21. Lynn #2
Their voices are muffled through the wall, close enough that I can hear every word, far enough that they have no idea I’m behind the door with my professor’s hand over my mouth.
“Maybe we should ask him out.”
“We?”
“Fine, one of us should ask him out.”
“Which one?”
“Rock paper scissors?”
Milo’s hand slips from my mouth to my throat, not squeezing, just holding, and he picks up the pace slightly.
“They want to ask me out,” he whispers. “Little do they know-”
“Milo-”
“That I’m currently inside the only woman I’ll ever want.” His thumb strokes my pulse point. “The only one who matters. The one who owns my entire soul.”
“They’re - they’re going to hear-”
“Then you’d better stay quiet.”
He angles his hips, hits that spot, and I have to shove my fist in my mouth to keep from screaming.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs, his pace relentless. “Say it.”
“I’m - I’m yours-”
“Look at you,” he breathes. “Taking me so pretty while they stand right there. So perfect. My perfect girl.”
“They’ll hear-”
“They won’t hear anything but their own gossip.” His smile is wicked against my skin. “But you’ll have to be very, very quiet just in case.”
He proves his point by driving into me harder, and I do make a sound, muffled against my fist, but still.
The giggling on the other side of the door continues, uninterrupted.
“Okay, cookies are on the desk.”
“Should we leave a note?”
“What would it say? ‘Dear Professor Draven, we think you’re hot, please grade us favorably’?”
“Maybe just ‘from your admirers’?”
“That’s weird.”
“This whole thing is weird.”
Milo laughs silently, his whole body shaking, and the vibration goes straight through me where we’re joined.
“I’m - I’m going to-”
“Not yet.” His hand slides between us, finds my clit, starts rubbing in tight circles. “Wait for them to leave.”
“I can’t-”
“You can. You’re so good. You’re taking me so well.”
The voices start to fade.
“Okay, let’s go before someone catches us.”
“This was a terrible idea.”
“A fun terrible idea.”
“Same thing.”
The office door opens. Closes. Silence.
“Now,” Milo says, and his restraint snaps.
He pounds into me, hard and fast, his thumb working my clit, his mouth swallowing my moans. It only takes seconds, I was already on the edge, had been on the edge since the first whispered fangs, and when I come, it’s with a cry that he catches with his mouth.
He follows a moment later, groaning my name into my neck, the knot swelling to lock us together.
We lie there, panting, tangled together in his narrow faculty bed.
“I hate you,” I say.
“No you don’t.”
“I almost died.”
“You didn’t.”
“My soul left my body.”
“Mr. Darcy taught you how to revive it.”
I reach blindly for a pillow and smack him with it.
He catches the pillow, grinning, completely unrepentant.
“That was-” I can’t even find the words. “You’re insane. We’re both insane. We just - while they were right there-”
“It was fun.”
“It was traumatizing.”
“You came so hard you saw stars.”
“…That’s not the point.”
He pulls me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead.
“Cookies,” he says.
“What?”
“They left cookies.” He waits until the knot eases, then climbs out of bed, heading toward the hidden door. “I’m hungry.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“I’m always serious about cookies.”
He disappears into the office and returns a moment later with a Tupperware container and a stack of papers.
“What are those?”
“Their papers. They’re in my 101 class.” He settles back into bed, opening the Tupperware. “Chocolate chip. Want one?”
“You’re going to eat their cookies and grade their papers.”
“It’s called multitasking.”
“It’s called shameless.”
“Also accurate.”
He takes a bite of cookie, pulls out a red pen, and starts marking up the first paper.
“B minus,” he says. “Solid thesis, weak supporting evidence.”
“I can’t believe you right now.”
“This one’s better. B plus.”
“We just had sex while they were in the room-”
“Technically they were in the office. We were in the bedroom.”
“ - and now you’re eating their cookies and criticizing their academic work.”
“The cookies are good.” He offers me the container. “Try one.”
I take a cookie. It is, annoyingly, delicious.
“The irony isn’t lost on me,” Milo says, marking another paper. “If it helps.”
“It doesn’t.”
“They want to ask me out.”
“I heard.”
“Rock paper scissors.”
“I heard that too.”
He sets down his pen, turns to me, and his expression goes serious.
“You know I’d never-”
“I know.”
“They could throw themselves at me and I wouldn’t-”
“I know.”
“You’re it for me.” He cups my face. “You’re everything. Whatever happens, whatever comes next - you’re the only one I want.”
There it is again, that weight, that thing he keeps almost saying.
“Milo-”
“Soon.” He kisses me softly. “I’ll tell you everything soon. The ritual is coming. And after that-”
“The ritual?”
“The pack celebration. Under the full moon.” His eyes hold mine. “You’re invited. You’re the guest of honor, actually. And when it’s over, I’ll explain everything. I promise.”
“Everything?”
“Down to the last secret.”
He goes back to grading papers, and I curl against his side, eating cookies and watching him work.
Whatever he’s hiding, it’s big. I can feel it coming the way you feel a storm before the sky goes dark, a pressure in the air, a held breath. And some traitorous, happy part of me doesn’t want to know yet. Doesn’t want anything to break this.
Which is exactly how I know it’s about to.