Chapter Text
“I’m dropping it. This asshole is going to kill my GPA.” I spit the words as I shuffle back through my essay. Red, all I can see is red. Not just because of the rage simmering under my skin, but because every line has some form of correction in red ink.
“I mean, listen to this shit! He has the nerve, the unmitigated fucking gall to say that I- me!” I trail off, placing a hand against my sternum, as I read the comment neatly tucked into the margin out loud again.
“’You do not count as an expert, and you did not do enough research for a paper this long. If you did, you would have been in my office hours. Do not extrapolate Ms. y/l/n’,” I take a sharp inhale as I look up at Yvette, “on a paper literally about our opinion. How am I not an expert on my own opinion Yvette?”
I lower my voice at the awkward glance she shoots around the library table. It’s a slow Tuesday night, and we had both just left our evening class, but I was much more energetic than the students around us. Dr. Peña’s class always put me in a mood.
“Look babes, I don’t even understand why you wrote more than was required, but at least he gave you feedback.” She says, leaning over the table to check the top of the paper clutched in my hand. She gives me a look before rolling her eyes and sitting back in her chair.
“Why are you even complaining? You got a C. Like the whole class failed.” She says, shaking her head.
“A seventy-four Yvette, a seventy-four. I have room for maybe, maybe, one more C essay. And even then, I’ll have to get at least a ninety-two percent on his final to keep my 4.0.” I stare pointedly at her as she shakes her head once more, accompanied by another eye roll.
“From the same man who has had multiple people leave his class crying because he doesn’t believe ‘papers can be graded over ninety percent, no one writes that well until post-grad’.” I mock him, sitting tall and stiff in my chair.
The stoic shithead was the reigning nightmare of our department. He maintained nobody wrote perfect academic works, and his grading average was skewed towards the low end. The very low end. So low in fact it was a miracle people graduated at all, because in a cruel twist of fate, he was the only professor that taught the two semester 351-section required to graduate. So, he was also unavoidable.
I’d transferred in a year ago and decided to take it my senior year instead of junior year. Most students took it their junior year to not end on a sour note and have time to heal their trauma the next year. I thought people were exaggerating, and my own smarts and stubbornness would make it a breeze. I was wrong. Which, wouldn’t be the first time, and certainly not the last, but still.
My senior year was looking to be hell if the last month in his class was any indication.
“You know, I didn’t get any feedback? Actually, it’s weird he printed yours out.” Yvette remarked, settling in to work on the other homework we’d come here for. She opened her laptop and plugged in the charger, glancing once more at the paper in my hand.
“What do you mean?” I asked, pulling my eyes from my essay, and trying not to grind my teeth like a pissed gerbil.
“You were the only one he gave a graded paper back to, the rest he just put in D2L.” Yvette shrugged. “Let it go for now, we have to turn this in by midnight, we only have four hours.”
“You’re right.” I sigh glancing down at the paper once more before shaking my whole body to try and get the irritation out. I put it in a folder in my backpack, hoping out of sight puts him out of mind.
“I guess I finally need to go to his office hours and figure out what the fuck it is he actually wants.”
❣✎❣✎❣✎
I lean against the back of the bench, tucking my right leg up under my left, tilting my knee out into a bend. My pen is in one hand, my notebook perched on the windowsill behind the bench. I read through the paragraph I’ve edited one more time.
It was so damn hot outside, too hot, where even the walk between classes was oppressive. I’d been inside for near fifteen minutes, and sweat was still running down my back.
My tank top was sticking in all kinds of places, little dark spots unavoidable in this heat. I spread out so I wouldn’t have to feel my thighs sticking together. I needed the end of summer to turn to fall as soon as possible if even the evenings were this miserable still.
The cap of my pen winds up between my teeth, a bad habit, as I try and come up with a better way to phrase my constructive criticism for Maxine. A way that’s nice, but gets across how she can’t write so casually. Or with so many run-on sentences.
I didn’t have the time, not really, but I’d told her I’d take a look when she’d begged me to help her improve in her general req writing course.
What I wanted was to knock it out before I was in a foul mood and couldn’t phrase things nicely. A mood change that was fast approaching if Dr. Peña’s class had been any indication of what his own mood would be in our meeting. I could tell we would both be at each other’s throats.
I’d emailed him last Wednesday, the morning after I’d had my paper returned, to set a meeting for after next Tuesday’s class. He responded that his office hours were a set schedule. My rebuttal was he usually met Dr. Carter at this time for ESPA meetings, and I knew Dr. Carter was out of town.
He informed me he wasn’t in the habit of switching student meetings for faculty ones, to which I attached an email I’d had Dr. Carter write on my behalf for me to take the meeting time.
I had been in Dr. Carter’s class the semester prior, he was a sweet old man compared to Dr. Peña. I’d buttered him up by claiming I had officer meetings that week during Dr. Peña’s usual office hours and I really needed Dr. Carter to help me out.
I’d lied.
But getting under Dr. Peña’s skin was a special kind of pleasure. His final response was a one-line email including a time to meet after class, and nothing else.
I could only imagine how pissed he’d been, so I was rocking that high all week. I was over the moon when I’d witnessed exactly how high-strung he was in class. He could barely mask his mood all evening.
Lecture had been spectacularly short, and we’d gone straight into heavy discussion for most of the two-and-a-half-hour seminar class. I wasn’t one to shy from voicing my thoughts, but I was especially talkative today.
Not at all because whenever I eagerly shared my opinion, especially those in opposition of Dr. Peña’s, I’d earn a glare.
And certainly not because every time I’d raise my hand, a little muscle in Dr. Peña’s lower left jaw would jump.
Not at all.
I’d gotten in plenty of heated arguments, discussions, with him in class before, and he had been brutal. His reputation for making people cry was warranted. But there was something so fucking fun about taking his shots in stride.
I could always tell when he was at the end of his patience. At the start of discussion, he would call me by name. After about twenty minutes, if it was still just the two of us arguing, he’d eventually just shut the topic down with a frustrated sigh.
When enough other students shifted into smaller discussion groups, he wouldn’t even say my name if I raised my hand. He would just jerk his chin in my direction, arms crossed while leaning on the table by the podium. Frowning at me.
Today was no exception, and by the last half hour of our class, he did little more than blatantly glare in my direction. Even while I heatedly talked with other students, our own initial argument forgotten, I could feel him watching me.
I bet he was cursing me up and down for being such a know it all. It made my skin buzz like I was tipsy to know how much he hated me.
I shifted again, rocking forward, and scooching my hips back as I smirked, recalling class. My left foot dangled off the bench now, and I continued chewing on the pen as I tried to refocus on Maxine’s paper, and not Dr. Peña’s irritation.
It was getting late, late enough it seemed there wasn’t another soul in the building. Most of the lights were off, save one in a classroom down the hall, and the motion lights near the doors that kept triggering from my movement. The school was so interesting at night, maybe even a little spooky when the weather was cooler.
I let out a sigh around the pen as I decided to give up on Max’s paper. I couldn’t bring my mind back from a certain scowl.
“Are you even aware of your surroundings?” Came a voice, just over my shoulder.
I didn’t have to look up from the last note I was jotting down to know who had asked. The lack of greeting and the deep, irritated, tone told me all I needed to know.
I wondered how long he’d been stood there though, because I hadn’t heard him approach, and the lights behind me were still off. Had he just been watching me long enough for the motion sensors to kick off?
I held a scoff at bay, slipping Maxine’s paper into my notebook and closing it. I tilted my head up, my customer service smile slipping into place as I packed up my things. He was glaring down at me, coffee in one hand, ugly ass briefcase in the other.
“Dr. Peña, thank you for agreeing to meet me,” Fucking asshole. “I really appreciate you taking the time.”
“You didn’t answer my question.” Well what kind of question was that?
“Yes, as a matter of fact, I am aware of where I am. Your office happens to be,” I stood up having finished packing my things and held my arm towards the door five feet from the bench, “Right here.”
“That is not what I meant.” He said, looking down at me.
Dr. Peña hadn’t moved back from the bench when I had stood. It took me an alarming amount of time to notice this. Especially considering how little personal space existed between us now. My eyes darted to his chest, my legs still against the bench as I realized one large inhale and we’d be touching. Had he always been so… Broad?
I leaned back slightly, and his eyes dropped down at the movement. Right down the front of my tank top. I felt a flush creep up my chest, and he stepped away first, turning to unlock his door.
“It is dangerous to be alone on campus this late.” The lock clicked and he opened the door, walking in with no further invitation. I took a second to try and recollect my thoughts before following him in.
His office was gorgeous, surprisingly dimly lit, which I noticed was in large part to the single lamp turned on, the blinding standard fluorescent lights turned off above us. The shelves behind his desk were stuffed with expensive looking literature collections. Did he have an entire Shakespeare collection, leather bound? What a nerdy-
I moved awkwardly out of the way as I realized he was still standing behind me at the door, watching as I studied his office. I walked quickly toward his desk, and the chair in front of it, trying not to let any appreciation show on my face. Or, at least not any more appreciation.
As I dropped my things next to the chair, I heard a soft click. I looked toward Dr. Peña as he approached, but he was just hanging his briefcase by the door. I glance around the room once more, sitting down.
“Please, by all means, have a seat.” He says, deadpan, before pulling his own chair out. I resisted rolling my eyes. This is going to be a long meeting. “Tell me why you’re here.”
He leveled me with a gaze across his desk, a huge mahogany thing. As I pieced together the little details around me, a sense of wealth set in. Opulence. To have such a valuable piece of furniture locked behind a single deadbolt in a school building?
Did he truly care so little about anything but himself that it didn’t matter? A sick little part of me debated breaking in later, eyeing a few of the editions over his shoulder I’d bet would resell well.
“Now.” His voice snapped through my distraction. My fake smile faltered, and I fought to keep it in place, my voice upbeat.
“I wanted to talk about the paper. Your feedback.” I bent down to pull the paper free from my bag. “Really my grade. I wasn’t happy with-“
“Of course you weren’t happy with your grade.” He cuts me off, and I feel god herself holding me back from punching him in the face. My smile suddenly feels tight across my face.
“I think that if I can better understand your feedback then-“
“My feedback leaves little up to interpretation.” I watch him raise his coffee to his lips quickly. Was that a smirk? “I said what I meant.”
I grip my essay in my hands, crinkling the already distressed paper even more. It was a miracle the thing hadn’t become confetti. Instead, I focus on keeping the smile on my face, and my voice at a higher, people-pleasing pitch. It’s exhausting.
“Yes, but I think that the feedback doesn’t fairly represent my grade. You see, you only made one comment on the core material. Nitpicking this level of paper, this level of writing, just to lower the grade is hardly constructive-“
“Cut the act. This little miss sunshine will get you nowhere. I am not changing your grade.” A silence descends between us as he interrupts me again. Little miss sunshine?
“I don’t care what praises Dr. Carter, Professor James, Professor Lynn, or any of the other department faculty have for you. I find you to be a stubborn, ill behaved, overachiever. Frankly, as a student, you’re insufferable.” He doesn’t sound at all as irritated as I’ve heard him be with me in class, but the insult skitters uncomfortably under my skin. My jaw clenches, smile slipping from my face.
“You refuse to fall in line.” He studies me over his cup once more, before placing it down to the side and lacing his fingers under his chin. I feel my eyes narrow, glare falling into place.
“Excuse me?” I hiss, barely able to check my temper.
“I get the feeling you’ve never been put in your place before.” He muses, dark eyes never leaving mine.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” My voice is low, and I can’t help the curse. His eyebrow raises ever so slightly at the outburst.
“And that mouth of yours.” He clicks his tongue. “You use curse words like punctuation when you’re worked up. I’ve heard you during group discussion. Wit doesn’t give you a free pass for vulgarity.”
He shifts again, slow, as he takes another sip of coffee. Like he hasn’t a care in the world as he instigates me. I can see him watching intently though, gauging my reaction.
I wonder if he knows I’m two seconds from lunging over the desk and dumping the damn cup he keeps sipping from on him.
“You think I’m vulgar?” A huff leaves me as I reach my breaking point. I meet his gaze, that beautiful, infuriating, chocolate gaze.
“Buckle up asshole. I’ve spent an eighth of the time I am legally required to in your presence, and it has already been far and above the worst fucking academic experience of my life. And if you knew anything about my past, that’s saying something,” I scoff, righting myself in the chair and facing him directly.
“You’re snobby, self-entitled, and you think we worship the ground you walk on. You probably consider your piss the fountain of youth.” I lean forward, still fighting the urge for physical violence. Or at the very least flipping him off.
“I came here to try and learn from the copious mistakes you seem to think I made, but I realize you’re full of hot air. You get off on making us miserable over our grades and your class.” I take in a shaky breath, partially wondering if I should tone it down.
I catch sight of yet another whisper of a smirk on his face. Nevermind.
“You love the idea of us falling over ourselves to please you and meet whatever extraneous criteria you come up with.” I can feel my heartrate climb as I grip the armrests, my brain screaming at my mouth to shut up.
“I’m not some wide eyed twenty-year-old you can strong arm. I’m an adult, I pay my tuition, and I don’t deserve disrespect, Sir.” I hoist myself up out of the chair, spitting the last word at him in spite as I throw my crumpled essay in the center of his desk.
Before I have the chance to take a single step, to fully process what I’d just said, and the absolute can of worms I’ve opened for myself, he speaks. A single command.
“Sit down.”
White noise. That is all that is left in my brain as his demand takes every other thought from my grasp. I stay frozen, my eyes coming back to him.
Dr. Peña stands, slowly, leisurely. He looks down, rolling the sleeves of his button up over his elbows as he walks around his desk toward me.
I’m locked in place, like someone has flipped a massive switch in my head, and I no longer remember that I should be fleeing.
He is going to get me kicked out of school.
He walks up to me, and I drop my gaze, focusing on his shoes as they step between my own. The fabric of his pants as it brushes against my bare legs. The way my heart catches as he crowds me back toward the chair.
“Sit. Down.” He says again. His voice low, calm, decadent. The back of my knees hit the edge of the chair, and then I’m seated, my eyes drifting to stare up at him.
In that moment I’m dumbstruck by how attracted to him I am. Most days I overlook it, but this moment feels like the first day of class all over again. Before I was faced with the reality of his personality.
I’d taken a chair in the front row; I liked being close to the slides when taking notes. I usually only ever moved once I made friends to sit with and if they wanted somewhere else. So, imagine the thrill that had danced up my spine when he came walking in, so close to me at the front of class.
He was so pretty.
Wavy, soft looking, brown locks, which seemed so out of place with his strict appearance otherwise. Thin wire framed glasses perched on his nose, golden skin peeking out at the edge of his shirt. I was like a starving Victorian man on about ankles. So pretty had been on loop in my head. For the first time I’d thought about just observing in class, observing him.
Then he’d berated me later that very day for not having a physical copy of a book- despite having the ebook in front of me on my laptop. Already partially annotated. I’d worked ahead, and he still found a reason to push my buttons. I’d soured quickly towards him after that. Even then, he was so pretty.
And the little creases surrounding the edges of his eyes? It was a characteristic that had frustrated me to no end. Kept me up at night, though I’d take that to my grave, trying to figure out how someone so predisposed to glaring could have so many smile lines.
Where was he hiding those smiles, who was lucky enough to witness them, and why did I want to claw their eyes out? The only lines I ever seemed to draw out of him was the crease between his eyebrows as he frowned at me.
I couldn’t even fault him for a stale professor fashion sense. He would wear these perfectly tailored slacks, a varying shade of long sleeve button up, and always a black tie. I remember the one day he had skipped the tie. It was over a hundred and ten degrees out, and I had been so excited to cool off in the AC. But that never happened that day.
I’d been unable to tear my eyes from the hollow of his throat. He’d left the top buttons on his shirt undone too. His Adam’s apple and the little divot between his collarbones held my attention all of class. I’d googled it later because I couldn’t shake it. The suprasternal notch it was called.
I don’t think I participated at all that day, completely gone with how badly I’d wanted to run my tongue along the column of his throat. How badly I wanted to bite the cord of muscle there. As we departed class, he was talking to an observing faculty about how quiet class had been that day. I didn’t miss the way he looked over their shoulder at me.
I was always at war with myself about how physically attracted to him I was, because despite how beautiful he was, we’d never not been in some form of fight.
But all the bickering and barbed remarks mattered very little in this moment. Because staring up at him from the chair, once again I could only think one thing. So pretty.
My eyes dropped to his mouth as he leaned down toward me. I pushed back further into the chair, my head tipped up, my throat exposed. I watched his lips move as I tried to focus on his words to keep me grounded.
“Let’s start from the top, shall we?” His hands came to rest on the arms of the chair, boxing me in completely. I could do nothing but crane my neck back as I tried to disappear into the chair. I was arched under him trying to keep space between us. My heart hammered against my chest.
“Dr. Peña, I-“
“Stop talking.” He pulled back, meeting my gaze as if I hadn’t heard him. I squirmed, wanting badly to snap back at him, but hesitating at the astronomical hole I’d already dug myself into. His eyes dropped to my mouth, waiting.
Then, just at the edge, a small curve of his lip. Another smirk. I almost missed it.
“You want to talk back, don’t you, sweet thing?” His hand lifted to my mouth then, and my lips parted infinitesimally in shock. “It’s just eating you up not being a brat.”
My brain felt like it had been removed and put in a jar of mud, trying desperately to rationalize what I was hearing with reality. There was no way he had just said that.
No way he was pushing his thumb up against my lower lip, testing the give of the flesh there.
It started at the base of my spine, a little twinge, a pull of heat as he continued to loom over me.
He let go of my lower lip, and leaned back once again, settling on the edge of his desk. His hands came down and gripped the edge of the dark wood. As I tried to regulate my suddenly erratic breathing, I found myself watching his arms flex as he shifted his weight against the desk.
I couldn’t meet his gaze yet, but I was able to straighten my back and return to sitting like a normal person.
“In fact, I do know about your academic past. I’ve heard little else in the last few weeks.” My eyes shot up to his, a frown finding its way to my face as confusion cut through my mental stupor.
“Why would you-“ His eyebrow rose, and caused by some newly rewired part of my brain, I closed my mouth.
“That isn’t important. What I’m focused on is your assessment of me. What was your assumption? ‘Worship the ground you walk on?’” His eyes roamed over my face, dipping to my chest, then lower to my knees.
“Darling, I’d give quite a lot to have you worship any part of me, but certainly not the ground. Although,” He hums low in his throat, as if considering something.
“On occasion, I wouldn’t mind seeing you crawling toward me. Sat at my feet. Using that pretty, filthy, little mouth to do just that. Worship.”
I took a small breath, finding it hard to swallow as his words warmed my skin. As heat flushed down my neck and spine. He didn’t just say that.
“Now, the second insult.” His voice dipped low, and he shifted forward again from his desk. I didn’t move. I couldn’t move.
He stood over me, his chin nearly touching his chest as he tilted his head down to stare at me. His hand came up to my chin, pinching it and tilting it up. If he moved closer, my throat would be pressed flush to his stomach. I strained a little at the angle he held my jaw, all so I was meeting his eyes.
His hand moved from my chin, with his other joining it as he cupped my jaw on both sides. My lips parted again, and I felt his thumbs dip in toward the corners. His touch was firm, thumbs tracing in along my lower lip to meet at the middle, before pulling it open. His fingers were rough, warm, and his hands felt so large fanned out against my cheeks.
“If you want to drink from me, just ask.” His voice was firm yet little more than a whisper. A secret I wasn’t meant to hear.
My breath was becoming more ragged, a heavy weight in the center of my chest. A pressure that was urging me to bend into him, to curl up against him and just, feel him. A craving.
“Finally, I get off on many things. Things I’d love to show you.” His hands didn’t leave my jaw, but his thumbs left my lower lip. My mouth didn’t close, shallow breaths slipping past my lips. “None of which include your grade.”
He broke our stare, his eyes dropping to my lips, “And if that smart mouth of yours calls me Sir one more time, I won’t be held entirely responsible for what happens after. My patience is thin when it comes to you.”
He moved back then, blissfully giving me space and taking away some of the pressure in my body. Breath returned to me, my throat didn’t hurt as I lowered my chin, and I wasn’t so overwhelmed by him. Lastly, taking much longer than I’d like to own up to, my brain makes a reappearance.
My heart, and my baser instincts, were dead set on pulling him back against me. In fact, I had to ball my hands at my side not to grip the edge of his shirt as he stepped further away. But, my brain was fighting a losing battle, and what it needed was my temper. Which, in typical Dr. Peña fashion, he easily stoked.
“Now, as much as I have been at war with myself over it, I’ve decided to offer you what you want. But I will not be changing your grade.” He looked pointedly at me before continuing. After all he’d just said, he could only mean one thing.
“You think I want to fuck you?” I ask, astounded. He was right, gods he was right, but that was something meant to be unvoiced. Unacted on. And certainly not something my pride would allow him to assume about me.
“I know you do.” He said watching me. My jaw dropped, my eyebrows shooting up, indignant even as my stomach bottomed out at his words.
“You show up to class barely dressed half the time,” His eyes drop again, and his hand gestures to the length of me. “Take today for example. Skin on display, tits out, and the way you sprawl out like you don’t care who sees.” He lets out a sigh, somewhere between mocking and frustrated, as his eyes fix just below my breasts.
“And the way that shirt clings to you, the sweat visible.” His eyes come back to mine and for the first time I note the desire in them. As if I’m affecting him as much as he is me. “I just want to bury my face into them. Bury myself in you.”
His eyes drop to my mouth at the involuntary sharp inhale that sneaks by. When his eyes return to mine, I know he’s registered the way his words are wreaking havoc. Shit, shit, shit…
“I know it’s all for me. The little insults you whisper to your classmates. Sitting in the front. And the staring.” Oh god when did he get so close again? When did he start back toward me? “I feel you watching me during lecture.”
I stand quickly, trying not to let him trap me in the chair again, trying not to let him strip me of my irritation. Since when did degradation do it for me? Was it just because it was him?
If he gets too close my brain becomes useless. He watches me, and I see a flash of amusement as I angle the chair between us. He is so infuriatingly unbothered.
“I do not do any of this for you.” I spit at him, and it sounds like a damn lie even to my ears.
“No?” He questions, moving around the chair, toward me. I take a few steps back, but try and hold my ground, at war with being a coward or risking exposure to whatever power he has within a foot of me.
“No.” I say firmly, as he closes the distance between us. His hand catches my shoulder, the other wrapping up and tucking into my hair.
“No.” He’s mocking me. I focus on his throat as I try and pull my head free from his hold. He smells good.
My eyes slip closed; just for a second, and my chest feels heavy once again. I can feel the heat off his body, his fingers scratching gently against my scalp. It’s as if he’s trying to calm me, holding firm and yet so, so gentle.
“Did you think I didn’t see you that day in class?” He whispers, his breath warm against my ear as a shiver runs down my spine.
My eyes snap open as I suck in a breath, before it sticks in my throat, never coming back out. Oh no.
He moves in closer, the scruff of his facial hair against the shell of my ear, his chest pressing against mine, the brush of fabric against my exposed arms.
His head tilts, lips brushing over the top of my ear, working the edge in to his teeth. My breath restarts then, tumbling back out of me in a little gasp, as I feel the tip of his tongue between the hold of his teeth. One soft experimental pass before he pulls back again.
“You thought I couldn’t see you touching yourself?” He whispers into my ear, and goosebumps speckle my arms. “My little voyeur.”
“I wondered why you’d sat in the corner that day. You’re so unpredictable, I assumed you were going to text during the movie. I wanted to make an example of you in front of the class.” Another brush of his lips over my ear as he continues to taunt me.
“I wanted the pleasure of watching you get frustrated whenever I point out what a misbehaving brat you are.” My eyes close again. I’m not sure I can keep them open anymore. Embarrassment and shame were powerful inhibitors.
“The lights came down and at first you were so well behaved. Nothing at all seemed out of place as I sat at the podium. But see, I made sure I could see exactly what you were doing that day. I like watching you.”
He groans against my ear, suddenly, and the contrast to his hushed whisper causes me to arch against him. I clench at nothing as the sound goes straight to my core.
I was painfully turned on, just as I had been that day in class. He was right. I’d not been watching the film at all. I’d been watching him. Thinking about him. Wanting him.
“And I was able to see everything.” His breath was so hot against my ear. “I was able to see as you pushed your hand under your waistband. As you draped your jacket off the edge of your desk so no one could see.” Another groan. “But I could see, you didn’t block the front of your desk at all.”
My hand shoots forward gripping at his bicep, trying to steady myself in his hold. He’s so firm and unyielding and I feel I might just turn into a puddle.
“But it was all for me anyway, wasn’t it, sweet girl?” He whispers against my ear once more, and I choke down a whine.
The smug tone of his voice cuts through some of the haze, my shame and pride mixing in a vindictive way, and my brain seizing the sensation in a last-ditch attempt to not cave.
My hands come to the center of his chest, and I push, hard enough to get his attention, but not to knock him over. Though, I wondered even at my ability to do that in this state, what with the slight tremble in my hands.
I scramble past him, grabbing up my bag, and trying to go around the chair for the door. I’m most of the way there when I can no longer hold my tongue. I grasp on to the first name I can conjure, the guy who typically sat behind me in Dr. Peña’s class.
“Actually, I was thinking about James, Sir.” The quip jumps out of me, a lie of self-preservation, as my hand grips the door handle.
Only it doesn’t budge, rattling a little as I try to turn it. Oh my god… He did lock it.
I only hear a single soft chuckle in response as I try to look down and flip the lock. His hand falls square between my shoulder blades, pushing me flat into the door. My bag drops from my grasp as my arms go slack at my sides.
The hand he used to push me ghosts up my spine, settling in my hair at the back of my neck. His fingers curl in, twisting hair around them as they press into my throat. I immediately tip my head back into the hold, my hands coming up to press against the door.
He replaces the force of his arm with his upper body, pressing me tight between him and the door. The pressure making it difficult to take a full breath, even having to turn my head quickly to the side to not smash my nose into the frosted glass window of the door.
With my cheek pressed to the window, and my senses completely and totally focused on him again, I feel the fight leave me. I don’t know what this is, what comes next, but, I want it.
I want him.
“I warned you.” He whispers into my ear.
His hips rock forward into my ass, truly the only space that had been left between us at that point. My own hips roll with the movement against the door, but there is no room for me. As he does it again, I can’t help the soft whine at the pressure.
He pauses, the arm not gripping my throat wrapping around me and pulling me from the door, turning me to face. He pushes me back, trapping me again, my eyes closing somewhere in the middle. And I wait.
At first, nothing. I don’t feel his hands move, I don’t feel him move, at least not past the press of his chest into me as he breathes. Both of us are breathing hard, too hard. And so I wait.
“I’m going to touch you now.” He says, his voice rough with desire. Still, I wait. And then, the ghost of his hands against my face again, palms taking up residence on my cheeks.
“I’m going to kiss you now.” He whispers.
“Please.” I whisper back, dragging my eyes open and back to his. Instantly I know there’s no stopping this. At least not on my end. The arousal eating at me spreads fast and low, and my whole body aches with it.
Because he is smiling down at me.
I find myself catching all the smile lines and trying to lock them in my memory. Oh god I’m going to be chasing that smile forever.
His eyes drop then to my mouth, his smile sliding away, and the same raw arousal making it so hard for me to think washes over his own features.
He leans in, and because I’d been so focused on his smile, I note the way he leads with his lower lip. I feel it lift up under mine, the pressure firm despite the give of our lips against one another.
Strength, stability, a promise of more to come. I study him for a split second more, hazily recognizing his own eyes remained open, before mine slid shut and I handed over control.
I push off the door against him, into his arms, my hands coming up into the nape of his hair. As soft as I’d imagined. His arms wind down around my lower back, lifting me just slightly from the ground as he crushes me to him. The kiss deepens, lips pulling and brushing against each other, breath mingling.
He starts to back away from the door, towards his desk, and I follow. He guides me easily, hardly pulling away until we reach the desk. When he releases me, I nearly complain, but all too quickly he’s directing me in front of the large desk chair. His hands come back to my jaw, pulling my lips back to his.
His left hand leaves my face, pushing up the front of my tank top, rough as his fingers shove past the cup of my bra to the swell of my breast. I gasp, and he takes the opportunity of my open mouth, licking into it in a strong upward scoop of his tongue. I can do little else but tip my mouth open for him so he will do it again.
His right hand lowers down my neck, less abrasive than his left, his thumb gripping over my pulse point. Fingers spread wide as he holds my throat secure, not painful, not pressing in. Yet.
My brain weakly reprimands that he is manhandling us, and I feel the urge to push back. My own hands work their way down the front of his chest, over his hips. My left palm rocks down over the front of his pants.
I only get a sense of his erection before his hand pulls free of my shirt and pulls mine from his crotch. I feel a rumble in his chest, a reprimanding hum as he pulls back from kissing me.
“Eager little thing.” He murmurs, and I smirk up at him. His fingers flex slightly over my throat, still no real hold, and I see the question in his eyes.
My hand comes up over his, and I tilt my head back, neck exposed for him as I squeeze over his fingers. My lips part, my lower lip pulling in between my teeth. His eyes follow the movement, and I don’t have to press on his fingers anymore as his grip tightens. Only along the outer sides of my throat, not in.
“You really do like when I look up at you.” I say, and his face grows serious.
“Open your mouth.” He commands.
“And if I don’t?” I shoot back.
“Open.” That small line between his brows comes forward, a frown I’ve seen him make toward me countless times in class. Clarity washes over me. All those frowns of his I’d drawn out were him turned on.
I open my mouth slowly, sticking my tongue out. His hand flexes again around my neck, once, twice, as his lips part. His mouth opens further then, and a long line of spit pools from his lip into my waiting mouth.
He runs hotter than me, the warmth in my mouth surprising, and bitter like coffee, with a hint of sweetness. I couldn’t help the smile as I closed my mouth obediently and swallowed.
“Do you drink caramel lattes?” I laugh, and his grip on my throat releases instantly, hand going to my shoulder, pushing me down into the chair. I knew immediately that I had guessed right.
“You do.” The giggles bubble up now. “God you’re so mean, I would have thought you only drank like, an americano or- or-“ My laughter ebbed as he reached down and lifted my tank top up and off, silencing me. As soon as my face came free however, I was still smirking at him.
He shakes his head, and there is was, a little ghost of that earlier smile. I eagerly cataloged yet another way I’d pulled it out of him but became distracted when he pulled his glasses from his face, folding them and setting them down on his desk. I tried not to pout as he turned back toward me, quickly schooling my features.
“I can still see you.” He said, and I watched in mute fascination as he knelt in front of me. Stupid omniscient man.
His hands ghosted down to my ankles, removing my left shoe, then my right. His fingertips traced the joint of my ankle, before dragging up the outside of both of my calves. Hands wrapped around the back of my knees, pulling my legs apart.
He pushed in between them, and I found myself wrapping them around his waist. I hooked my ankles together, impatient, and hauled him in flush against me by flexing. There was a second as he resettled, earning me a low chuckle. I liked that too.
“Greedy.” He scolded, but seemed unfazed by my actions now, opting instead to lift his hands to my bra. I shifted back slightly, feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze. He kneaded my chest, before leaning forward and burying his face between my breasts. I inhaled, a soft little sound in answer to his groan, my hands once again finding his hair.
He nuzzled against me, and I watched, fascinated as he turned his head, trailing his nose around the inner swell of my breast.
“You smell so good.” He mumbled, and I felt the heat between my legs so strongly that I couldn’t help flexing my legs again. Trying to put pressure between them, hoping to ease even a fraction of the ache by pressing him against me.
I think he sensed my distress, distracting me by sucking the left swell of my breast into his mouth. He suckled gently, laving it with his tongue, before biting down.
The dull pain surprised me, and I pushed closer into his mouth, clutching him to my chest. He held for a second, before turning and giving the same attention to the other. He was harder the second time, and I couldn’t help the groan in the back of my throat.
His head lifted, and he undid my bra, dropping it to the floor with my shirt. His thumb came up, rubbing over the span of my breast in short circles, before working to pebble the nipple. They were already alert from his attention, but he seemed insistent they be swollen. He watched, and once satisfied with his work, dipped forward to take one into his mouth.
He led with his lower lip again.
My head tipped back, and I let out a sigh as he rolled the nipple gently against his teeth with his tongue. He went back and forth for a few minutes, paying such frustratingly thorough attention to each. When he pulled back, there was a line of spit to his mouth, and they both looked too red, painfully hard.
He started to unbutton my pants, but I grabbed his hands.
“You’re too dressed.” I heard the whine, perhaps even partially regretted it, but there was no disguising the need now.
He studied me, and once again a hand came to cup my jaw. Was it affectionate? Meant to be placating? I couldn’t decide.
His hands left my pants, and he leaned back, but not far, because I didn’t unhook my legs. I noticed once again that it brought a smile to his lips. I was getting better at testing which lines he liked crossed, and which ones brought me closer to reward.
He started on the knot of his tie, hooking a finger through to tug it side to side, and as I watched, impatience ate through me. He was going too slow. I leaned forward, my fingers finding the buttons of his shirt under the tie, undoing them myself before he’d finished loosening the knot.
His hands stilled as I basically ripped down his shirt in my haste. Once the buttons were undone, I hooked my hands under his waistband, pulling the tucked in shirt free. I couldn’t help but stare, my own hands finally slowing as I drank him in.
Golden skin, beautiful golden skin as far as the eye could see. And a dusting of dark hair just below his navel, that got thicker the closer to his waistband my eyes traveled. I looked back to his face, not sure if I was seeking permission, or if I just wanted him to see how badly I wanted him. He finished loosening the tie then, pulling it over his head.
“You look downright hungry little girl.” He murmured, eyes flicking between my own.
“Such a pretty little slut. Go on.” His voice was so condescending, but the way he coaxed me on. I think loved it.
I leaned forward, licking with the flat of my tongue in a long line up the center of his chest. His skin was salty, and warm against my mouth, and I could smell the sweat that had dried on his skin. I knew he wasn’t impervious to the heat, even if he was so frigid.
My senses flooded with him as I homed in on that fucking notch at the base of his throat that had plagued me. Pressing a soft kiss just to the side of it, I admired his neck up close. I kissed up the side, eventually unable to resist small nips at the column of his throat.
When I reached just below his jaw, I found myself sucking at the spot. His hand wrapped up against the back of my head, tugging on my hair as he groaned against me. So he likes a little pain then.
A jolt ran up my spine at how much I liked that, before biting down harder against the bruising spot. His hand pulled against my hair as he tried to break my grip, and I felt his nails dig just slightly into my scalp. The grip on my hair eventually won out, and I released him.
His eyes met mine, his other hand coming up to his throat to check if I’d broken skin.
“Little devil.” And there it was, his full smile.
I went to putty in his arms as he leaned down and kissed me again. Little sighs began to tumble from my mouth into his as I rolled my hips against the chair, seeking friction.
His hands unbuttoned my shorts, and I angled my hips up so he could tug them under me. My underwear got caught in the process and went with it towards him. I reluctantly unwrapped my legs, so he could take them all the way off. He paused then, eyes running down me as I sat naked in his chair.
I tried closing my legs under his renewed scrutiny. I wondered at his preferences. If he liked what he saw. If he was hesitating. He said nothing as his hand reached down, cupping over me, his eyes coming instead to watch my face as I pushed against his hand. Against his fingers.
His middle and ring finger curved inwards, firm pressure just against my outer lips, and I squeezed my legs instinctively around his hand. My head tipped forward, landing on his shoulder as he maneuvered his ring finger between, seeking out my entrance. As it dipped in, I clenched slightly, another gasp leaving my mouth to meet his answering grunt.
“If I had known you were this fucking slick that day in class, I would have helped you right then and there. In front of all my students.” His ring finger pushed deeper in as he pressed his whole hand closer, his middle finger sinking in to meet the other. He began to flex them apart, creating space, and I jerked against him.
His palm rubbed against me as he began pumping in and out slowly, the glide of his fingers intoxicating.
“Oh.” I breathed, trying to catch my breath.
He gave me no time though, his thumb shifting up, rubbing circles against my clit. Just enough to make the pressure and sensation more intense.
I angled my hips out towards him, seeking more. I rocked against his motions, and sensed him nuzzling into my hair, before he pressed a soft kiss to my temple. I had to swallow down a moan at the tenderness of it.
He leaned back and I found myself looking at him through hooded eyes, my gaze traveling over his face and down.
His erection was noticeable against his pants now, firm and pressed toward the left pant leg. I reached out, running my hand over it, wanting him to feel as good as I was. He let out a hum, rocking once against my hand. Then he pulled back, so he was out of reach. I started to protest, but then he also pulled his hand from inside me.
“Wait- please,” my words were little more than whispered desperation.
“I only want you to take what I give you right now sweet girl. Focus on my hand.” His voice was commanding, the same fucking tone he used during discussion. I nodded, keeping his gaze. His fingers returned, running up and down my slit, before sinking back in.
“Good girl.”
My hips jerked up at his praise, and the first full-fledged moan left my lips. I watched in real time as that beautiful smile spilled across his face.
“So that’s it.” His head tipped down forehead pressing against mine. Our noses brushed and I thought he might kiss me again, but then he redirected. His fingers were moving faster, and his thumb had taken up a steady swiping motion against my clit. I was sickeningly close.
“You want to be praised.” I clenched against his hand, fluttering as I barreled towards an orgasm. He leaned back once more, watching me. My head tucked down, chin against my chest as I felt the rush of my orgasm.
“Come for me. Be a good little girl and come for me. Let me see you fall apart.” Unable to do anything but blindly obey, I looked up at him. Our eyes met and I felt the last little give as his thumb pressed down just right, and his fingers curled up just so. His words would have been enough, surely, but with the way he watched me it practically burned.
Everything locked down inside me, but my hips lifted up, off the chair, and my mouth fell open, a soft keen coming from my throat.
“Oh god, oh god, oh-,” I rocked against him, chasing every little aftershock. He murmured my name over and over, praise after each utterance. He was so giving. It was so uncharacteristic of him.
As I finally came down, and was able to focus on him again, he pulled his fingers from me. He brought them to his mouth, tongue tracing between them as he pulled the strands into his mouth.
He leaned forward and brought me in for a kiss, his fingers damp against my cheek. I pulled back after a second, curious about his release after having just experienced mine.
“Can I taste you?” I asked, softly.
He didn’t respond but pulled back and stood up. He moved so quickly I wondered if I’d broken his patience. His haste made it seem like it was wearing thin.
My hands came up over his own as he started to unbutton his slacks. His right hand dipped below the waistband, hooking under, and lifting himself and his balls up over the band of his underwear.
The way a throb ran through me made it seem like I wasn’t currently recovering from an orgasm.
He was thick, heavy from tip to base. His skin was a shade lighter than his stomach, but still tan, and the flush of him at the tip was a beautiful rose color. His hand stroked down and back up, knuckles rocking under his frenulum.
He was uncircumcised, which gave me a very particular thrill. I licked my lips as spit pooled under my tongue. I heard him start to say something, but I couldn’t focus on that.
I leaned forward, taking him into my mouth, a hissed inhale interrupting whatever he’d been saying. The moan that I pulled from him next as I dipped my tongue under his foreskin was the hottest thing I’d ever heard.
He swelled full in my mouth, and I began to suck gently. Working slowly my hand down the length of him, and back up, gathering the spit as I pushed him toward the back of my throat. Using it to ease some of the friction as I started to stroke him faster.
The taste of him was something I knew I’d crave from then on, and as I looked up at him, my stomach bottomed out. He was looking down at me, that frown tight across his features. A hand came up to push into my hair, and he looked like he was in pain as he started to rock into my throat.
My jaw ached, and my eyes were starting to water. He pushed past the barrier of my hand, and my throat flexed against the intrusion. He released my hair, hands going to his waistband.
My hands dropped to his bare thighs as he pulled his pants down. His thighs flexed against my hands as he canted forward faster. I wondered what it would feel like to ride his thigh, but then he derailed my thoughts.
His hands sunk back into my hair, and he pushed all the way into my throat. A gag raced up and I pulled back to let air in, spit rolling out of my mouth around him, and down my chin.
I glared up at him, but it felt half assed as I looked at the shit eating grin he had.
“I want to hear that again.” He said, and I narrowed my eyes, as he pushed against the back of my head, encouraging. I opened my mouth again, and he crowded into my throat once more. I felt my face scrunch as I gagged, and he groaned.
“That’s my girl.” He mumbled, another groan as he stroked the side of my face. My eyes watered even more the second time; my gasps short when he finally pulled free with a pop.
“Come here.” He said, voice rough as he pulled me up, and manhandled me around and down against his desk. I felt his cock rest in the curve of my ass, slick from my spit, cold as it dried against our skin.
He hesitated, and I wouldn’t be able to place why until later, but then he was hauling me back against him.
His hands roamed down my front as his cock was pressed between my ass and his stomach. He gathered me to him, like a hug, whispering against my ear about another time.
“Will you please fuck me.” I was begging. I knew I was begging. I needed it. Needed him. And I couldn’t stand the thought of waiting any longer.
He cursed once, turning me around and lifting my ass up to the edge of his desk. I looked down as he lined himself up, watching intently as he started to push in. The resistance as he entered was delicious, but then there was a slight catch.
My eyes came up to his as he shifted just slightly, and then there was no more give, and he sank deep as he found the right angle.
We both exhaled, soft little gasps at the feeling of him seating deep. I fluttered against the intrusion, pressure everywhere. He cupped the back of my neck as I flexed back from him.
“Look,” he prompted, and I sluggishly tilted my head back up, “look how beautiful you look taking all of me.”
My eyes dipped down to where we connected, watching as he began to pull back, wetness reflecting off his skin. I moaned, the head of him catching against me, and then he sunk back in.
He started with slow rolls, like he was trying to get used to the feel of us together, and with each one I lost more of my senses. Eventually I was moaning with every movement, my hips chasing his on each retreat.
“Faster.” I demanded.
“Such a good girl. So good when she’s all fucked out.” His pace started up faster, and I gripped on to his forearms braced next to me on the desk, our bodies hot and slick with sweat.
He adjusted his angle, grabbing my hips and bringing me closer to the edge of the desk. I couldn’t stay upright anymore as this new angle allowed him to bottom out even faster, and I was nearing my limit.
I tipped back, sprawling flat on my back as he pulled out once more. But when he pushed back in I nearly launched off the table with the way I shot back up. The angle he hit was up against something sinful inside me, drawing out a sensation that I could barely stand.
He noticed immediately, a hand coming securely down against my chest, flattening me back out. The sounds that he started to rip out of me on each thrust after must have spurred him on. Blood was rushing in my ears, and I belatedly wondered if I was being too loud.
He was on a mission now, and I could do little but let him rut into me. It felt like nothing else had, and then a small spasm caught my fleeting attention.
“Wait, wait- I-” A sharp moan came out of me, slightly panicked as I tried again to sit up, “I think I’m going to pee- wait!”
But he did no such thing, instead just leveling into that spot over and over. And then I was coming, hot and wet against him. He slowed just slightly, watching, and feeling as I clenched around him, practically thrashing around on his desk. He stilled as I ground against him, riding out the last of the orgasm.
As I regained my own senses, I wondered with diffused horror if I had actually peed on him. When I glanced down, there was moisture, but it didn’t seem excessive. I think I’d been able to avoid it because I’d been so caught off guard by the sensation.
I looked up, fighting the embarrassment I knew was on my face, but he was smiling down at me. He dropped forward, kissing me roughly, tongue having its way as I slowly tried to recoup.
“We are going to explore that later.” He murmured against my mouth before pulling back.
“Explore wha-“ My question was cut off as he began to move again. Hard, fast, short thrusts up and in. I’d never considered if I would enjoy overstimulation, but this delicious feeling had me thinking I liked it.
“Beautiful, terrible, sweet,” Thrusts punctuating his words, before cutting off into a deep moan as his hips stuttered slightly. “girl.”
He kept up his punishing pace, in his own world now. I sat up again, running my hands up his back, dragging my nails against his skin. I could see the dark mark under his jaw, bruised. I clenched hard around him thinking about my mark visible for others to see. His hips stuttered again at that.
“I’m going to paint your thighs my pretty girl.” He pants against my throat, head tipping into the curve of my neck. I took the edge of his ear into my mouth, before pulling back and whispering against it.
“I’d rather you come,” I paused clenching tight against him as he pushed deep, and locking my ankles back around his ass, “right where you are.”
I think it surprised him how quickly he succumbed to that idea. He rocked into me once, twice more, before pulling back and locking his hand back around my throat. My eyes easily found his, and the look there caused my own arousal to pull up hot and fast. I did that.
I felt the pulse deep in me, and then the warmth as he pooled into me. I smiled at him, and he kissed me again, nipping my lower lip.
He pulled back, breaking the lock of my legs behind him, and I protested, wanting him to just stay inside me. But then he settled back into his chair, eyes hungry as he watched my fluttering hole.
Then, I realized what he was waiting for. I propped my legs up on the edge of the desk, and felt the warmth begin to seep out of me. Felt him begin to drip to the floor.
“Fuck.” He muttered, watching for a second, before leaning forward and tucking a finger through the mess, pushing it back up into me.
“Next time, you’ll have to clean up your mess.” I murmured, and he shook his head, standing and coming toward me, leaning down to give me another kiss. This one felt… Different though. Too soft, too slow, too… Much.
“You are going to ruin my life.” He said, leaning back. Again, his hand cupped my jaw. My heart seized up, and the little romantic hindbrain whispered to me that it wasn’t placating, it was affectionate.
I didn’t feel like correcting myself.
I liked verbally sparring with him, sure, but I loved hearing sweet nothings from his cruel mouth all the more.