Chapter 51 Avalynne
AVALYNNE
It's nearing midnight as I walk to Xade's office.
Outside, the wind keens, tearing around the Convent's tall walls and making the old stone groan.
One moment, the squall cries like it's a living, breathing thing, only to snuff out an instant later.
Tonight, the breaks in the gust front keep me on edge, waiting for the storm's inevitable arrival.
I can't sleep, but Xade rarely sleeps anymore. He's always working, spending his graveyard hours glued to his desk, surrounded by books, forgotten cups of coffee, and glasses of whiskey.
Arriving at his door, I knock with the back of my hand.
"Come in," his tired voice sounds from the other side.
I open the door, step inside, and close it with one hand behind me.
A wave of delicious warmth heats my chilled skin from the low fire smoldering in the stone hearth.
Most nights, it's there now, staving off the cold.
Ashes waft up the soot-stained flue as low flames crackle beneath it.
As I expect, books smother Xade's desk, some open to various pages, others closed, his laptop lost among the sea of them.
I walk toward him, between his winged leather armchair and the empty settee.
His wool suit jacket lies abandoned across the back of a chair, and I take the pins out of my hair and drop them with my veil beside it.
Xade stills in his work, observing me from behind his desk, his gaze heavy.
Slowly, his shoulders relax, and his body softens against his chair.
The light from his desk lamp burnishes the lower half of his face like it's his own personal footlight.
I shrug my habit shirt off and place it on the armchair, too, leaving me in only my thin undershirt and skirt. The heat from the fire warms my bare arms as the aroma of cinnamon whiskey finds me. I spot two fingers of liquor in a lowball glass in front of my professor.
Heat snakes through my insides as Xade settles further into his chair, his forearms relaxing to either armrest. He watches me, studies me, before he tilts his head.
The movement is slight, hardly noticeable, before the tip of his tongue peeks out from between his white teeth and disappears with a quick smirk.
"A pleasure as always to see you, Avalynne, but shouldn't you be in bed?" he remarks.
"Shouldn't you?"
He tsks, and I feel the sound skitter across my skin. It leaves a trail of goosepimples in its wake.
"You grow accustomed to long hours in my field of work," he tells me with that same inscrutable look.
It's equal parts challenge and opacity. "The competition to outperform your colleagues can be extreme.
Tenure, endowments, research grants, especially at the collegiate level, can be quite cutthroat.
Balancing it with …" He looks up, his eyes locking with mine before he blinks slowly at me.
Tiredly. "Balance can engender quite the challenge. "
"Mmm," I say, starting toward his desk.
"I'm boring you," he observes.
"Never."
"I'll consider it a most severe professional failure. Now, how can I help my very best student?"
His tone. Those words. That look.
Oh, this is my very favorite game.
My knees liquefy. The heat blossoming behind my belly button cranks up to incinerator level.
I continue toward his desk until it's the only thing separating us. We're close enough now that I spot the springy, dark hair peeking out from the unbuttoned top of his dress shirt and the way firelight plays shadow puppets across his five o'clock shadow.
God Almighty, he's gorgeous.
Tawny skin. Raven-colored hair. A jawline sharp enough to cut diamonds.
"Avalynne …"
Shit. How long have I been standing here, gawking?
"I have questions about my grade, Professor," I say.
I feel rather than see the ghost of his smile.
"You?" He crosses his arms over his broad chest, his biceps pushing the limits of the linen sleeves. "Really?"
The heat behind my belly button nestles lower. I know what he's doing. We don't get to play the game unless I convince him I want to.
My heart doesn't beat anymore. It batters.
"Yes," I say, the word airy. I lower my index finger to the smooth surface of his desk. I drag it around books and loose papers with me as I round the desk toward him. Slowly, his chair swivels, mirroring my movement so he always faces me.
His tongue snakes across the corner of his mouth with his smirk as I arrive in front of him. "And what questions do you have?"
"Well, Professor, you see, I'm very worried."
"Hmm," he says noncommittally.
Fuck. How can I flirt with him when I'm certain my heart will explode out of my chest at any moment?
"And how can I help assuage your concerns?"
"I was wondering," I murmur, leaning forward to grab the armrests over his forearms, before slowly sinking to my knees, "if there's anything I could do for extra credit?"
He goes utterly still, and when he looks down at me through hooded eyes, I see that his pupils are blown, black banishing the brown. This game we're playing is affecting him, too.
"Avalynne," he warns on an exhale. "Are you sure?"
He's giving me a chance to back out. We haven't done this before. I haven't done this before.
I let my fingers drop to his clothed thighs in response.
His breath hiccups. His chest heaves a little faster.
My fingers climb up his thighs, over the thick outline of his length. I undo his leather belt and slide it through a belt loop. It flops loosely to the side of his waist.
"Fuck." His word is whiskeyed-gravel as he white-knuckles the armrests.
I reach for the top button of his trousers, undoing it, before I slide down his zipper. He lifts his hips to help me, and together, we pull down his pants and boxer briefs, exposing his sculpted thighs dusted with dark hair. His cock, hard and thick, bobs against his abdomen.
"Will you tell me how, Professor?" I ask him.
An unintelligible curse flies from his mouth, and he swallows hard.
"Use your mouth," he instructs. "Lips around your teeth."
I lean forward and gingerly run my tongue over the smooth tip, tasting salt.
He groans, shuddering as I take him as far as I can. His dick hits the back of my throat, and I choke.
"That's it." His words are strained as his fingers thread through my hair and feather the base of my skull. I feel all of him tighten.
I hollow my cheeks and slide down the length of him and back up again.
"Just like that." He shudders.
I do it again, sucking him. His grip becomes rougher, tighter, urging me on. Saliva dribbles down my chin, and I choke on wet air. I reach out with one of my hands, tentatively circling the length I can't fit in my mouth. He hisses, and I look up at him, my mouth still around him.
"Such a good student," he praises, his gaze intoxicating, "putting that pretty mouth around your professor's cock."
Wetness smears the inside of my thighs. All of me basks in his praise.
I swallow him again, sucking and licking, developing a rhythm. His fingers cinch my scalp, urging me faster. Before long, he's raising his hips, arching up to meet me.
Tears leak uncontrolled from my eyes, and strings of saliva dribble down my chin and onto him. We are a wet, sticky mess.
I can't breathe.
The world reduces to the velvety softness of his skin and the saltiness of his pre-cum.
I suck him even faster.
"Fuck, yes," he growls, his fingers anchoring me in place. "Just like that. So goddamned perfect swallowing my dick."
His words are choppy and breathless.
"Touch yourself, Avalynne. Make yourself come," he commands, his muscular thighs punching up out of his chair to meet my mouth.
He's taking over, using me for his own pleasure, fucking my mouth like it belongs to him. It makes that spot between my legs weep.
I can't see. I can barely breathe, but I do as he says. I slide a hand under my skirt and down, parting my soaked panties, and find that bundle of nerves.
We are messy and chaotic. His hips thrust up. His fingers force me down. I rub my clit faster as I choke on his cock.
Still, the pressure builds, stealing away what little is left of my ability to breathe.
His dick hits the back of my throat.
Faster.
My tears slick his skin and fall to the inside of his thighs.
Faster.
All of me tightens.
I scream around him, exploding with ecstasy, as his hips drill upward. He tumbles over the edge with me. Hot, salty streams of cum hit the back of my throat and pour into my mouth.
"Swallow," he instructs me gruffly.
I release him and do what he says, tipping my head back and swallowing once, twice. Eyelids heavy and chest heaving, he watches me. Emboldened, I lean forward and clean him with my tongue, licking up every lingering drop of his release, before I settle back on my heels and look up at him again.
In an instant, Xade reaches forward, grabs me by the throat, and guides me up into his lap.
I settle against him, my fingers reaching up to wipe away the beads of sweat that darken the hair at his temples. His chest heaves beneath me, and he looks down at me, his thumbs coming up to clean tears from beneath my eyes.
"Such a good girl," he tells me.
We collide. Teeth knock. Lips crash. We rock backward in his chair and nearly topple.
He kisses me like I'm his air, like he needs me to exist.
Only right now, though, it's me who can't breathe.