"But-"
"Later," he growls. "Argue with me later." And his mouth descends again, melding with mine, hot and rough and perfect. I know there are things I'm supposed to remember, other reasons why I'm supposed to object, but they escape me. I am only this-my body ripe and raw and overexposed, pain and pleasure at once. I've wanted this too long, his hands on my skin, my body pressed against his and his mouth creating a trail down my neck.
It's right.
I've known nothing in my life with such certainty as the fact that what's happening right now is the thing I want most.
His hands move from my hips to my breasts, cradling their weight in his hands, and then he pulls one strap of my dress down, trailing slow, open-mouthed kisses over my shoulder and collarbone, almost reverently. Nipping at my skin and soothing it with his tongue. He pulls the dress down to my waist, unclasps my bra with a single hand. He cups my breasts, bringing his mouth to them in the same way, sharp and sweet at once and creating a need in me so intense that it borders on pain. I gasp and arch toward him, submitting entirely as my head falls backward against the wall.
He pulls back just enough to see my face. His eyes are such a vivid blue as he searches mine, looking there for something he desperately needs. Permission. He wants permission. As if I'd ever tell him no.
"Yes," I whisper. "Please."
"You're sure?" he asks, his voice gravelly.
And when I nod he pushes the dress over my hips and allows it to slide to the floor. His hands follow, skating over my hips, down my thighs, and I stand before him now in nothing but panties and heels.
"That fucking dress nearly did me in," he says, smoothing my skin as he kisses me again. He pushes against me, his suit against my bare skin, his erection pressed hard against my stomach, a quick pulse there as if he is desperate for friction.
He slides his index finger under the elastic of my panties. The moment he touches me, my whole body jolts. "Fuck," he hisses, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. "You're already soaked."
His finger slips back and forth, lightly, in torturous circles before it pushes inside me.
"Oh God," I whisper, my body bowing toward him. He adds a second finger and this time his groan is louder than mine.
"Jesus, Olivia," he growls. "You're going to be the end of me."
I unclasp his belt and unzip his pants, reaching down to pull him from the confines of his boxers. He is thick and heavy in my hands, hissing as my fingers wrap around him, tugging gently. "Stop," he exhales after a minute. "I'm not gonna last if you do that and there are so many things I want to do first."
He pushes my panties down and lifts me up almost simultaneously, turning to deposit me on the table beside us. He kisses me once, hard. "Lie back," he commands.
///
He drops to his knees, spreading my legs so I'm displayed before him, the slide of his fingers making me arch off the table. Suddenly, his fingers are joined by quick swipes of his tongue.
"Oh my God," I gasp. "Will … just-"
His mouth and tongue lick and brush and pull, creating tiny flames that begin there and spread all the way to my toes. I try to scoot backward, but his free hand clamps down on my thigh, holding me in place.
"I've dreamed about doing this every goddamn night for months, Olivia. So let me."
I can't even nod in agreement because suddenly everything inside me is swirling together, muddied, building so quickly that I can't tell where I am or where I'm going.
"Oh," I gasp. It's so insufficient, that word. It doesn't begin to explain to him that this is completely uncharted territory for me. That if sex were running, I'd be the girl who makes such slow progress you can barely tell she's moved at all, yet right now I'm moving at a pace that defies logic.
But instead of telling him these things, I only utter these nonsensical words, sounds that tear from my throat involuntarily. And then his fingers push unexpectedly inside of me and I explode with a cry of pleasure and surprise, arching against his mouth.
He doesn't pull back, but instead slides his hands beneath my legs and tugs me closer, buries his face to create wave after wave of something I never thought would happen in the first place.
When it finally begins to recede, when the small of my back rests on the table once more and I'm capable of speech, he finally stands, his face contorted with longing and triumphant at the same time.
"Holy shit," I breathe. I'd like to be more eloquent right now, but I've got nothing.
He leans over to kiss me and when he does I wrap my legs around his waist, bringing him against me so suddenly that he gasps in my mouth. "Olivia," he groans.
"Please," I whisper. It seems impossible for anyone to be more satisfied than I am right now, yet I still need the very thing he wants most, the thing he is so certain he shouldn't give.
He looks tortured and pulls back but I tighten around him, pressing him against me. "Don't even think about stopping right now."
He shifts his hips just enough that he is pressing right there, not inside me but mere seconds away from it. In a single pulse, he could be buried inside me. "Is this okay?" he asks, his voice tight. "Do we need … "
"No," I beg. "Just do it."
He pushes in, barely. He's so thick that already I'm stretched to the point of pain.
"Oh God, Liv," he flinches. "God, that's so good." I squirm impatiently, overwhelmed and yet needing more all at the same time. He bites his lip. "Just give me a minute," he rasps. "Or this is going to be over before it starts."
Finally, he begins again, going slowly, a low noise deep in his chest as he finally shoves all the way in. "Are you okay?" he asks, his voice strained.
I nod as I lay there adjusting to the size of him, pain still outweighing the pleasure. It's when he starts to withdraw that the margin shifts, that the pain recedes as a burst of pleasure crawls up my spine, sucking the air from my lungs. It feels too good, something so vast and all-consuming it can't possibly end well. I never finish this way but oh my God …
If it were ever going to happen …
His next thrust is faster, more certain, but he stops entirely at my sharp inhale. "Did I hurt you?" he asks.
"No." I'd laugh if I were capable. He didn't hurt me. He stunned me. His strokes come slow and rhythmic then, as he leans over, finding my mouth with the table bracing his weight, his arms taut.
"I've wanted this for so fucking long," he says, holding still inside me.
"Keep going," I beg. "Don't stop."
"Patience," he croons. "You have no idea how hard it is not to come right now."
I grab his ass and push upward, ignoring his warning, thrilling at the low grunt he makes as he bottoms out. "Liv," he growls, "goddammit." His hips jerk back and then forward, almost involuntarily. It's all I need.
I cry out, my neck craning back as it happens again, everything inside me bursting into color. He thrusts quick and hard, desperate now, and then stiffens with a single guttural noise as he pushes in one final time.
He takes a few last slow thrusts after he's come, bending low to kiss me, to bury his mouth in my neck. It's only when he removes his weight that I open my eyes, feeling dazed and sated and dizzy with happiness, to find him staring down at me.
///
And he looks horrified.
65
Will
When I finally open my eyes, it's a little like waking from a dream. I imagine it's a little like when Olivia wakes from hers, a moment of wonder followed by a much more sickening moment of what the fuck have I done? She's still stretched out before me, and I know that I've messed up before I've even pulled out, yet I already can feel that twinge, the growing impulse to do it all over again.
The best sex I've ever had and the biggest mistake I've ever made just occurred simultaneously. The guilt and astonishment twine around each other, leaving me unsure what I think or feel about anything. It was wrong. No matter what other considerations there are, I just slept with a student. I slept with someone who looked to me for guidance and protection, even if she'd never admit it was the case. She would argue that it was okay because she has feelings for me, but how can she possibly know? As fucked up as her life has been, and with all the ways she's needed to lean on someone this semester, how can she tell the difference between love and need, or between love and gratitude? She can't. Somewhere inside I knew that, and because I wanted her and I was jealous, I chose to ignore it.