I shimmy out of them awkwardly, nearly kneeing myself in the face in the process. She snorts, and I glare at her.
“Not all of us are graceful naked ninjas.”
“You’re adorable when you’re flustered,” she says, and then her hand wraps around me, and I forget how to speak entirely.
“Oh,” I rasp, my forehead dropping to hers. “That’s...that’s?—”
“Yeah, I know,” she smirks, stroking me once, twice, until I’m panting into her neck like I just ran a marathon in dress shoes.
I slide a hand between us again, finding her slick and ready, and this time when I touch her, it’s not tentative. She gasps, her body arching into my touch as I circle my thumb against that sensitive bundle of nerves.
“You like that?” I whisper, pressing my lips to her ear.
“Obviously,” she pants, her hand tightening around me in response. “Don’t ask stupid questions when your fingers are—oh god.”
I smile against her neck, learning what makes her breath hitch, what makes her fingers dig into my shoulder. Her responsiveness is intoxicating—every touch, every stroke revealing something new about what she likes.
“I need you,” she breathes. “Now.”
“Demanding,” I murmur, but I’m already shifting my weight, careful of her injured shoulder as I position myself between her thighs.
“Always,” she agrees, then gasps as I slide against her, not entering yet but letting her feel how much I want her. “Stop teasing me, Professor.”
I press my forehead against hers, suddenly overwhelmed by how much I want this—want her. Not just physically, but all of her. Her humor, her courage, her wild, untamed spirit that’s somehow become essential to my carefully ordered existence.
“Lila,” I whisper, needing her to understand what this means to me.
She meets my eyes, and for a moment, the teasing falls away. “I know,” she whispers. “I know exactly what you’re thinking.”
I hesitate, momentarily overwhelmed by how she sees me. How did I get here? A week ago, I was plotting data points in my office, and now I’m poised between her thighs, completely undone by her touch.
“Are you planning to analyze this all day?” she asks, raising an eyebrow, “or are you going to?—”
I push forward, entering her in one slow, deliberate movement that steals the rest of her sentence. Her mouth falls open in a silent “oh” that might be the most erotic thing I’ve ever seen.
“You were saying?” I manage.
“I—” she starts, then gasps as I withdraw before pushing deeper. “Never mind.”
I establish a rhythm, careful of her injury but unable to hold back entirely. The feeling of her around me is overwhelming—so hot and tight that it defies logic. I watch her face, cataloging every reaction, every gasp, every flutter of her eyelashes against her freckled cheeks, committing it to memory.
“I can’t describe how this feels,” I murmur, shifting the angle.
“Then just enjoy it. Stop analyzing…Oh!” Her back arches, her good hand clutching at my shoulder. “Right there. Don’t you dare move.”
I follow her instructions, maintaining the position that quickens her breathing. “Like this?”
“Don’t stop, Jonah. Right there.” Her breath hitches with each thrust now, her good hand gripping my shoulder so hard I’ll probably have marks tomorrow.
I can barely think straight. The sensation of being inside her, watching her face transform with pleasure is almost too much for me to process. Her body tightens around me with each movement, drawing me deeper.
“I won’t,” I promise, maintaining the angle that has her breathing in shallow gasps.
I dip my head to capture her mouth, swallowing her moans as I continue to move inside her. The pressure building at the base of my spine tells me I won’t last much longer, but I’m determined to make sure she finishes first.
“Touch yourself,” I whisper against her ear, surprising myself with my boldness.
Her eyes fly open. “What did you say?”
