“I’m going to fuck you now,” he tells me.
“Yes.”
And then he’s lifting my hips, positioning himself inside of me. It’s intimate in this position. Where
we can both see everything. Feel each other’s breath and skin pressed so close.
He drops my hips and meets my resistance.
There is a flash of confusion in his eyes, and then the question in his mind.
I don’t allow him time to ruminate. I grab hold of his shoulders and push myself all the way down,
taking him fully inside of me on a gasp.
“Chloe?”
“I wouldn’t have wanted it to be anyone else,” I whisper.
And then my lips find his throat and I kiss him, taking away his doubts and destroying any morals
he thinks he might still retain in this moment.
They disappear easily, under my ministrations. And soon he’s guiding me. Teaching me. The way
he does best. With his hands.
With his brilliance.
Fucking me so intimately, so close. His hands are on me everywhere. Gliding up my back and
down my ribcage. Tangling in my hair to pull my head back and expose my throat to him.
It’s slow at first. Rhythmic.
But when he makes me come, I can feel him coming undone too. Getting closer. The tension
blooming in his body. The need to fuck. The need to fuck hard.
“Do it,” I tell him. “Take me. Make me yours, Mr. Vaughn.”
He growls and flips me onto my back, his hips fitting between mine as his biceps stretch and
contract above me. Thrust after powerful thrust, and he tilts his head back on a groan. Coming inside
of me.
It shocks both of us. But it also gives me a secret thrill. Playing with fire. I already knew he was
going to burn me.
“Shit,” he grunts. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I wasn’t thinking.”
My only answer is to touch his face beneath my fingers. Marking him with the residual paint in
hopes of transferring my gratitude. For allowing himself to break free from the confines of our
student-teacher relationship. To share this moment with me.