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“Yeah,” he says. “The paper.”
I glance back into the hallway and find a row of closed doors in the rest of the English Department. Will keeps late hours—I don’t think there’s any real reason to fear being caught—but I’m still careful when I step inside and shut the door behind me, the thud setting my heart pounding.
He meets my eyes. “Lock it.”
I do as I’m told, my whole body lighting up like a Christmas tree.
I lean against the wall and cross my arms, playing it calm and casual. I want him to see me as cultured, classy, cool—but even after the three other times we’ve done this, it feels strange and new. Anyway, there’s no reason for me to initiate; he’s in charge, calling the shots, providing helpful comments on how I can improve.
I’ve been having sex dreams about those notes ever since the last time.
“For real, though, did you get to mine yet?” I ask, biting my lip.
He huffs out a laugh. “I did. Top of the stack.”
“And did I make an A?”
“Of course,” he says. “Not because of…well, you know…”
“I don’t know, Dr. Watson—you might need to elaborate.”
He leans back in his chair and crosses his arms. I get a flashback to sitting in his lap and riding him in that very spot not two weeks ago.
I can’t help but glance downward.
He’s already getting hard.
I swallow.
“I appreciated your take on ambivalence toward passion in the work of John Keats,” he says. “You seem well-aware of how difficult it can be to want something you’re not supposed to have.”
I give him a coy smile. “Do you have any notes?” I ask.
He pushes his chair back, his long legs spread out…and he pats his damn knee.
“Delphine, come here.”
My pussy throbs as I take a shuddering breath along with a step forward, Will’s brown eyes following my every movement. He turns his chair slightly so I can step between his knees and his hands find my hips, long fingers at the small of my back. I shudder when he runs them over the mini skirt and his warm palms settle on my bare thighs.
“Cold out there?” he asks.
“No, why?”
“You’re shaking.”
I take a deep breath. “I’m nervous.”
“Don’t be,” he says. “You’re gorgeous.”
Will’s thumbs slip under the hem of my shirt and over my stomach. I suck in a breath.
“My hands are hallowed where they touch over your soft curving…” he whispers.
His lips press to my hipbone. My breath hitches.
“It is being God to feel your breathing under me…”
“If you keep up like that I won’t be able to hold out long,” I whisper.
