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I swirl my tongue over her clit, knowing that her orgasm has to come soon for her to make it to her next class in time.
I can tell she’s right on the edge, and I decide to push her over it—I plunge a finger inside her opening while my tongue slides across her throbbing clit. I crook my finger inside her, hitting the exact right spot, and she unravels.
Her warm, velvety thighs press hard around my neck as her hips rock forward, her grip in my hair so tight that I’d bet she’ll hand have blonde strands wrapped around her fingers when she takes them out.
She rides her orgasm as I continue to work my mouth and finger, drawing every bit of pleasure out of her that I can, lapping up every drop she gives me.
After her orgasm, she lightly pushes my head away from her tender center. I swirl my tongue around my lips, savoring every bit of her wetness with appreciation.
“Holy shit, Hunter,” she pants, resting against the wall, her legs still on either side of my face.
I smirk up at her, pride swelling at the satisfaction stamped on her face. I love how good I know I make her feel.
“You think you can stand up?” I tease.
She nods, her ruddy, post-orgasm face looking so good that I want nothing more than to take out my cock and find my own release.
But I can’t. I don’t want to make her miss class.
I know Phoebe’s serious about her studies, and I don’t want to push her away by making her think this thing between us—whatever it is—is going to stand in the way of or conflict with any other aspect of her life.
I hate to do it, but I pull away from between her legs and stand up.
But I can’t resist pressing my lips to hers in a quick kiss, coating her lips with the evidence of her own lust.
Her chestnut eyes go wide she drags the flat of her tongue across her lips. My heartbeat hammers up and down the length of my cock from the sight.
“Where are my panties?” she asks.
After a beat of silence, I crack up, my ribs hurting from laughing so hard. I sigh with satisfaction, looking at her with her sweater bunched up above her belly button and bare below the waist.
“I gotta admit, Phoebe. That’s one question I never expected you to ask.”
She rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smile. “Seriously,” she says, poking around my cluttered floor, “where are they?”
I chuckle. “I’ll help you look.”
I find them—but when my lips open to tell her so while she’s behind me picking through a pile of my clothes, a devious smirk darkens my face.
I bunch them up and shove them in my pocket.
“I don’t see them anywhere,” I lie. “You find them yet?”
She pouts. “No,” she breathes in frustration. “Ugh, I’m going to be late for class.”
I shrug, fixing her with a teasing glare. “Good thing your skirt isn’t too short.”
She eyes the skirt that’s crumpled on the floor right next to where she came.
With a huff, she marches over to it and pulls it on. “You need to clean your room,” she says.
I shove my hands in my pockets casually, feeling the scrape of intimate fabric. “Maybe you could wear a maid’s outfit and do it for me.”
She rolls her eyes, and from the way her mouth twitches, I can tell she’s trying not to smile. “You owe me a new pair of panties.”
I laugh as we step out of my room. “That’s another thing I never expected to hear from your lips, Pheebs.”
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