by Whitley Cox
With her hand on his cock, taking him from crown to root and back, she dropped her head and tongued his sac, taking a ball in her mouth and sucking hard.
“Fuck,” Adam breathed, fisting Violet’s hair into a ponytail and tugging. “More mouth, baby. So close.”
She released his sac and wrapped her lips back around his cock, resuming her humming and using her hand to pump him, twisting her wrist in just the right way. He knew he was going to go off like a fucking rocket. She took him to the back of her throat again, tugged down on his sac, and he let go.
Adam pulled hard on Violet’s hair as his hips shot off the chair and his cum spilled out onto her tongue. She swallowed and pushed him deeper into her mouth, continuing to pump him with her hand until he released her hair and slumped back against the chair, drained and oh so fucking satisfied.
Violet licked him clean before sitting back on her heels and glancing up at him seductively through her lashes. “Will I pass the class now, Professor?” she asked with that same breathy porn star voice from earlier.
With a growl, he grabbed her under the arms and hauled her up and over his lap, her belly on his thighs, and her ass up in the air. He pushed her skirt up and pulled her lacy nude panties down, exposing her luscious ass. He ran his hand over the soft, creamy skin before leaning over and nipping it with his teeth.
She squirmed on his lap, the quick inhale of her breath telling him she in no way hated the small snap of pain.
He kneaded the plump flesh, letting his hands warm her skin and prep her for his palm.
“Please,” she whispered, pushing her backside up in the air.
Adam groaned.
“You need to be taught a lesson, Miss Benson. Skipping class to spend time with your boyfriend is wrong. Especially when I can teach you so much more.”
He brought his hand down hard over her left butt cheek. The smack of his palm on her skin echoed around the room. She inhaled quickly. He pushed her panties down her legs farther and pushed a finger between her folds. She was wet as fuck. Two fingers dipped into her warm cleft, and he pumped. She wriggled on his lap, which only caused his cock to stir and harden beneath her.
“Professor … ” she mewled, squeezing her muscles around his fingers. “Spank me again.”
Shaking his head at the incredible woman on his lap, he pulled his fingers from her, only he didn’t spank her again yet. No, he brought his fingers down in front of her mouth.
“Suck,” he ordered. “Taste your sweet little pussy on my fingers. Taste how wet you are. How turned on you are. You love to be punished. You love to be taught a lesson. I’m a far better teacher than your boyfriend. If you ever skip a class again, I’ll make sure you can’t sit down for a week.”
She took his fingers in her mouth and twirled her tongue around them, licking him clean and mimicking the way she’d just sucked his cock. His balls tightened once again from the memory of her sweet mouth.
He pulled his fingers free with an audible pop before spanking her once again, this time on the other cheek. She moaned, shifting her body on his lap so that the V of her legs rested right over his knee. She ground down, rubbing her clit, desperate for some friction. He’d take care of her needs in a moment.
“Two more, baby, then I’ll make you come.”
He spanked her harder than the last two, alternating between each cheek, and loving the way she reacted each and every time his hand made contact with her skin. A beautiful pink flush marred the perfect ivory color of her skin where he’d struck her with his hand. He massaged the area, spreading the sting until it would be nothing more than a pleasant warmth that seeped through her.
“More, please, Professor,” she begged.
Adam swallowed and pushed down the need to keep going. They’d never done this before, so they needed to go slow. Four was enough for today. Maybe another time he could handcuff her or tie her to the bed and then really show her the kind of fun they could have. But not today. She had already opened herself up so much to him, he didn’t want to scare her.
“No,” he said gruffly, his cock and balls getting angry with him as he pulled her up from her position on his lap. “Now you come.” And just like they do in the movies—but pushing his laptop up to the top corner of the desk—he wiped his hand across one side of his desk and sent papers scattering to the floor. Then he lifted her up as if she weighed nothing and pushed her back down to the desk. Then he flipped her skirt up, spread her legs wide and dove in face first.
20
It was the Wednesday before Art in the Park, and Adam and Violet had just finished up their final rehearsal before the big show. Although he was a brilliant dancer and picked up on the steps quickly, Adam still had a lot to learn, and the past few weeks, Violet had been extra hard on him.
“Now when you pull me back in for the spin, make sure your foot isn’t out so far,” she said, stopping the music so they could get into position. “I keep knocking your foot, and then it throws me off balance.”
He nodded. “Got it. So when are you going to leap into my arms and let me catch you?”
She rolled her eyes. “We’re not there yet, Johnny Castle.”
He crept toward her with wicked intent in his eyes. His hands fell to her hips, and he pressed his pelvis against her. “I would never compare you to Baby. And I would most certainly never put you in the corner.”
She pushed him away with a laugh. “I’m being serious. Every time you spin me out, your foot somehow steps out another half step, and I hit it when I spin in.”
“And I’m serious that I will catch you.”
Violet growled. She loved how playful he could be, but it also drove her bonkers, because he wasn’t taking things seriously.
“Let’s do it again,” she said, hitting the remote for the stereo. “And one and two and three … ”
He took her in her arms, and they moved to the music, his body holding hers as if she were a delicate flower and would wilt if he gripped her too tight. She tightened her hold on his hand. The spin sequence was coming up. “Ready?”
Adam nodded.
“And four and five and six, and out.” He spun her out. “Watch your foot. And eight and nine and ten. And in. Watch your foot.” He brought his foot back half a step, his grin salacious just as he tugged on her arm and spun her back in.
“See,” he said, now pulling her hard against him. “I’m a very good student.” His hand moved lower to cup her butt. “Unlike you.”
Violet yelped and made to pull away when his hand let go and then came back in a hard and surprising spank. She took off around the dance floor, laughing as Adam stalked toward her like a hunter with the scent of his prey and a one-track mind.
“We need to keep practicing.” She slapped her hand over her mouth when a very girly giggle bubbled up. “We’re not done for the night.”
Adam glanced up at the clock. “We should have been done twenty minutes ago.”
Damn it. He was on to her.
He stopped moving toward her and cocked his head to the side like a confused cat. “You’re as scheduled as a train station. What’s going on? Why are we going over time?”
“Because you need to remember your foot. We’re not perfect yet.”
“I’m not. But you are. I’m doing the best I can in the time I’ve been given. I promise not to trip you on Saturday. Now will you tell me the real reason you’re stalling? Normally, you’re screaming my name from multiple orgasms at this point on the couch in your office. What gives?”
Violet bit her lip and looked away.
Then he was in front of her, his knuckle beneath her chin, forcing her to lift her head and look at him. Nothing but curiosity and concern swam behind those beautiful dark-blue eyes of his.
Finally, she let out a shaky breath. “I can’t stick around for sex tonight. I have to go see my mother.”
Understanding dawned on him. “And you’re stalling.”
“Little bit.”
“Why do you hav
e to go see her?”
She took a step away and went to grab a sip from her water bottle. “Because I haven’t seen her in a while, and I need to check in on her. I also want to invite her to come see us dance on Saturday.”
She passed the water bottle to Adam, and he took a sip.
“You really think that’s such a good idea?” he asked. “I mean after how she reacted last time you told her you had a new dance partner.”
“I have to try.” She shrugged. “She’s my mother, and as much as she pisses me off, I love her.”
Adam nodded. “Okay then. Let’s go through the routine one more time. Then I’ll let you go.” He grabbed the remote from her hand and hit the button to bring back the music. “Unless I can persuade you to forgo one last practice and instead have a quickie up against the mirrors.”
The instrumental beginning part of the music started on the stereo, signaling for Adam and Violet to get into position. She wandered over to him and trailed her hand down his chest, teasing him into thinking she was going to release the buttons on his shirt.
He nodded. “Yeah, baby.”
But instead, she spun around and pressed her back to his chest, waited for the hard blast of the trumpet and then started to move.
“Ah, you tease,” he whispered, moving behind her in time with the rhythm, his hands wandering over his hips, and over the tops of her thighs. “What about a strip dance? We take our clothes off as we go?”
Violet bit her lip and spun around to face him, her feet and legs still moving, but her hands going to the hem of his shirt. “If you strip and dance without missing a step, then I’ll let you take me up against the mirror. Miss a step, and we’re doing it all over again.”
Adam’s smile liquefied her insides, and he reached for her hands, preparing them for their first spin. “You’re on.”
“Mom?” Violet called out, entering her childhood home not an hour later. Damn that Adam and his dance skills. Just as he’d promised, he hadn’t missed a beat or stepped on her toes. They’d even run the spinout sequence a few more times, and not once did she hit his foot. She’d hardly had time to even get out of their end pose before he was on her, pressing her body up against the mirror and peeling away her clothes.
And because she was avoiding going to see her mother and her brain hadn’t done a lick of thinking since she’d met Adam, she let him strip her naked and give her a slew of orgasms in a room full of mirrors.
A small smile drifted across her face at the memory of his hot, wet mouth wrapped around her nipple.
“What’s got you smiling?”
Violet shook her head to clear the cobwebs. She hadn’t even been paying attention to her surroundings and had wandered all the way through the house and into the living room. Her mother was sitting on the couch. The television was on, and Rhodo the parakeet bobbed her head in the cage in the corner.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Why are you so happy?” her mother asked.
Violet shrugged. “No reason. How are you?”
Her mother’s mouth dipped into a frown. “Where did your brother get this bird again?
Oh shit.
Violet wandered over to Rhodo’s cage. “Why do you ask?”
“Because she swears like a trucker. It’s all F this and F that. And who is Buddy Samuelsson and why does he need to stop playing like a female lady part?”
Oh shit. Oh shit.
“Oh God, and the song she sings …” She made a horrified face.
“What song?” Violet asked. “Rap? More swearing?”
“No. She sings Jimmy Buffet’s Margaritaville. But over and over and over again. I mean it was fine the first couple of times. But it’s like a broken record. And not even the whole song. Just the chorus.” Her eyes bugged out. “I’m going batty. Can’t even throw a blanket over the cage to shut her up. She’s either swearing, badmouthing people I’ve never met, or repeating her quest for her lost shaker of salt. The bird is relentless.”
Violet chuckled before she opened the cage and stuck her hand inside. Rhodo hopped onto her hand. “We need to find you a different song, little birdie. You’re driving Mama Benson nutty.”
Her mother huffed. “I think I might have to get out the spray bottle. Squirt the little bugger every time she swears or gets stuck on the chorus.” She tossed her arms in the air. “I mean how hard is it to pick a different song? Any song.”
Violet stifled a laugh and wandered around the room, gently stroking Rhodo’s head. “You hear that, Rhodo? You need to learn some new tunes, otherwise you’re getting a shower.”
Rhodo nuzzled Violet’s finger and murmured something incoherent in her deep bird voice.
“Have you been cleaning, Mom?” Violet asked, continuing to wander around the room. The place was still a mess, with boxes and stacks of paper everywhere, but there seemed to be a bit less of it than the last time Violet had been there.
“Mitchel is taking things when he comes over to visit. He doesn’t think I know, but I do know. He’s calling me a hoarder.”
Yes, Violet knew very well that Mitch was secretly running boxes of shit out to his car when their mother wasn’t looking and then taking it to the Goodwill or recycling depot. He was terrified their mother was going to be buried alive in a stack of tipped-over boxes. Violet told him to stop watching Hoarders on television, but he wouldn’t listen. The man was having nightmares.
“Well, just let me know if you want me to come over and help you sort through any of these boxes,” Violet offered, returning Rhodo to her cage. “I’d be more than happy to.”
“This weekend?” her mother asked, a hope in her eyes Violet hadn’t seen in a while. “Are you free to come help me on Saturday?”
Ah shit.
The topic she’d been avoiding.
Well, she couldn’t avoid it any longer.
Violet shut her eyes for a moment, then went over to sit next to her mom. She took her mother’s hands in hers. “I can’t on Saturday, Mom, but I can on Sunday.”
“What are you doing Saturday? It’s a holiday weekend. You don’t work, do you?”
Violet swallowed. “I don’t. No, you’re right. But I’m in that performing arts exhibition I told you about. Art in the Park, in Magnolia Park. Jayda is in it too.”
The hope in her mother’s eyes dissolved, only to be replaced with anger. “You’re dancing with your new partner?”
The way she said new made Violet’s heart hurt. Which was exactly what her mother intended.
Violet nodded. “His name is Adam, and yes, we’re dancing together. I would love it if you could come and watch. It’s free. Bring a blanket, something to eat and just enjoy the live performances. I think there are some bands, Highland dancing, Irish dancing, some aboriginal drumming, local singers. It’s going to be really great.”
Her mother’s face pinched into a tight scowl, and even though she didn’t move, she visibly withdrew, and Violet could practically see the walls going up. She shuttered her eyes and pulled her hands from Violet’s. “I don’t think so. I’m busy.”
Violet’s shoulders slumped. “Are you really? You just asked me to come over and help you go through boxes. What could have possibly come up between a moment ago and now?”
“Tell Jayda I’m sorry. Have Mitchel take a video of her performance for me.”
“But not of mine?” Violet asked, her voice quavering as hurt filled her heart.
“Maybe you can replace Jean-Phillipe in your heart, but I can’t replace him in mine. No matter what, Jean-Phillipe will always be your partner in my opinion.” She turned away from Violet and focused on the birdcage, poking her finger in and murmuring things to Rhodo.
Violet stared at the back of her mother’s head.
“You’re projecting, Mom. You’re projecting your grief about Dad onto me, and it’s not fair.”
Her mother spun around to face her, tears in her eyes and pain on her face. “Don’t you talk to me about fair. I lost the love of my life, and I
thought you lost yours. I thought you would understand, but obviously Jean-Phillipe never meant as much to you as your father meant to me.”
It felt like a knife just stabbed Violet in the gut and then twisted until it hit bone.
“I’m not projecting anything. And I most certainly won’t be at the show to watch you flaunt how over Jean-Phillipe you are with this new dance partner.” She shook her head and leveled such a disappointed gaze on Violet, Violet felt like she was ten again and not getting her leg high enough behind her in an arabesque. “Maybe your heart and bed are a revolving door,” he mother snapped, “but mine are not.” Then she turned back to the birdcage. And Violet knew they were done.
“Don’t let her get to you,” Mitch said later that night as he and Violet sat on the couch at home watching some cooking competition show. “She’s wrong, and deep down, you know it. She’s also hurting. Dad was Mom’s first and only love, remember? Her first boyfriend, her first”—he shuddered—“everything. She feels lost without him. Like a piece of her died right along with him.”
“I know,” she said with a sigh. “I feel that way about Jean-Phillipe’s death,” Violet countered, shoveling a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “And I’m assuming you feel that way about Melissa, too.”
“Of course I do. But it’s different. You dated in high school and college. You had other boyfriends, other loves. So did I. And we also lost our partners early on in our lives, so there is the potential for us to find love again, for us to find another partner and move on. Mom just doesn’t get that. For her, Dad was everything, and she couldn’t even fathom replacing him.” He tipped back a beer. “Plus, we lost our partners over a year ago. Over a year and a half for you and almost that for me. We’ve had more time to process all of it. We also work. I have Jayda. We’re busy. And the busyness helps us not sit at home and wallow in grief.”