Melody stays on her knees, perfectly proper and dirty as hell all at once. My mind is a haze as I push my cock back into my pants, even as I know that I shouldn’t do anything else right now, just leave.
But I can’t resist her. I want to see her cheeks flush with pleasure and I want to hear her beg me to take her. And I want to make her pay for coming into my office earlier and making me so fucking hard like this.
“Pull your skirt up and get on the desk,” I say.
She hikes her skirt up until it’s around her hips, her eyes big and innocent and sinful all at once as she reveals the top of her stockings and the thin straps of the garters, my cock already twitching again.
She can’t be that innocent if she’s wearing a garter belt, I think as she sits her bare ass on the desk, her knees still primly together.
“Spread your legs,” I order her. Now I’m standing over her, and I lean my hands on the desk by her side, our faces only inches apart. She’s still breathing hard, but so am I, and as she opens her knees I can smell her scent.
It’s intoxicating, and suddenly, I can’t hold back any more. I have to taste her, now. I spin her and push her backwards so she’s lying on her back on the desk, and she gasps as I do, her hands gripping the scarred wooden sides.
“You wore this because you wanted me to see it,” I say, pressing my lips to one hip and sucking hard as I snap the band of the garter against her. Melody’s body tenses briefly, and her hands tighten on the desk below her.
“Yes,” she whispers, so softly I can barely hear her.
“What did you think was going to happen?” I ask, my lips moving lower, my hands raking along the soft inside of her thighs. “You’d come in, hand in your paper, and I’d fuck you over my desk right then and there?”
I slide one finger along her dripping wet seam, and I can feel her pussy spasm as I say the words. Melody inhales sharply.
“No?” she says.
I run my tongue along the juncture of her hip and thigh, and I swear she whimpers.
“That’s what you wanted to happen,” I say, and push the tip of one finger just barely inside her. She makes a tiny, soft noise that drives me absolutely wild. “You want me to fuck you, Melody. I know what you’re dripping wet for right now.”
I slide the tip of another finger inside her, just to tease her. She’s rigid with anticipation, and I ease my fingers into her sweet wet cunt slowly. God, she’s tight, everything about her right now is utterly perfect.
“And I’m not going to give it to you,” I say. She swallows hard. “Because you don’t get to decide what happens when, Melody. Not with me.”
With that I slide my tongue down the cleft between her lips and dance it lightly over her clit. Her whole body jerks, her legs over my shoulders tightening. Melody’s so tightly wound that I can tell she’d come almost instantly if I let her, but I’m not about to do that.
Instead I tease her. I crook my fingers in her cunt slowly, rubbing the delicate, sensitive spots on her front wall but not enough to make her come. I flick my tongue back and forth over her clit lightly, just enough to drive her wild.
It’s a little evil of me, but I don’t care. I want her horny out of her mind, completely desperate for me and the things I can do to her, and I know exactly how to get her there.
I tease Melody right up to the edge, her pussy muscles fluttering around my fingers, and I back off, her breath quickening and slowing, getting ragged and uneven. And then I do it again, and again, bringing her right to the brink before letting her down.
Finally, she sighs, her head thrashing, a noise of disappointment and frustration, and I laugh, pulling my fingers out and stroking her.
“You want me to make you come?” I ask.
She swallows, then looks down at me.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I put my fingers back in and stroke her inner walls hard. She clenches around them.
“Beg me,” I say.
“Please,” she says. “Please, Professor, let me come.”
I stroke harder, adding a third finger.
“You can do better than that,” I say.
She’s panting for breath, coming undone before my eyes.
“Please make me come, Professor,” she begs. “Lick me and finger-fuck me until I can’t take it anymore and please, God, make me come.”
I chuckle and get back to it, licking her furiously, my lips wrapping around her clit, my fingers working furiously as I taste her honey and work her toward climax as fast as I can.
“Fuck me,” she whimpers, and I push my hand further in, my cock twitching in my pants. It takes all my self-control to not pull it out again and bury it in her, right now, but I resist.
“I need you to fuck me,” she says. Her toes are curling, and her back is arching against the scarred wooden desk. “Please, Professor. Please, God, oh—”
Melody comes with a sharp gasp, then clamps one hand over her own mouth, her hips bucking and her back arching. Her pussy clamps so hard around my fingers that, for a moment, I’m afraid she’ll sprain them, and her whole body is wracked by spasm after spasm as she flushes pink.
I don’t stop until she’s done, every lick rewarded with a bodily jerk before she goes limp on the desk and she’s gasping for air, her eyes hazy and unfocused.
I stand, pulling my fingers from her, and tower over her again. She’s disheveled and undone, right here in the library, utterly perfect. I lick her juices from my fingers as I look her in the eyes, her legs still around me.
“My office, Monday,” I say. “Five p.m.”
Then I gather all my self-control, turn around, and walk away.
Just as I do, I swear a shadow disappears between the bookshelves, and for a moment my heart is in my throat. But when I get there, there’s nothing. No sign of life, no sign of motion, anything.
It’s just your imagination, I tell myself. No one saw you.
Chapter 11
Melody
For a moment, I lie on the desk in the library and wonder if I’m dreaming. It doesn’t seem real that he’d find me, eat me out, and then leave, but I feel like it was real.
Slowly, I sit up, listening to his footsteps as he walks away. The elevator doors open. There’s a ding. I stand and pull my skirt down, smoothing it against my legs. The elevator doors close.
I sit back down in the chair, nearly shaking as I open the book I was reading and start trying to study for finals, but it’s useless. All I can think about is the way he tastes, the thickness of him in my mouth, the way he lost control for me.
His tongue on my clit, his fingers inside me — and now I’m definitely not studying again, I’m thinking about the crazy, half-fantasy thing that just happened to me.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
Monday. Five p.m.
This is going to be the longest weekend of my life.
It is. Nothing but sheer panic and the stress of finals makes me study for the test I’ve got to take Monday morning, and even then, I’m not sure how well I do. I’m wet and squirming the whole time, and it’s not nothing to do with linguistics.
You can’t lower your GPA because one professor makes you wet, I tell myself. This is your life at stake here. First, you’ve got to ace college, then get into a good grad school, write a great thesis, and then you’ll be a professor yourself...
When my test is over, I barely know what to do with myself. Erica invites me to a party that night, since it’s the last day of finals, but I make up something about needing to start working on my thesis or maybe just chilling out and watching TV or something.
She gives me a weird look, but doesn’t say anything. I think I’ve been acting a little odd all week, but she hasn’t called me on it. Not yet, anyway.
At four-thirty, I’m standing outside the Classics Department, half an hour early. Even though it’s twenty-five degrees out, I’ve worn the stockings and garters again with no underwear. He seemed to like it Friday.
And, if I’m being honest, I’m a little afraid that over the weekend he’s remembered that he’s a professor, fifteen years my senior, hot as hell, and could get any girl he wants, probably — and that he doesn’t need an inexperienced, awkward undergraduate student. Maybe, my thinking goes, if I give him easy access I’ll get to at least have him once before he remembers all that.
I’m still early. I walk to the campus mail room and check my mail. Nothing besides flyers for winter break internship opportunities that don’t pay well. On the way to the department again, I wander a little, trying to buy myself time and think about anything else besides fucking Professor Sharpe.
I can’t.
Finally, it’s 4:50, so I give up and walk back. The department is on the third floor of a big brick building, and I climb the steps in near-agony. I try to go slow so I’m not sweating too much when I get to him, but I can’t help myself.
I want to run.
His office door is closed when I get there. Suddenly I’m not quite sure what to do. Should I knock? What if he’s in there with someone else? Would I be disturbing them?
Would they know?
I stand right outside for a minute, straining my ears to hear what’s happening inside, but I can’t hear anything. It doesn’t look like the light is on, either, but I could be wrong.
At last I take a deep breath, screw up my courage, and knock on the door.