Chapter 8
Following our encounter in the botany building, Professor Holmes and I have met up every single day for the past week—sometimes twice for the day.
The first few times, it was in the botany building. Another time, he gagged me with his tie and fucked me over his desk during his office hours.
One evening, we even had sex in his car in the teacher’s parking lot.
We came close to getting caught that night, as the Dean pulled into the parking spot nearby while we were in the middle of things. Following that close call, Professor Holmes decided to take our trysts somewhere a little more private.
When he told me he leased a cabin a few miles away from campus for us to use, I expected something more along the lines of a rustic getaway.
Instead, the cabin turned out to be a 10,000 square-foot architectural masterpiece, with a jacuzzi, a heated pool and sweeping views of the mountains and woods.
With five bedrooms and seven bathrooms, it was more than adequate.
Presently, I’m on my knees with his huge cock in my mouth. The size of him tests my limits every time I give him head, but the practice I’ve had has made it a little easier. He’s sitting in the plush loveseat across from the crackling fireplace, his arms slung across the back.
The flickering light makes his green eyes shine, and casts warm rays over his tanned skin. He’s started taking off his shirt now, which gives me the chance to appreciate his well-toned body more. For a man of almost forty-years, he’s so much fitter than the younger guys I’ve seen.
“Fuck, you’re so good with that mouth,” his voice is trapped deep in his throat, which tells me he’s close.
I watch him from beneath lowered lashes. Each flick of my tongue and stroke of my hands has him twitching and moaning. I’m naked except for the necklace of human teeth around my neck, and I’m so aroused that I feel my wetness painting my thighs. I love pleasing him.
One of his huge hands move to grip my cheek, while the other spears through my hair. He guides me along his cock, and I take him deep, until I can feel the swollen head of his shaft in my throat.
“You look so pretty with my cock stuffed down your throat, little one,” he says.
I take him just a little bit deeper. He grumbles. I twist my hands to match the motion of my mouth, flattening my tongue and swirling it against his shaft.
He shouts a curse, and I feel him stiffen in my mouth. He pulls himself out of my mouth, and I open expectantly. Professor Holmes groans and splatters my face and breasts with thick ropes of his cum. It’s warm on my skin and salty on my tongue.
With his eyes squeezed shut, he takes a deep breath.
Seeing him like this is my reward. In the moments right after his orgasm, he’s always quiet and pensive. At first, I thought it was because he was angry. Now I can see it for what it really is. He’s overcome with emotion.
To think that I could fell a man as intelligent as him is a thrill that will never wear off.
When his eyes finally open, they are full of intensity.
I lick his cum from my lips and rub it into my chest while he watches me.
“Gosh, you’re so beautiful,” he growls.
Professor Holmes picks me up and places me on his lap. I grind against him, eager for the little bit of contact. He crushes his lips to mine in a kiss that leaves me throbbing and ready for him all over again. He bends me over the arm of the loveseat, my legs across his lap.
He palms my aching core, the heel of his hand rubbing against my clit.
Jolts of arousal shoot through my body, a gasp slipping from my lips.
Opening my legs to give him better access, I grind against his hand.
Professor Holmes kisses a slow, sensual line down my jaw to the pulse point at the base of my neck.
My legs start to shake when he slips two fingers inside me and massages my clit with his thumb. Thank god I’m not standing, I doubt they would be able to hold me up.
“Fuck, you’re soaking wet,” he says. I writhe, arching even more into his touch. “You greedy girl. We’ve had sex three times already.” Even as he’s scolding me, I feel his cock coming to life against my thigh. “Do you still want more?”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
His grip tightens around my torso. I don’t say this, but I don’t think I could ever get enough of him. He makes me insatiable.
“Alright,” he whispers against my skin. “Beg me for it.”
I’m shameless. “Please, fuck me.” I say, breathless. His fingers have worked me close to the edge, but I can’t get off without his thick cock filling me. “I’m begging you. Please, sir.”
I feel his laugh more than hear it. He moves to kneel on the loveseat, then he enters me hard and fast from behind. I clutch the armrest, so I don’t go flying. There’s no elegance to the way he fucks me—not anymore, at least.
After we’ve gone this many rounds, the way we fuck becomes less about flair and more about satisfying the hungry, primal sides of us. My body squeezes around him and I grind into each thrust, taking him deep. His hands dig into my thighs and his teeth sink into my shoulder.
I’ll have bruises tomorrow, and that only turns me on more.
Professor Holmes thrusts into me brutally, and I meet each one with my own savagery. I reach back to spear my fingers through his hair, my fingernails digging into his scalp.
This.
This is what I love.
The loveseat creaks under the weight us. His hot, ragged breaths are loud in my ears, each one matching my own. Our bodies are slick with sweat, and I feel it dripping down my back, and down the valley of my breasts.
I’m so fucking close.
I scream, and an earth-shattering orgasm is wrenched from me just as the pain blooms. He comes with me, filling me with the satisfying warmth of his arousal. We collapse on the loveseat together, and he gathers me to his chest.
He wipes away the hair stuck to my forehead, pressing a kiss to my sticky temple. The warmth of the fireplace embraces us, melding with the buzz of the receding high.
We sit, wrapped up in comfortable, almost polite silence for a while. As if we didn’t just fuck like we wanted to shatter each other.
It’s a perfect moment.
The past week has been filled with many moments like this, but this one is probably my favorite of them all. I don’t know when it happens, but I doze off against his chest. Professor Holmes speaks and the vibration of his chest wakes me from my shallow slumber.
“You know, little one,” he begins, cupping one of my breasts lightly. “You never did tell me the real reason why you were failing my class. What changed about your future?”
His question burns away the quiet comfort that had settled around me. I swallow thickly, straightening so that I can see his face. He’s looking down at me with a subdued expression.
Professor Holmes’ face is set in hard lines, exacerbated by the austere light of the fireplace. He looks like he could be a villain if he wanted to be, and that doesn’t scare me the way it should. I suck in a breath.
Am I even allowed to tell him the truth?
As if he can read my mind, he says, “I want the truth, Tara.” His voice is firm, with a tone I’ve heard him use often in class. Authoritative. “Whatever it is.”
I look down at my hand against his chest. In the flickering light, I study the lines tattooed into his skin. Most of it is shadowy linework that looks like decoration more than anything else.
There’s only one tattoo that seems like it means something, the same one I see peeking out from his sleeve.
It starts on his chest, and the lines form some sort of tribal design on his chest and shoulder before ending in a skull on his bicep.
Beneath the skull are the words La morte mi trovera vivo.
When I looked it up, it meant death will find me alive in Italian.
On anyone else, I wouldn’t be intrigued. But Professor Holmes is a psychology professor, and it’s the only meaningful tattoo he has. What would move him to get something like this inked on his skin?
“If I tell you, will you tell me what your tattoo means?”
His grip on me tightens. “This isn’t a trade,” he says severely. “Answer my question and maybe I will consider answering yours.”
It was worth a try, I suppose.
I shrug, looking away from him. My eyes settle on the twinkling stars beyond the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. We’re on the second floor of the cabin, in the master bedroom. The sky is moonless, but there aren’t any clouds out either.
My throat grows thick as I prepare to answer his question.
In less than two weeks, my life will end. I’m using Professor Holmes as a distraction from it. Now that he’s forcing me to talk about it, everything we’ve shared seems like it might disappear even sooner than I’m prepared to let it go. What if he decides to end things because of this?
He doesn’t know what it is, though. Maybe I could still lie.
One look at him dispels that thought. Professor Holmes has always been able to see right through me. I’m certain he would know if I was lying. I dig the heels of my palms into my eyes.
If I get it out quickly, then maybe I won’t have to suffer for too long.
“I, uh,” I stumble. “My father told me that he was…uh,” I sink my teeth into the inside of my cheek, hoping the burst of pain grounds me. “That he was being forced by the leader of our syndicate to marry me off.” My eyes start to burn, but I hold back the tears.
Professor Holmes doesn’t react at first. For a while, I wonder if he’s even heard me since my voice was barely more than a whisper.
“Why would hearing that affect you like that?” he says finally, his voice devoid of emotion. “Arranged marriages are common.”
I wrap my hands around myself. “I’m not the oldest daughter, it is not something I ever considered.
When my father allowed me to come to SFU, I thought I had escaped it.
” My memories of my childhood, of Nico, start coming back to me and I shudder.
“It’s not even the arranged marriage that sunk me into depression, really. It was who I will be married to.”
This is the first time I’ve said any of this out loud since my father broke the news to me and it all feels so foreign in my mouth. The words sound made up. I know they mean something, but it feels like they shouldn’t make sense.
“Who?” Professor Holmes asks.
“Nico Torres,” I say. His name on my tongue makes me queasy.
“They call him El Diablo. He’s worse than the devil, though.
” My eyes start to burn, but I don’t even care to stop the tears this time.
“He raped me when we were kids. I snitched and he was punished for it. Now that his father’s died and he’s taken over our syndicate, he’s determined to get his revenge on me. ”
My words hang in the air. Professor Holmes doesn’t immediately respond, only pulls me into a hug that’s tighter than I expect. I rest my head on his shoulder. He strokes my hair softly.
“When?”
Tears leak from my eyes. “When I leave for summer break I’m not coming back.”
Professor Holmes’ body goes rigid. I can hear his heartbeat through his skin. It’s beating just as fast as mine. It’s the only indication that what I’ve said affects him. The hand in my hair starts to move even slower, almost robotically.
Despite the panic that’s risen in my chest and raw emotions my revelation dredged up, I’m sort of relieved it’s out in the open now. At least there will be no more secrets between us. All we have left is the next week and a half.
“Don’t worry, little one,” he says, finally. “Everything will be fine. We will make the most of every moment we have.” There’s pain in his voice, and I wonder if he’ll miss me as much as I will miss him.
What we have was doomed from the start, but I will still mourn it.
I’ll think of him every night. Remembering these moments of passionate love and tender vulnerability will be my only escape from the hell that my life will become. No matter how much Nico breaks me, he will never be able to take this from me.
I find my peace in that thought.
Professor Holmes presses a soft kiss to my cheek and carries me to bed.