Chapter 22 #2
She doesn’t stop kissing me. Her mouth is relentless, and I catch her tongue, sucking it slowly, drawing it out with a drag that has her moaning back, the sound vibrating between us, her body arching closer like she can’t get enough.
It’s not gentle. It’s not sweet. It’s a fire, burning away the chill and the hurt of the night, and I am more than happy to let it consume us both.
My hands slide up her back, feeling the delicate bumps of her spine through the dress, the heat of her skin underneath. She rocks against me again and I groan, my fingers digging into her hips.
She breaks the kiss, her breath ragged against my lips. “Fuck me,” she murmurs, the words a desperate plea.
Her hands move down my chest to my pants, her fingers working on my belt. The metallic clank of the buckle loosening is loud in the quiet apartment and my brain is nothing but a haze of want, but a thread of reason pulls through.
“Annie, are you sure—” I start to ask, but the words die as her hand slips past the waistband of my briefs, wrapping firmly around my cock, which is already throbbing hard for her.
The feeling is so intense my vision blurs.
A choked sound escapes me, half-moan, half-sigh.
Her hand starts moving, her grip perfect, her rhythm maddening.
Up and down, a smooth, slick motion that has my hips bucking off the couch.
Her thumb presses against the tip, spreading the bead of moisture there, and I moan, my head falling back against the cushions.
Her skin is so soft, so warm, and the friction is perfect as it turns into something desperate, making my cock twitch in her palm.
“Fuck me, Leo,” she whispers, her forehead pressed to mine. “Please. Just fuck me.”
The last thread of my restraint snaps. Fuck it.
She needs this. She needs to feel something else, anything else, besides the betrayal and the hollow ache her family carved into her tonight.
And I need her. I always need her.
My hands slide from her hips to the hem of her dress, gathering the delicate silk in my fists. I pull it up until it’s bunched around her waist. My fingers brush the thin lace of a thong, soaked through. “Christ, Annie,” I murmur against her ear, my voice thick. “You’re so wet for me.”
She whimpers in response, a needy, broken sound.
I don’t have the patience for lace. I hook my fingers into the sides of her underwear and pull.
It gives way with a soft rip, and the ruined fabric falls away to the floor.
Her eyes fly open, wide with surprise for a split second before a dark, determined look takes over.
She gets to work on the buttons of my dress shirt—popping them open one by one—her nails scraping my chest hair as she exposes my skin, pushing the fabric wide open.
I don’t wait. I guide myself through her slickness, the head of my cock sliding through her folds, teasing us both. She gasps, a sharp intake of breath, and her head falls back. I take the opportunity to kiss the elegant length of her throat, her collarbone.
I move my thumb to her clit, circling the swollen, sensitive bud. She jolts in my lap. “Leo,” she breathes, her hips bucking against my hand.
I grab her jaw with my free hand, tilting her just right, my tongue plunging in as she whimpers into the kiss. They’re little broken sounds of pleasure and frustration that drive me out of my mind as I keep stroking her, the pressure increasing.
“I need you,” she moans against my mouth, her hands finally pushing my shirt off my shoulders completely. “Inside me. Now.”
The world narrows to the feel of her, the sound of her.
“I don’t have any condoms in here,” I grit out, my thumb still working relentless circles on her clit, pressing harder now, feeling her pulse under the pad of my finger.
She’s panting, her hips rocking into my hand like she can’t help it. “I’m on birth control,” she says breathlessly, her eyes locked on mine. “I don’t miss a day. And I’m clean.”
I nod, my thumb not letting up as I watch her eyes flutter. “Me too.”
“Great.” She grinds down harder, a frustrated whine slipping out. “Then get inside of me.”
I dip my head, kissing the curve of her neck, my tongue flicking out to taste the salt on her skin, licking a hot stripe to her ear. “I like it when you beg,” I murmur, nipping lightly. “Do it again.”
“Leo,” she cries, my name breaking on her lips as I slide two fingers inside her, curling them just right—working slow and deep—feeling her walls flutter around me, hot and greedy.
“Please,” she shrieks, her body arching. “Get inside me, please.”
I grab her chin again with my free hand, yanking her face so she’s looking right at me, her eyes hazy with want. “Right now, I’m going to fuck you hard,” I say, my thumb brushing her lip. “But that means later tonight, you’re all mine. And I get to go as slow as I want.”
Her only answer is a low moan and a short nod. I reach down, lining myself up at her entrance. The head of my cock presses against her, and we both groan at the contact. And then I push inside.
I go in slowly at first, inch by inch, and we both moan—hers a whimper, mine a moan that rumbles from my chest as she envelops me—so tight it’s almost too much—slick and perfect, like she’s made for this. For me.
“Oh God,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering shut again as I go a little deeper, giving her a second to stretch around me, her body gripping me like a vice. Her hands clamp on my shoulders, her nails digging in, leaving little half-moon bites that sting, grounding me as I sink further.
Once I’m buried to the hilt, I have to stop, my forehead pressed to hers.
Then I pull down one of the thin straps of her dress.
The fabric easily gives way, and her breast spills out, pale and full and perfect in the low light, her nipple a pretty, flushed pink.
The sight is almost obscenely beautiful. I nearly salivate.
I start to move, a slow, deep roll of my hips upward. She meets my rhythm instantly, grinding down against me, and the combined friction is so intense it makes stars burst behind my eyelids. I know, with a certainty that borders on panic, that I’m not going to last long like this.
With one hand on the side of her neck, holding her close, I lower my mouth to her breast, taking the taut, pink peak inside.
She whimpers, but it melts into a moan as I suck, gently at first, then with more pressure, grazing her nipple with my teeth.
Her hands fist in my hair, holding me to her as I move inside her, the snap of my hips and my mouth falling into a desperate cadence.
Before she can catch her breath, I wrap my arm around her waist and flip us.
She lets out a gasp as her back hits the cushions, but we don’t miss a beat.
Her legs wrap tightly around my hips, her heels pressing into my ass like spurs, urging me on as I thrust again, hard, the couch creaking faintly under the shift.
She tilts her hips just so, opening up that angle, and suddenly I’m deeper, hitting spots that make her scream, her walls clenching around me as if she’s pulling me in further.
I drive in harder, relentless now, each snap of my hips echoing with the wet slap of skin on skin, her body jolting with every push.
“Leo,” she cries, and I grab her wrists, pinning them above her head. Our fingers lace together, messy and tight, her pulse hammering against my palms.
God, she’s gorgeous like this—her face flushed, eyes half-lidded, her mouth falling open in a silent O with no sound slipping out as I fuck her so deep it’s like we’re fused together, every inch of me wrapped in her slick grip.
“You look so beautiful,” I rasp, my voice rough and gravelly, “all stretched out for me like this.”
I kiss her hard, trying to pour every ounce of what I feel into her, trying to erase every ugly word her father said.
Her breasts bounce between us with each thrust, soft and full, the motion hypnotic, brushing my chest hair in teasing grazes that send little shocks through me.
It heightens everything, making my skin buzz where we touch.
I can tell she’s close—her breaths are coming in short, ragged bursts. Her body’s starting to tremble, her legs around me going slack, like the tension’s unraveling all at once.
Reaching down, I hook my hand behind her knee and push it up toward her chest, opening her to me even more. The change is immediate. Her back arches off the couch, a silent scream on her lips.
“Leo, I’m—oh fuck—” she chokes out, but the words dissolve into a shattered cry as she comes apart.
I feel it—the powerful clenching of her body around mine, waves of it milking my cock.
It’s so intense, so perfectly consuming, that my own control splinters.
I bury my face in the sweaty curve of her neck, my thrusts turning shallow and frantic as I chase my own release, dragged over the edge by the pull of hers.
I spill into her with a groan that’s half her name, half a prayer, my body shuddering with the force of it.
I shift when I’m finished, lifting myself over her and bracing my weight on my forearms. The last thing I want to do is crush her, but I need to be close—close enough that there’s no room for the rest of the world to seep back in.
She lets out this long, contented sigh, and I see the first real smile I’ve seen on her face all night.
It’s her Annie smile; the one that starts at her eyes and makes everything else seem a little bit brighter.
Her finger finds its way to the nape of my neck, winding one of my stubborn curls around it. She’s always doing that. It’s a tiny, possessive habit I find endearing.
“Never cut your hair,” she murmurs, her voice sleepy and rich.
I huff a quiet laugh, the sound vibrating against her collarbone. “I can’t promise that, Annie. At some point, the Dean might mistake me for a grad student.”
“Let him,” she whispers, tugging gently on the hair. “I like it.”
I lean down and catch her lips in a kiss that’s nothing like the frantic heat of a few minutes ago. This one is slow, lingering. I pull back just an inch, my nose brushing hers. “Do you feel better?”
She nods, her eyes soft. Her skin is glowing, the flush in her cheeks from the rain and the tears replaced by something much warmer. “Much better.”
She looks it. She looks perfect.
“I love you,” I tell her again, because I can, and because it’s the truest thing I know.
“I love you, too,” she whispers back, her hand sliding from my neck to cup my cheek.
I kiss her once more, then push myself up. Before she can sit up, I lean over and scoop her off the couch, one arm under her knees, the other behind her back. The lavender dress is still tangled around her hips, and she lets out a surprised, breathless laugh.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing, Professor?”
“Keeping my end of the deal,” I say, starting down the short hallway toward my bedroom.
“What deal?”
“You’re all mine tonight,” I remind her, nudging my bedroom door open with my foot. “I said I was going to take my time.”
Her laughter fades into a soft, knowing smile as I lay her down in the center of my bed. The streetlight from the window paints her in stripes of gold and shadow.
And I do keep my word. For the rest of the night, I take my time.