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With just a little coaxing, I slide them both inside again and pump in and out. Slowly at first, then faster and faster, a low moan starting in the base of my throat and expanding through my entire chest.
I can picture Ty in this very tub with me, stooped between my legs, his jeans still on his body because he couldn’t even wait long enough to take them off before climbing in after me.
I reach out to brace myself as the water sloshes around me. My back arches, and my teeth dig into the flesh of my bottom lip. I hook my fingers to graze over my G-spot, knowing Ty wouldn’t have any trouble finding it. He’s been around the block a time or two, and he’d undoubtedly use that knowledge to impress me.
My tongue lashes out to lick my lips, and my eyes squeeze tighter as I tug at my own nipple with my free hand, imagining Ty’s lips sucking the pert tip into his mouth. I can see the visual perfectly, and the rosy flesh paired with my mauve nipples is a sight to see. Like it was meant to be.
The odd, uninvited thought elicits a brief opening of my eyes and a hiatus from my climb to the top of Pleasure Mountain, but I shake it off and get back to business before it can derail me too far.
I need this release. More than anything else.
One, two, three more strokes of the tips of my fingers and a quick stroke of my clit and I’m falling over the edge and spiraling into an abyss of orgasmic pleasure I haven’t seen in…well, in years.
Maybe it’s the power of fantasy, or maybe it’s the memory of Ty’s touch from this afternoon, but I haven’t felt that violent of a culmination maybe ever.
I feel almost ragged as I pull my now-shaky legs back into the warm water of the tub and once again sink to a level that only allows breathing. The water is soothing on my tingling, nerve-fired skin, and the noiselessness of underwater is the only way I can calm my racing heart.
Because as much as I thought I would, I don’t feel satisfied. I don’t feel like I’ve had my fill at all.
In fact, when it comes to fantasies of Ty Winslow, I’m even hungrier than before. But I know it has to stop. The teasing, the taunting, the flirting, the touching, all of it.
It has to stop here.
Tomorrow, Rachel Rose is going to be on her best behavior. Even if it kills me.
Tuesday, February 12th
Ty
The gentle squeal of hinges sounds from my left, pulling my attention from what I’m doing and bringing it to the door. I’ve been here, in my lecture hall, for half an hour, and the next students aren’t due for another forty-five minutes. Needless to say, the visitor is unexpected, and my stomach jumps at the sight of Rachel as she walks into the empty classroom.
Her head jolts when her eyes meet mine. “Oh. Sorry, Professor Winslow,” she murmurs, clutching her books even tighter than they already were to her turtleneck-covered chest. “I didn’t realize you’d be here yet.”
I’m only halfway through my lecture plans for today, and at the sight of her, I doubt I’m going to get much further. It goes without saying that she is the very last person I need to be left alone in a room with.
It appears we both had the same idea—get here early to get most of our stuff done, so when class is over, all we have to do is leave. No office encounters. No sexy kisses. No situations that include my hand up her skirt. Put simply: neither one of us wants a repeat of yesterday.
She’s also dressed demurely, a change from her normal outfits and a failed attempt at keeping my mind off her body. Her curves are burned into my permanent memory, where I have a bevy of images that won’t be stopped by fabric on her neck.
Still, I can appreciate the effort.
“No problem, Ms. Rose,” I reply, the oddly stilted formalities between us creating a nearly visible cloud of weirdness. But we’re both trying, and I’ll give us credit for that. It’s not easy putting someone else’s wants and needs or rules above your own. It’s not easy pulling back from someone who’s basically become your obsession.
At some point, I’ve risen from my desk chair without noticing, and we both stand in silence for several long moments, our eyes locked while we try desperately not to look at each other.
“I can just take my work to the library if that—”
“That won’t be necessary,” I interrupt with a shake of my head. We’re adults. Surely we can occupy the same space without launching our bodies into a clothesless state of wanton abandonment.
