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The stalemate of staring at each other’s faces lasted a good ten seconds before it was his turn to climb me, and when he did, his mouth crashed to mine.
His lips were wet, faintly tasting of…well, me I supposed; salty, sweet, and faintly floral. I never knew it could be such a turn on to taste myself on the lips of a man.
“Are you still sore?” he grunted out just as I noticed my freaking hips were bouncing against him, begging for some fulfillment.
“Get inside me,” I whispered.
“I’m clean, too,” he promised. “I haven’t been with anyone since—”
I pressed my palm to his mouth and shook my head. There was no part of me that needed to know when the last time was that he slept with someone else. Besides, it was too late, anyway.
He just nodded, then shook every single freaking thought out of my head as he pushed inside me with one firm thrust.
The man rode me, and without the sting of virginity, I felt nothing but a little bruisy, and a lotta pleasure with each slick motion of his hips.
“I want to ride you again,” I told him, trying to put together a cohesive sentence.
He didn't say anything, yay or nay. Owen simply tucked my knees into the crook of my arms, gripped my thighs, then threw himself over so we spun, me on top and him still inside me.
“That was amazing,” I said, using my knees on the mattress to grind down on him.
He chuckled, then lifted a hand to palm my breast and massage it, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
“Your wish is my command,” he told me, cheesy as all heck, but I absolutely loved it.
“Then I wish…” I murmured, looking into his eyes again, “to be here, like this, forever.”
An odd expression crossed his face, and I wondered for a moment if I’d screwed it up, but then he sat up and grabbed the back of my neck, kissing me again. It wasn’t like our other kisses, though. This kiss was filled to the brim with soul and some kind of desperation that was either acceptance or…goodbye.
I gave everything back to him, praying to God that it wasn’t goodbye, but then I thought better of praying since I was literally in the middle of effing my professor.
My hips continued to roll, his chest pressed against my b-cup boobs as our sweat-slicked bodies molded into one.
When he came, I watched a lot closer. The way his eyes squinted and brows furrowed, and the groan he gave me was entrancing. I wanted to see it over and over again, staring at his face forever.
As he came down from his orgasm, he held me tightly to him, bear hugging my chest to his which stopped my hips from moving. We sat there still, with his softening erection still inside me as we panted into each other’s necks.
“This isn’t fair,” he whispered, then loosened his arms and let me go.
Pain was written across his face, and I needed to know why.
“What’s the matter?” I breathed, but he gently pushed me to the side and got out of bed, heading for his bathroom.
“Owen?” I called, not sure if I should follow him.
He shook his head, then disappeared around the door frame just for the sound of a shower to filter into the bedroom.
What had happened?
I got up and followed only to find him leaning against the open shower door while the water heated up.
“Owen, what’s wrong?” I asked him.
He glanced over his shoulder at me, arm braced on the tiles as if he was struggling to hold himself up.
“We can’t do this,” was his answer, then he turned and stepped under the water.
It was then that I realized I had two options. One option was, put my clothes on, go home, and give up my job as a TA because it would be unbearably uncomfortable to work for him after what we’d done. Or option two, which was simply, fight for him and try to make it work.
