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“Are you wet, Celia?” he asked me.
I nodded.
“Make your fingers stiff so they can slip inside you,” he coaxed.
I did as he said and he pushed my middle and ring fingers inside. I was wet, I was pure heat, a receptacle of hunger and need. He guided my thumb of the same hand to slide gently over my clit every time I plunged my own fingers inside myself.
“I want to watch you come like this. Fucking your own hand, the memory of my tongue on your fingers.” I swallowed and closed my eyes again.
“Open your eyes, Celia,” he said. He pulled my lower lip down with the pad of his thumb. “Suck mine.” He plunged his thumb into my mouth like a toddler would suck their own thumb.
Then he leaned down without touching me and latched onto one of my erect nipples.
I cried out and sped up the frenetic rubbing and fucking with my own fingers.
Lawson sucked my nipple so hard, I thought it would bleed, and when I began to lose control, my body started to shudder with arousal and shame, and confusion and lust all snowballed into a pandemonium that captured my whole being. I screamed in frustration and he shoved his thumb deeper into my mouth.
“Suck!” he demanded and I sucked his big thumb. He moved from one nipple and attached to the other. When the cold air hit my tender, swollen abandoned one and the other received the extreme attention Emery had lavished on it just seconds before, I convulsed on my hand. I could feel my own arousal gush into my palm. A full body orgasm tore through me like a flood, annihilating everything I thought I knew about sex, desire, and love. What was this sensation? It felt horrible, and also horribly good. Like a cake that was too dense and sweet, a wine with so much body you could barely swallow it.
Lawson spanked my ass ferociously as the climax roared through me. Red. Raw. Screaming, but it extended my orgasm longer than I ever even imagined possible. I was coming. Again, and again, and again, driving my hand into the absence he’d created, my center now a chasm of need. He slapped my ass cheeks and I rode another wave of pleasure, still sucking his thumb, still finger-fucking myself.
When it was all said and done, I covered my breasts with my forearms, cried, and trembled in my sandals. Arousal drenched my thighs and I felt like I’d been put on display for the sole purpose of humiliation.
Emery lifted my dress and refastened the zipper. With a warm hand towel from his pizza oven door handle, he mopped up the slickness between my legs before tossing it down the basement steps.
With a spring in his own steps, he popped the caps on two bottles of beer and handed me one that was ice cold and covered in a fine frost. I sipped the carbonated liquid and felt it warm me little by little inside, while my physics professor proceeded to craft a beautiful gourmet pizza after he cleaned up my chocolate sauce mess.
I watched in awe as he made it casually and happily taking intermittent sips of his beer. After sliding it expertly into his very own pizza oven, he threw the clean white linen towel over his shoulder.
“Celia, in fifteen minutes we eat.”
I stood there speechless, embarrassment racing through my brain, shame eating me up for coming so fucking hard on my own goddamned hand.
“And before we take this any further, let’s discuss living arrangements. I want you to move in with me.”
Emery pulled me down a hallway into a massive living area with a glass-encased fireplace embedded in a grey stone wall. His place was border-line ostentatious, a space worthy of a reality show rapper or at least someone who’d definitely be chased by the paparazzi.
“George Clooney!” I blurted suddenly.
“Stop,” he said clucking his tongue. His expression and demeanor made me think he’d heard that one before. I had a hard time believing he’d never brought another student here before, but I was too shy to meddle and too polite ask him again something he’d already told me.
On the ground in front of the fire was a faux fur rug surrounded by lounging pillows, in the middle was a low table onto which he placed the hot pizza stone.
“Except, I’d wager your nose has been broken more times.”
We sat down in front of the fireplace, which wasn’t burning, and began to devour the pizza he’d made.
“Have you been to Italy?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he nodded and then swallowed his bite. “Did a bit of post-doc work there. What about yourself?”
I inclined my head to the side a bit.
“I’m sorry, Celia. My mistake. I’ll take you to Italy someday.”
“Why do you talk like that? Move in, go to Italy? Like it’s a forgone conclusion? Do you like that I don’t have any experience and you get some thrill or something from corrupting me?” I asked him sincerely as I enthusiastically ate his delicious meal.
