by Karina Halle
But when she sees my face, her ravenous expression drops. She comes over to me, cooing, “What happened?”
I need to come up with an excuse, but I feel like I’m all out of them.
“He stood me up,” I say, going into my bedroom, dropping down on the bed, and taking off my boots.
“What?” she exclaims. “Why didn’t you come home right away?”
“I really wanted to see the movie,” I tell her, feeling bad that I’m lying. “I’m used to going to them alone.”
“Maybe he went to the wrong cinema. Or,” she snaps her fingers together, “maybe you did.”
I shake my head. “No. I called him and he said he forgot, that he was busy, and he’d call me back. I heard a girl giggling in the background. He never called back.” I add a shrug, so I don’t make it into a bigger deal than it is. “It’s fine. It got me out of the house.”
“But you look so upset,” she says “Your mascara is all smudged. I haven’t seen you like this…well, since he who shall not be named.”
Professor Blue Eyes.
Brig’s anguished face fills my head and I quickly shut my eyes, as if that helps him go away. He’s shining in my mind more potent than ever.
“I’m just…” I grapple for the right words, words that aren’t lies. “Discouraged. And frustrated.”
“Yeah, I get that,” she says slowly. “I have to say though, Tasha, it’s nice to see you suffer.”
I raise my brows at her. “Are you serious?”
She gives me a smirk in return. “I’m just saying, you’ve kind of been a bloody robot for the last few months, ever since you came back to London. I get that you’re trying to put up the barricades and move on, but you have to feel some emotion every once in a while, even the bad. It doesn’t make you weak.”
Holy fuck, she’s actually being sweet and apparently sincere. I’m touched.
“Anyway,” she says, “I’ll leave you to it. But if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. I’m just glad that you’re getting out there and not letting the past define you. You’re better than that.”
But as I fall asleep that night, I know it’s a lie. The only person I can be better than is the one who went to the movies with Brigs tonight and fired barbs at him the moment he got too close, the moment I got too scared.
Tomorrow, I have to find a way to set things right, even if it hurts me.
***
The next day I work up the courage to go to Brig’s office. I never got an email from him about last night and I didn’t want to email him because what I need to say can’t be expressed like that. It’s too empty, too cold a way to say that I want him just as he wants me. I want to try again.
But just because I’ve set my mind to something doesn’t mean that I’m not scared shitless. Just like the week before, I practically drag my feet to his floor, and when I find his office door closed again, I know I have a last minute chance to turn and run away and ignore it all to hell.
I also know I can’t kid myself. There’s no ignoring this anymore.
Before I lose my nerve, I quickly rap on the door. My knock is straightforward, not unlike the goofy ones I would do on his office door back in the day.
I don’t hear any response from inside, though. No movement.
Maybe he’s not even in.
I knock again.
Silence.
“Brigs?” I say just loud enough for him to hear me, knowing that if he doesn’t want to see me at all I’m giving him an easy out. It’s about time I make something easy on him.
But at the sound of my voice, I hear a chair sliding back. Footsteps.
The door opens, Brigs peering down at me from the other side.
“Hi,” I say to him. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”
He shakes his head, doesn’t say anything, and opens the door. As I step in I take a quick glance at his face. His expression is wary. I don’t blame him.
He hesitates for a tiny beat, hand on the doorknob, thinking I might want him to leave it open.
“You can close it,” I tell him.
He closes it with a little shrug and slowly walks over to his desk. He sits down in his chair, hands gathering his papers as if he’s prepared to go back to work. “Are you thinking of becoming my research assistant?” he says dryly.
“Not really,” I tell him, walking over to the side of his desk. I take in a deep breath. “I came here to apologize.”
He glances up at me. “It seems we’re doing a lot of that lately.”
I swallow, nodding. “Yes. We have been. And I think we ought to stop.”
He frowns and leans back in his chair, studying me, hands folded across his trim waist. “All right,” he says. “Is that all?”
Oh god, please don’t be like this.
I rub my lips together, feeling desperation course through me.
“No, it’s not all,” I tell him, my voice sounding so quiet and meek. “I…” I close my eyes. “Fuck. I can’t.”
Suddenly I hear his chair slide back, and my eyes fly open. He’s in front of me, grabbing my forearm, his fingers molten against my skin.
“If you say you can’t one more time,” he warns me, his voice low and sharp and brimming with fury. “You might think you have some right to come here and tease me but—”
I step away from the edge of the desk, not breaking eye contact. “I’m not teasing you.”
Our faces are just inches apart. I’m breathing in his air. My gaze drops to his lips, the tense set of his jaw. The tension between us grows thick and heavy, and the back of my neck grows damp with sweat.
“Kiss me,” I whisper to him, my lips barely moving, the sound coming out like a last breath.
The tension wraps around us tighter, tying knots. Or maybe it’s my stomach that’s flipping as my words seem to hang between us with nowhere to go.
“Please,” I add. I glance up at him through my lashes and see his expression has changed to a mix of lust and disbelief. He thinks I’m kidding. I don’t think I’ve ever been more serious.
“Fine,” I tell him. I’ll do it.
I put my hand behind his neck and pull him down to me. I kiss him softly, unsurely, worried that he might pull away in some kind of punishment.
But he lets out a faint groan and steps into me.
His hands disappear into my hair, holding my head in place while our mouths slide against each other in a wet, heated dance. It whips up something in my chest, turning coals into flames, want into desire. This kiss reaches down to my very toes and ensures that I can’t feel the ground.
But he presses himself against me more, and I can feel the edge of the desk bite into my ass the pressure of his hard chest against mine, the rigid shape of his cock pushing into my hips.
This isn’t just going to be a kiss.
Maybe it never was.
Brigs breaks away, holding my face in his hands, breathing hard. His eyes are glazed, hot, carnal, like he’s already fucking me with them.
No, this isn’t just a kiss at all.
“Are you sure?” he manages to say, his voice coated with this huskiness that makes the hairs on my arms stand up, the space between my legs flush with heat.
My “yes” is caught in my throat. I can only nod.
Please touch me. Touch me everywhere.
My whole body moves toward him like gravity, wanting more.
He gives me a half-smile that borders on predatory. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do this.”
“Oh I think I might,” I manage to say as his mouth dips toward my jawline, nibbling along it before it slides down my neck, a hot trail of lips and tongue and teeth.
A gasp is pulled from my lungs as my body starts to kick up the adrenaline, and it hits me hard with my heart banging like a drum, my pulse through the roof. I grip the back of his neck harder, urging him to crush me, needing to feel the solidity, the maleness of his body.
His mouth returns to mine, his lips soft and strong, a
nd I’m melting into his mouth, dissolving underneath his tongue. It’s just as explicit as sex, and I feel open and bare from just the heat of our kiss, the languid, penetrating way he explores my mouth. It’s like he’s devouring me, conquering me, and I’ve never been happier to give in.
“Natasha,” he says, our mouths parting for a moment, my name an urgent hiss on his lips. His hands are now moving down to my shirt, sliding over my skin. His hands feel so warm, so possessive as they glide over my waist and stomach, slowly making their way up to my breasts.
I help him out by grabbing the hem of my shirt and pulling it up and over my head, just as he takes a firm grab of my ass with both hands and lifts me up onto the edge of his desk.
Moving like a man with one instinct only—to fuck—he parts my legs and presses his hips between them. He lowers his head to my breasts, kissing the swell of them while he quickly reaches behind my back and deftly undoes my bra, discarding it on the floor beside us.
My nipples tighten in the air, begging to be touched. He cups one breast and brings his mouth to them slowly dragging his tongue around it in circles, over and over again, before giving it a hard flick.
I moan, my head back, as his tongue continues to flick my nipple, hard and fast. It pulls every nerve ending into a tightened knot. I don’t even have to guess if I’m wet, I know I am, and I’m growing more turned on and desperate by the minute. My back arches, and I push my breasts up to him, craving more and less at the same time.
I don’t have any time in my foggy, liquid brain to think about it being Brigs.
But it is Brigs.
It’s his teeth now razing over my nipples, causing me to gently cry out.
It’s his hands sliding down to my jeans and unzipping them.
It’s his cock that presses against me, pushing against the fabric of his pants.
Lust hits me like a slap. I want nothing more than to come. I want him to make me come, I want my clothes off, his clothes off, I want to be fucked silly on this desk until I’m screaming his name.
If he wants to spank me after with a ruler, I wouldn’t complain.
My god, I haven’t gotten laid in so long.
“Lay back,” he murmurs gruffly, pushing his papers out of the way before putting his hand on my chest and urging me down.
I lie back, the hard finish of the desk pushing into my shoulder blades while he tugs my jeans and underwear over my hips.
With relief I realize I didn’t wear SpongeBob this time, but glancing at Brigs as he looks me over, the erotic way his eyes rest on my pussy on full display, I don’t think he’d even notice.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs. “More than I imagined.” He takes his hand and slides it between my legs, his fingers skirting over my clit, before one finger slowly makes its way inside of me. He leans forward, gazing at me, drunk on lust. “And so very, very wet.”
His eyes are unnerving. I don’t think I’ve ever been looked at so sexually before. It’s almost too intimate. I close my eyes and try to control my breathing as he slowly pushes another finger inside me. I gasp, clenching around him, while the pad of his thumb grinds against my clit.
It’s fucking bliss.
“Are you ever going to get naked?” I ask breathlessly, looking up at him.
“When I put my cock inside you and fuck you on this desk, yes,” he says, his voice hoarse. “For now though, I want to taste you.”
He pushes a third finger inside and slowly drags it out, rubbing my wetness against his lips.
I swallow hard, shocked by how brazen he is.
“Again,” he says slowly as his eyes burn into me. “Better than I imagined.”
Then he gets to his knees and puts his head between my legs as I’m hanging halfway off the desk. His hands spread my thighs wide before he presses his fingers into my hips, holding me in place.
I’m not ready for this, for him to go down on me. It was something I fantasized about daily, but I never imagined it would happen with me completely naked on his desk in his office, him fully clothed, head between my legs.
I try and sit up to watch, utterly fascinated and turned on by the sight, but as his tongue languidly slides over my clit, washing over my nerves, slippery and wet, I have to lie back down. The feeling is too much and I feel like a sponge trying to soak up stars and lightning and everything beautiful, and it’s too overwhelming for this world.
And Brigs is relentless.
I mean, good lord, the man can eat pussy. He’s at me with messy precision, his lips, tongue, and occasionally those long fingers of his working me into a wild frenzy.
I can’t think.
I can’t breathe.
I can only feel as my blood runs hot, my nerves tying up in knots upon knots, pulling, pulling, pulling, until he’s groaning against me and I’m digging my nails into his head and his tongue is pushing into me in hot, quick stabs.
I’m so swollen, so desperate, that when he brushes his fucking nose against my clit, the knots all come undone at once.
My body is a confetti cannon.
I am blasting through space, groaning, writhing on his desk as the orgasm rips through me, feeling like brightly colored pieces of me are floating down from the sky.
But the relief is short-lived.
As I catch my breath, my limbs still loose, and peer up at him as he stands between my legs, he’s taking off his shirt.
Undoing his belt.
Letting his pants drop.
He’s just in his grey boxer briefs.
Damn.
Damn.
He might as well be naked.
I can see every hard, rigid detail of his cock.
He said I was better than he imagined?
He’s a million times bigger than I imagined.
And I imagined him with something just short of a horse cock.
I swallow hard, amazed how quickly I’ve gone from spent and sated to hungry and, well, a little afraid in a matter of seconds.
Is it too late to change his nickname to Professor Horse Cock?
Somehow I manage to pry my eyes away from his underwear and take in the rest of him. He’s all hard angles and long planes, from the wide breadth of his shoulders and chest, to the definition in his abs and the way they lead to the sharp V of his hips. A dusting of chest hair thins out before becoming a treasure trail again.
He’s so manly, and his posture suggests he’s completely at ease with his body. I had teased him once, when I was drunk, wondering what he was like underneath. I’m not disappointed in the slightest. I want to run my lips and fingers and breasts along every inch of his lean, hard-earned body. I want to feel it press against mine, damp with sweat.
“Are you just going to stand there?” I say to him, feeling just a tad bit vulnerable that I’m still naked and spread eagle and waiting.
He flashes me an assured smile and pulls down his boxer briefs, letting his cock, swollen and thick, jut out in front of him.
Damn. This is now an urgent debilitating lust he’s stroked within me. The kind that wants it all hard and fast and now.
He steps between my legs, the dark, wet tip of his cock rubbing against my sensitive clit as he reaches to the side and opens a drawer. With one hand he quickly rummages through, feeling around, and pulls out a condom.
I look at him questioningly. “Is there a need for condoms in your office?”
“There is now,” he says as he tears into the foil packet. “They’re handing them out here all the time. Cheaper than buying your own.”
I shake my head. “Professor McGregor, I am shocked.”
“Then you shock easily, Miss Trudeau. We’ll have to fix this.”
I love, love, love how normal this all feels, the teasing, the being with each other completely naked, the naughty smirks and innuendo.
But when he rolls the condom over the tip of his cock, slowly sliding it down (and I start to grow more and more impatient), something in his eyes change. The smile disappears. His
eyes ratchet up the intensity. Remember how I said his eyes just screamed sex? Well now they scream fucking, as in he’s going to totally ravage every inch of me until I’m begging him to stop.
And it’s more than that. It’s something dark and deep, like he’s not just after my body but my soul. I can feel it in his gaze, in the way he keeps sifting through the layers, searching for something to satisfy him.
“Sit up,” he murmurs, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me up. I wrap my legs around him, place my hands behind his neck, already damp with sweat. Our faces are inches apart, but he’s not kissing me. He’s fucking me with his eyes, the way they simmer over my mouth, as if he’s thinking of all the things my mouth could do.
I want to show him.
I bring my face closer, take his bottom lip between my teeth and gently suck.
I feel a rumbling groan build through his chest, like he’s barely holding his lust in check, a million horses prancing at the gate, waiting to be unleashed.
“I’m trying to have patience with you,” he whispers hoarsely, kissing the corner of my mouth. “I can’t have this over too fast. I need to savor,” he kisses my jaw, “every,” he kisses my neck, “part of you.”
“Savor me later,” I tell him, as a sudden surge of adrenaline rockets through me. I grab the back of his neck, wanting, needing him to kiss me hard. His cock is this hot, stiff pressure rubbing against my clit, and I’m desperate, so desperate, for him to come inside me.
His mouth continues along my collarbone, nipping and licking, and my legs pull him closer. I’m whimpering, his lips ducking down to my nipples, so swollen and sensitive.
“Please,” I beg, my voice ragged in my throat. “I need you inside me.”
He brings his head up, his eyes wild with this hazy, heavy kind of lust. “I’ve always dreamed of you saying that,” he says thickly. He reaches down, positioning his cock against me. His eyes hold mine at knifepoint, and I’m unable to look away as he slowly pushes himself inside.
I stretch around him, my breath hitching tight in my throat.