His hand climbed up to her mouth, and he ran a finger across her lower lip. She bit his first knuckle, and he grinned. “What was that for?”
She smirked up at him playfully.
“I’m just getting started,” Rawlins said, “with our very important work.” His hand descended now, gliding back over her throat to the top of her dress. He deftly unfastened the three buttons there with one hand and slid his palm across her chest. The fabric of her bralette was thin enough that he could feel her nipple straining against the material. He circled it with his finger and she arched her back, pushing against him. But his hand slipped away, pressing into her skin at the side of her neck with two fingers.
The thrum of her heartbeat became a drum pulsing through his veins as he fought to maintain control of himself. “Elevated heart rate,” he murmured.
“You’re killing me,” she said.
“Only one more test to do,” he told her. “And plenty of time for it.”
His left hand moved up to her scalp, running through her hair, and she closed her eyes—until he tightened his hand into a fist, gripping her hair at the back of her head. It jolted her to attention and she met his gaze. “Focus.”
She did, locking her eyes onto his as his other hand slid down her body to the hemline of her dress. With the effects of the ritual pulling her ankles toward the posts of the bed, the muscles of her thighs were taut, and her quadriceps quaked beneath his touch.
Rawlins could feel the pressure of desire building inside him. Yearning to kiss her, to tear off her clothes, to let go completely. But there was something to prove here. To her, and to himself.
His hand climbed the inside of her thigh deliberately, savoring the anticipation as he hiked her dress. When his fingers reached their target, he pressed one against her underwear, feeling her excitement. She shuddered.
“Arousal appears to bequitepossible,” he said. “Anything else we should test?”
He teased her through the fabric. With her entire body at his mercy, his attention was attuned to every detail of her reaction. The movement of her eyes, her lips, her hips. He had never felt so keenly fixated on another person’s pleasure, so eager to elicit one reaction after another, to watch her excitement rise and fall in sync with his will. “I haven’t encountered anything about orgasm in the literature on writ magic. Do you think it’s possible?”
“Yes,” she said, followed by an insistent, “Please.”
He thrilled at the desperation in her tone, but he kept his voice as measured as he could manage. “And when was the last time you came?” he asked, his fingers massaging her with delicate precision.
She squirmed at his question, barely able to move. “In your office?”
“Oh, I doubt that was thelasttime,” he said. She let out a small laugh as if to say,I can’t believe you’re doing this to me,and his hand hesitated, hovering over her. Her hips rose off the mattress in frustration, and his fist tightened in her hair, pulling her head back. A reprimand, which elicited a moan that was not entirely one of pain. “If you lie, I’ll stop.”
“This morning,” she blurted, and his hand descended, rubbing her through the fabric once again. “Before class.”
“And what did you think about?”
She looked at him, her expression somehow both delighted and infuriated. Her limbs pulled uselessly at her invisible bonds while her neck tugged against his hand in her hair. “Is that really relevant?”
The defiance in her eyes only excited him further. But he asserted control by withdrawing, his fingers slipping off her. “If you don’t like my approach, we can stop.”
It was a test of wills. Ellsbeth bit her lip, and he could see that she was holding back a grin. He was, too, but he was better at it than her. Finally, she relented, leaning her head back.
“You,” she said, her breathing fast and shallow. “Of course, you.”
“More specific,” he said. “I want to know exactly what you thought about this morning before coming to my class.”
Surrendering to his request, she spoke dreamily to the ceiling. “Your garden.”
“You get turned on by flowers?”
“I thought of interrupting you there,” she said. “And being dragged down into the dirt.”
The force of Ellsbeth’s building desire was palpably exciting, and he felt himself harden. “That can be arranged.” He pressed his fingers against her more firmly, and she shivered with pleasure as he asked, “Do you think about me every time?”
“Yes,” she said quickly. “You think about me, too?”
“You don’t get to ask the questions right now,” he told her, and he slid his hand up to her belly, causing her to briefly buck with frustration—until his palm slipped down the front of her underwear, eliciting a shiver. “And how far back did that start, thinking about me?”
She hesitated again, and his hand retreated. “I’ll stop if you don’t cooperate. Since the start of the semester?”
