m first in line to play with your pussy.”
“What—what are you going to do?”
I exchange the dry erase marker for a Sharpie and pull off the cap. “I’m going to mark all the parts of you that I have plans for. I won’t mark anywhere that’ll be in public view, but the marks will linger for a week or two. Is that okay?”
Another series of fast nods that sends a stray highlighter rolling to the ground.
“Stay still,” I order, and I scan her from her unraveling bun all the way down to her cute, be-socked feet. A transect of horniness, a survey of obsession. I’d mark every part of her if I could.
I take a steadying breath and then lean over her, my brows coming together as I focus on my task.
Her tits—yes, those need marking, certainly.
I use the wet tip of my Sharpie to catalog the most urgent things I want to do.
Kiss, slap, squeeze, press together and fuck.
She shivers as I write metadata on the underside of both breasts, taking care to label each hard nipple. Lick. Suck. Bite.
I move down her stomach, kiss kiss kiss, and then write in the creases of her waist and the swells of her hips, Grab, hold, stroke, bruise. Each letter must tickle, because her ribs jerk ever so slightly, but she doesn’t complain and I don’t stop.
I pull her shorts off her hips, and then shake my head when I see the wet spot on her underwear. “You’ve been neglecting this again,” I chide. “Do you need me to take care of it?”
“Yes.” The word leaves her lips on an exhale, like she’s been keeping it hidden in her lungs. “Yes, Dr. Loe. I need you to take care of it always.”
“Hmm.” I work her panties down and off her legs, and a pained, angry arousal stabs me in the groin when I get a good look at what I’ve uncovered.
Wet, pretty, with flat, silky curls and a swollen pink pearl at the top.
I peel off her socks, lift her feet up so that they’re flat on the desk and her knees are pointed at the ceiling, and then I push her thighs apart and look my fill.
My dick is hard enough to make an obscene tent in my joggers, my balls ache, heavy and full, and I won’t deny myself this.
Not when it’s being so freely offered. Not when I’ve finally allowed myself to have it.
Finally, I squat down between her legs, take the marker, and start writing on the pale, velvety skin of her inner thigh.
Rub, kiss, suck, lick, fuck with my fingers, fuck with my tongue, fuck with my cock, ejaculate on, ejaculate inside of, have sit on my face.
I draw a neat arrow to her sex, and then to the cinched button below.
By the time I’m finished, she’s shivering on the desk as if she’s come down with a lethal fever. “Please,” she whimpers. “Make me come. Fuck me and make me come.”
I cap the marker and inspect my work like I’m about to submit it for peer review.
My handwriting, while not as pretty as hers, is neat and matter-of-fact, made scrupulous by years of taking notes in classrooms and forests and prairie fields.
She is an ordered index of hoped-for debauchery. She is as tidy as a lab report.
She looks fucking stunning wearing nothing but my handwriting and a rucked-up T-shirt.
“I’m going to fuck you with my cock now.” My voice is rough, the need in it evident. “Does that sound good to you?”
“God, yes.”
“Can you come on me like a good girl when I do?”
A vigorous nod.
“Let me just find a condom, I think I have one in my bag—”
“Professor—Bram—we don’t have to.” She’s speaking quickly, and I think it’s to prevent the protest already rising to my lips.
“I’ve got an IUD, and I was tested after I broke up with Gentry, because of his history.
I’m good to go, and you’ve already told me that you haven’t been with anyone other than me since Sara. ”
I hesitate. After two surprise pregnancies, one catastrophically a surprise and one more of an oh, what the hell, why not kind of surprise, I don’t take going without a condom lightly.
For Maddie’s future even more than my own, since my life is already woven into an I-only-own-plastic-cups nest to shelter young people.
Her life is still completely hers and is still so, so fragile.
But also . . . I really want to. I really, really fucking want to. I want to so badly that my mouth is wet and my hands are shaking.
“Are you sure?” I confirm, meeting her eyes. “Completely sure?”
“Absolutely,” she says, and then lifting her chin a little like the brat she is, she adds coyly, “But if you don’t want to leave your come inside me when you’re finished, then I guess I understand.”
I growl, leaning over her and nipping at her lip. “You’re trying to provoke me.”
She makes a noise of agreement. “And I’d say it’s working, wouldn’t you?”
I press a full kiss to her mouth now. I explore her lips with the same exactitude with which I’d document what I found inside a quadrat frame, and then I invite myself inside her mouth and do the same. Stroking her tongue with mine, searching out every bit of her.
“What would you have written on my lips if you could have?” she whispers against my kiss.
I push the waist of my joggers down as I answer her. “Kiss. Fuck. Push my fingers inside.” I move between her legs. “Argue with. Listen to. Stare at while you tell me all the ways con law is taught incorrectly.”
“I’m glad that’s one of your kinks because it will happen a lot regardless,” she replies. She’s smiling. She’s on my desk in my old T-shirt and some Sharpie, papers everywhere, her work forgotten, and she’s about to take me between the legs, and she’s smiling like she’s pulled one over on me.
Maybe she has. I can’t say I mind at the moment.
I take my aching length in hand and press the head against her.
She’s slippery and hot enough to kill someone, and I trace the path from clit to hole several times before carefully fitting myself to her opening.
Just an inch, just a barely inside inch, and my testicles have pulled close to my body, tight and hard.
Sweat erupts near my hairline and on my chest.
I stop and pantingly brace one hand on the desk by her hip. I keep the other wrapped around the part of me that needs her so much.
She reaches up to touch my hair. “You okay?” she asks softly, her smile now one of concern.
I nuzzle back against her touch, still fighting for control. “The last person I was with—my ex-wife—couldn’t do hormonal birth control because of her migraines. So it’s been seventeen years since I’ve gone inside someone bare,” I explain. “I need a minute.”
“Seventeen years? So not even when Sara was pregnant with the twins?”
“She was on partial bed rest with the twins the whole pregnancy.”
Maddie blinks. “What’s partial bed rest?”
“It’s when you can still do some sitting or standing, but only for short periods of time, and no sex, obviously. Because of the prostaglandins, and also the risk of contractions after orgasm.” I pause. “This is weird to talk about while I’m touching your vagina, Madelyn.”
She gives me a mischievous look. “But are you still going to blow your wad?”
With some elation, I realize she’s right, that the climax has backed off a little. “You’re an evil genius.”
“You’ve already got my panties off, Professor, you don’t have to sweet-talk me anymore.”
I let out a short laugh as I flex my hips and push in again. Another inch, slicker and hotter than the first. Tight enough to make a lover see stars. Fuck.
I give her more, and more, and watch as my erection disappears inside, as I impale myself in slick Maddie right next to the stark, unequivocal words I wrote on her thighs.
Possessiveness surges through me, delight at the juxtaposition of my words and her soft skin, at my greedy dick plundering amid all of it, and I’m turning into such a fucking satyr, but I don’t even care, I can’t care when I’m now all the way inside her, when she’s making these soft, helpless noises and wrapping her legs around me and trying to pull me closer.
“You’re so tight,” I groan, pulling back and giving her a slow stroke. “God, you feel amazing.”
“Make me come,” she begs. “Please. Please.”
“Can you be a good girl and come fast for me, Maddie? I’m afraid I won’t last, darling, you feel too goddamn good.”
She nods, wide-eyed and almost serious, like this is life-or-death, and it feels like it, it’s got to be life-or-death, because why else would my heart be pounding like it’s trying to escape my chest?
Why else would I have goose bumps on my arms and no air in my lungs and tunnel vision only for her?
I tear my eyes away from her beautifully flushed face and look down to where I’m wedged into a slick heaven.
I don’t need to lick my thumb before I trace over her clit—there’s so much slippery arousal between us that she’s wet everywhere, and within a minute of working her with the focus of a scientist and scholar, I feel her grow even wetter.
When I start thrusting, I can hear us, I can hear my dick moving in and out of her.
She likes small, firm motions on her clit and steady thrusts of my cock, and soon she’s murmuring frantic, half-hummed words about that big part of me and how good it feels and how she wants to come on my tongue tomorrow, how she wants to ride my fingers after our morning classes.
She wants me to pump her full and then she wants it to leak out of her all night.
She wants me to leave handprints on her ass and then fuck her from behind; she wants to sit on my face and pull on my hair.
Every muscle in my body is taut, flexed hard against the relentless onslaught of raw desire coming from Maddie’s lips, because it’s hard enough to be inside her, stroking myself with her, skin to skin, but to hear the absolute filth she wants, the filth I now want to do to her . . .
It’s a miracle that I make it until her back arches and she gasps my name. It’s a miracle that I last through the rippling convulsions of her slick inner channel, which caress me, pulse against me, kinetic proof that I’ve given this girl what she needs.
And it’s a miracle that when I do lose the fight and start spilling into her with a low, tearing growl, my hips moving fast and hard and my desk jerking across the floor, that I remember she wants to do this again. And again. And again.
That despite my vaunted decorum and ethics, despite all the reasons not to, we’re going to have a secret bad idea starting right now.
I get to have pussy for breakfast tomorrow, and I come so hard that my stomach cramps and my vision blurs, and I let Maddie pull me down on top of her and stroke my hair as I stay buried inside and determinedly make plans for the most important meal of the day.