Page 246 of The Professor's Wife

His words sent me over the edge. My release came hard, forcing a broken cry from my mouth. He held me through it, his hand firm against my trembling body, his mouth pressed against the inside of my thigh.

I was still trying to breathe when he stood.

His body rose over mine, tall and broad enough to block the light from the window. His jeans hung low on his hips, his chest flushed beneath the tan.

“How do you want it?”

“Rough, Tristan.”

“Are you protected?”

“Yes.”

“I’m clean…” He paused, shaking his head a moment. “I haven’t been with someone in almost two years—”

I silenced him with a kiss. His tongue met mine. He groaned deep in his chest. Then he reached for me. He pulled me upright before settling against the headboard and bringing me onto his lap. My knees came down on either side of him again.

His hands closed around my hips.

I lowered myself onto him. The stretch made my breath catch. Tristan went rigid beneath me, his jaw clenched, holding perfectly still while I adjusted. His forehead pressed against mine. I shifted, taking him deeper. A rough sound left his throat.

There should have been uncertainty. Some awkward negotiation between two people discovering each other for the first time.

There wasn’t.

I began to move, and his body met mine without hesitation. When his grip changed, I followed it. When my rhythm faltered, his hips rose beneath me and found it again.

Once, his eyes narrowed as though the ease between us had disturbed him too. Then his hand returned to the back of my neck, and he kissed me. The room dissolved around us.

There was only his mouth, his breath, the hard strength of his body beneath mine. The shift of muscle across his chest whenever I pressed my palms against him. The rough sounds he made when I tightened around him. The relentless pressure building low inside me again. His hands moved over my hips, controlling nothing but refusing to let me drift far from him.

I took everything he gave me.

My nails dragged down his shoulders as the pleasure gathered, too sharp and too fast. He caught one of my wrists and pressed my palm flat against his hard chest. His heart pounded beneath it.

“Look at me,” he rasped.

I did. Something in his face nearly undid me before my body could. My release tore through me. I cried his name as I tightened around him, and whatever restraint he had left broke.

He pulled me down against him and drove up into me, harder now, his face buried against my throat. His arms locked around me, holding me so tightly there was no space left between our bodies.

His groan vibrated through my skin as his body went rigid beneath mine. For a long moment, neither of us moved.

Then…

He dropped me down, back against the mattress, and groaned, “Again.”

He took me twice more. He was unstoppable. He might have kept going, but my body was in ruins, every inch of me, internally and externally throbbing.

Our breathing filled the room as I lay there, belly pressed against the mattress, my eyes cracked open and staring into nothingness. The last orgasm finally began to ebb away, leaving my body cold and empty.

His hand was tangled in my hair, but the grip slowly loosened. His fingers moved gently through the damp strands, and his thumb brushed once across my cheek.

The gentleness frightened me more than his roughness had.

The room seemed to come into focus now. And with it, Oliver returned to my mind with such force that I could almost feel him standing behind me.

I slipped out from under Tristan and quickly grabbed at the dress on the floor. Our breathing was loud in the air. I wipedthe hair away from my slick face and slipped the dress on. Then I raced into the bathroom and shut the door. Inside, I washed my face, peering just once at it to see how flushed my cheeks looked.