He slows his pace, grinding deep instead of thrusting.The change in rhythm makes me whimper.My muscles clench around him, trying to pull him deeper.
"Please," I beg, my voice barely audible."I need to come."
His hand wraps around my throat, not squeezing, just holding, a reminder of who's in control."You come when I say you come.Not before."
I nod frantically, trying to obey despite the almost unbearable tension coiling inside me.He must see the desperation in my eyes because his expression softens slightly, though the grip on my throat remains firm.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his thumb stroking my jaw in a brief, tender gesture before his hips resume their relentless pace.
"You feel so fucking good," he groans, his control slipping."So tight around me.Like you were made for this.Made forme."
His words send another rush of wetness through me, and I feel him shudder as my body responds.His grip on my throat tightens just slightly, and the added pressure makes everything sharper, more intense.
"Now," he growls against my ear."Come for me now."
The permission shatters what's left of my control.I come apart with a strangled cry that he swallows with his mouth, my body convulsing around him as waves of pleasure crash through me.My fingers dig into his shoulders hard enough to leave marks as I ride out the intensity.
He follows me over the edge with a low groan, his hips jerking as he spills inside me.For a moment we stay frozen like that, breathing hard, hearts racing against each other's chests.
"You're mine," he growls against my neck.
"Yes," I pant."Yours.Always."
When our breathing finally slows, he pulls back to look at me.His hair is disheveled from my fingers, his tie hanging loose around his neck.There's something vulnerable in his expression that makes my chest tighten.
"We can't keep doing this," he says softly, but his hands are still gentle on my skin as he helps me sit up properly.
"I know," I whisper, though the words taste like a lie.I can't imagine not having this, not having him."But I can't stay away."
He reaches for tissues from his desk drawer, cleaning us both with a careful tenderness that makes my heart ache.When he's done, he helps me straighten my skirt, his fingers lingering on the fabric.
"Your next class starts in twenty minutes," I say, glancing at the clock on his wall.Reality is creeping back in, cold and unwelcome.
He sighs, pressing his forehead to mine."And you have Modern Literature in thirty."
"I can skip."The words tumble out before I can stop them.My body still hums with aftershocks, and the thought of sitting through another class feels impossible.
"No," he says firmly, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear."You're not skipping class for me.Not ever."
I roll my eyes but smile.Even in this, he's still the professor."Fine."
We separate reluctantly, and I watch as he tucks himself away and refastens his pants.His movements are methodical as he retrieves his belt from the floor, threading it through the loops with practiced ease.I slide off the desk on shaky legs, smoothing my skirt and checking for any obvious signs of what we've just done, and fixing my hair.
He picks up the papers and books he swept off the desk, stacking them neatly with a rueful shake of his head."I'll have to reorganize these later."
My cheeks flush hot."Sorry about that."
"Worth it," he says with a half-smile that makes my heart flip.Then his expression grows serious."But, Skye, we need to be more careful."
I know he's right.What we're doing could cost him his job and more.But when I'm near him, rational thought scatters like leaves in a storm.
"Yes, I know," I say, retrieving my bag from where it fell."It's just...when I see you teaching, when you get that passionate look in your eyes…"
"Like the one I get when I'm looking at you?"he interrupts, his voice low.
My breath catches."Yes.Exactly like that."
He steps closer, backing me against the desk again.For a moment I think he's going to kiss me, but instead, he studies my face with an intensity that makes me feel exposed.