Page 132 of Legacy Elite

"No, I kept marking your work, and I marked it fairly, and I have never once given you a mark I couldn't defend to anybody who asked." His voice hasn't gone up at all. "I have been scrupulous."

I'm standing up. I don't remember standing up.

"Do you want me?"

Jon doesn't answer for a second.

"You dodged that in October. You said that isn't the problem, which is the cleverest possible way of not saying anything, and I let you because I was too busy being angry." I take a step. "I'm not letting you have it tonight. Do you want me?"

"Yes," Jon says. "Since England. Every. Single. Day."

I cross the room and kiss him.

He doesn't push me away and he doesn't pull me in. One hand stays flat on the table and Jon Matthias does not move at all.

I think: oh, you absolute—

And then he breaks.

He comes up so fast the chair goes over. His hand is in my hair and his other arm is round my back and he lifts me clean off my feet, and my hip catches the edge of the desk and papers go everywhere and he slams me against the wall cradling my head.

His entire body is crushing mine into the wall. And I can’t help but rock against his hardened length. So good.

"Jessica—"

"Don't you dare."

"I'm not." His hand comes up under my jaw and tilts my head and he kisses me deeper, and I stop being able to hold on to anything at all.

I get two buttons of his shirt undone, and my fingers on bare skin at his collarbone, and he shudders — the whole of him, once, all the way through — and I have to stop kissing him to look at it.

His hair is wrecked. I did that. His collar's pulled sideways and his mouth is red and his breathing has completely gone, and Professor Matthias, who has never in eighteen months had one thing out of place, is holding onto me like the room's moving.

Well. That's going straight into long-term storage.

"You're pleased with yourself," he says, hoarse.

"Fuck yes."

"Somebody's going to walk past," Jon says, and thrusts against me.

My hands go straight back into his hair and his mouth goes to my throat and I make a noise I would be embarrassed about if I had anything left to be embarrassed with. One hand in under my shirt, pulling down my bra and teasing my nipple and I get both of my legs up around him and–

His grip slides down my thigh.

"Don't stop," I say.

"Jessica—"

"I mean it. Don't."

His forehead comes down against my shoulder.

And he goes absolutely still. Not a retreat, not yet — he's still standing pressed tightly to my core with his hands on me and his heart going like something trapped, and he stays there three or four seconds while I feel him haul it in.

Then he grips under my arms so I don’t slide down the wall and steps back.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me," I say.