Chapter 10 #2
“I care about you too much, baby,” I rasp. “It’s a goddamn problem.”
She’s close enough now that I can see the pulse in her throat, quick and fluttering.
My own is no better. I tug her forward, slow, and this time when I kiss her, it’s nothing like the anger-fueled collision we had before.
It’s measured, devouring, a slow pull that leaves us both undone.
Her lips go slack against mine, her body melting into the space where mine ends.
When I pull away, she’s pink and shining, her eyes glassy with something halfway between hope and despair. I want to fix it, but I also want to ruin her again.
I drop to my knees, right there on the cheap wool rug, and then lie back so that I’m flat on the ground. I look up at her. She looks down, suspicious.
“What are you doing?”
“Making it up to you,” I say. “An apology for last week’s incident.”
She snorts, but it’s a little uncertain. “Okay, but what are you doing? What am I supposed to do?”
I laugh, all teeth, the thrill of it buzzing up my spine. “Take off your panties, Simone. Come place that pretty pussy on my face.”
She’s totally still, staring at me.
“You’re serious. Here, in your office, when the department chair just came by.”
“I’m totally serious,” I say, and pat the rug. “Let me worship you, Simone.”
There’s a long moment where I’m convinced she’ll bail, throw up a wall, maybe even hit me again. Instead, she shakes her head and bites her lip. Then, she lifts her skirt, and slowly, pulls off a pair of baby blue panties, so sheer and lacy that they’re hardly even there.
“You’re a maniac,” she whispers, but I can see how her pussy glistens with arousal already. It’s perfect—she’s as bald as a baby, flushed pink, the inner lips glistening with slick. I can smell her arousal, sharp and sweet, and for a second, I just stare, awed.
“Take your top off too,” I say, and my voice is rougher than I intend. “Fuck, I have to see you, Simone.”
She glares, but then smiles sweetly—fuck, it’s radiant—and peels her t-shirt off, exposing those impossible tits, round and heavy, nipples hard as diamonds.
“Now you,” she says, gesturing at my shirt.
I strip, and she makes a show of walking over to me before putting both feet on either side of my head.
Then, slowly, she squats towards my face.
I watch like a man entranced as her glistening kitty comes closer and closer to my mouth, the fragrant essence of her femininity making me hard as iron.
“Oh my god,” she moans in anticipation.
I grip her hips, guiding her down until her cunt is inches from my mouth. I flick my tongue, slow and lazy, over the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, then up the crease, inhaling the scent of her. She shivers, clutching my hair in both fists, steadying herself.
“Oh my god,” she moans again.
When I finally lick her, it’s a shock—I hear her gasp, then bite back a groan. I suck her clit, gentle at first, then harder, letting my tongue play over the nub until her hips are rocking, chasing every movement. She tries to stay quiet, but she can’t; the whimpers leak out in a stream.
“Unnnh!” she cries out, throwing her head back as she cups her big breasts. “This feels so good!”
I flatten my tongue, broad and wet, and drag it from her entrance to her clit, again and again, until she’s writhing. I want to devour her, erase every bad thing I said and replace it with the memory of this—her, bare and glorious, riding my face in the middle of the work day.
“Fuck, Professor,” she breathes. “Don’t stop.”
I slip two fingers inside, curling them just right. Her walls clamp down, hot and desperate. She bucks, the rhythm wild, and it’s all I can do to hold her steady.
Then I pull my fingers out and drop my head a bit to lick at the tight star of her asshole.
“Oh my god!” she squeals. “That’s dirty!”
“It’s not dirty,” I mumble as I lap at her asshole. “If Daddy wants you to come with my tongue in your asshole, then that’s what you’re going to do, my little buttslut. You got that?”
Simone should be shocked by my dirty words, but at this point, she’s too far gone.
“Yes, Daddy!” she cries. “It feels so good when you lick my butthole! Mmmm!”
She starts to break. I feel it in the tremor of her thighs, the sharp, high noises she can’t suppress. I keep my mouth tight to her, tongue moving in rapid, relentless circles, and when she comes, it’s not like before—she screams, loud, and I think for a second the whole building must hear.
Her pussy floods my face, and I realize, with pride and awe, that my baby just squirted for me for the first time. The mess is obscene, a torrent of sweet, musky slick that coats my cheeks, my chin, my chest, but I fucking love it. I lap at her, swallowing it, worshipping her the way she deserves.
“Fuuuuuck,” I groan before lapping at her asshole again. “You taste so good. My horny little girl is so creamy that she fucking floods every time I kiss her pussy.”
Simone’s wailing as she shudders, her hands braced on the floor as she comes again and again on my face.
I kiss and lap at her pussy through the climax, worshipping this beautiful girl.
With one last thrust of my tongue into her asshole, she collapses, shivering, onto my mouth, and I lick her gently until the aftershocks subside.
But we’re not alone.
There’s a knock, timid at first, then louder.
“Professor Thomas?” comes a voice, maybe a student, maybe the admin assistant. “Are you in there?”
Simone freezes, terror in her eyes. I motion for silence, and she clamps both hands over her mouth, panting through her fingers.
“I’ll be done in a minute!” I shout, trying to sound casual, though my face is still slick with her orgasm.
There’s a pause, then footsteps recede down the hall.
We wait, not moving, not even breathing.
After a long minute, Simone uncovers her mouth, giggling quietly. “You’re insane.”
“You love it,” I whisper, pulling her down for a kiss.
She tastes herself on my tongue and grins, wicked and triumphant.
“You’re damn right I do.”
We quickly get up and dress in silence, laughing at the disaster we’ve made of my office. There’s a wet spot on the rug, a pair of panties jammed in the wastebasket, and my pants are hopelessly creased. I watch her pull her skirt down, smooth it over her hips, the blush still hot on her cheeks.
As she surveys the scene, she pauses, then looks back over her shoulder.
“Are you okay, Professor?”
“Not in the least,” I say, and it comes out like a cough. “That was… I don’t have the word for it.”
She smiles, then bites her lip, suddenly shy. “Did I really… you know…?”
“Flood my entire face?” I wipe my jaw with my sleeve, grinning. “Yes, Simone, you did. Was that the first time you’ve ever squirted?”
She nods, blushing.
“I know I’ve always had a lot of cream. I’m a juicy girl, but I didn’t know it could come out in a big splatter like that. I’m embarrassed.”
I merely smile before stepping forward to kiss her again before looking deep into those innocent blue eyes.
“Don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. There’s nothing about your body to be embarrassed about because it’s beautiful, gorgeous, and ripe. You make Daddy very happy with your responsiveness, and I loved swallowing your creamy spurts, sweetheart.”
She puts her palm over her mouth, giggling, then nods. “Good, I’m glad.” Then, she makes a show of picking her panties out of the wastebasket. She shakes them at me. “Evidence,” she whispers, folding them into her bag with a ceremonial flourish.
We’re both fully dressed again, at least on the outside.
On the inside, I’m ruined, every neuron retrained to respond to her voice, her smell, the memory of her cunt pressed to my mouth.
I know it’s dangerous, and I know the odds of us getting away with this affair are vanishingly slim, but in this moment, I don’t care.
Simone leans against the bookshelves, scanning my collection, running her fingers along the battered spines of the Modern Library.
She stops at a volume of Emily Dickinson and pulls it out, thumbing the pages.
The movement is casual, but I know she’s buying time—neither of us wants to be the first to say what comes next.
I clear my throat. “We can’t keep doing this in my office. It’s a miracle we haven’t been caught already.”
She glances at me, then at the door, then back to me. “I know. But we don’t see each other on a regular basis.”
“I know.” I run my hands through my hair, which is probably sticking up at obscene angles. “But it’s not sustainable, Simone. If the chair had come in five minutes earlier, I’d be out of a job, and you’d be…”
She shrugs, not unkindly. “Expelled, probably.”
“Exactly.” I sigh before crossing my arms over my chest. “We need to be smarter. We need to…” I trail off, not sure what the next part is.
She sets the poetry book back, carefully, and looks at me with a sincerity that is so rare in my life it almost hurts. “We need to talk,” she says, echoing my thoughts.
I nod. “But not here. Not now.” I gesture at the desk, the closed blinds, the faint aroma of sex still hanging in the air. “Come to my house tomorrow night. We’ll have dinner. No expectations. Just… let’s figure this out, okay?”
She lifts a brow, amused. “You sure you won’t call up Claire again?”
“Claire’s not even in the running,” I growl, and for the first time in my life, I mean it.
She considers, then gives a slow, serious nod. “All right. Tomorrow. I’ll bring some salad.”
I nod, and we move for the door at the same time, almost colliding. She laughs again, the sound as bright as glass in the sun.
I pull her in for a last hug, meaning just to hold her, but she tips her face up and the kiss is soft, exploratory, not like before. Her lips linger, and when we break apart, she stays close, breathing me in.
“Until tomorrow, Liam,” she whispers, the words a promise.
“Tomorrow, Simone.”
I check the hallway for witnesses, then let her slip out first, her stride confident and free. I wait a full minute before following, the adrenaline finally ebbing. My mouth still tastes like her, and my hands remember every inch of her ivory skin.
Tomorrow will be a reckoning.
But for now, I let myself savor the disaster I’ve made, the strange, impossible hope at the center of it, the way she walked away and then smiled at me over her shoulder.
I am in so much trouble.
And I have never felt more alive.