Chapter 4 A | After Hours (4)

After Hours | 4

Victoria Langford

I rose unsteadily, still catching my breath, the taste of him lingering on my tongue.

Before I could fully straighten, he was already standing, his height swallowing the space between us. One hand slid to the small of my back, the other gripped my jaw, tilting my face up toward him. His pale blue eyes held mine for a single breath.

"Professor-" I began, but the word barely left my lips before his mouth claimed mine, hot and unyielding.

I froze for a heartbeat, startled. God! I'd just had him in my mouth!

My hand pressed lightly to his chest in protest, but he only deepened the kiss. It was rough and deliberate, like he was savoring the mingled taste of both of us on my lips.

It was dizzying-his scent, the warmth of his mouth, the way his breath tangled with mine. It was flooding my senses, drowning me in him.

The faint scrape of his stubble burned against my skin, and just when I thought he'd finally release me, he tilted his head and pressed harder, prying my lips apart until his tongue slid against mine. A moan escaped me before I could stop it.

I felt the light press of his glasses against my cheek with every movement, until he broke away just long enough to tug them off with one hand and toss them carelessly onto the desk.

God. That small, thoughtless act shouldn't have been as hot as it was. But watching him remove them, seeing those pale blue eyes unobstructed, made my knees weaken. Without the glasses, his gaze was sharper. More dangerous.

But before I could get lost in that image, his hand slid to the back of my neck and pulled me in again, his mouth claiming mine in another searing kiss. I clutched at his shirt, kissing him back with equal urgency.

He moved me backward with purposeful steps, never breaking the kiss. My thighs bumped the edge of his desk, the solid wood pressing into the backs of my legs.

"Turn around," he murmured against my lips.

I obeyed, though my pulse was hammering so loud I barely heard my own breathing. My palms met the cool, smooth surface of the desk, papers shifting beneath my touch.

Then he was at my back, heat radiating through his shirt, his hands already moving-one sliding up my stomach to cup my breast through the thin fabric of my blouse, the other skimming down my hip.

I gasped when his thumb rolled over my nipple, the friction sending a sharp ache straight to the heat between my thighs.

"Sensitive," he murmured against my ear, lips brushing its curve before pinching the peak between his fingers, just enough to make me suck in a breath.

His free hand slid beneath the hem of my skirt, pushing it up over my hips until the cool air kissed my bare skin. The faint drag of his knuckles along my inner thigh made me shiver.

His mouth found my neck, pressing warm, deliberate kisses as his fingertips traced the edge of my panties. I pressed back against him without thinking, a soft, needy sound escaping my throat.

"Spread your legs," he said, and I did, my knees brushing the sides of the desk.

His fingers slipped past the thin fabric, finding me wet-embarrassingly so.

"Already soaked," he said, his tone half amusement, half approval. "And I haven't even touched you properly yet."

Two fingers parted my slick folds, gliding over the wetness. I bit my lip, stifling a moan when he teased at my entrance, then circled my clit with slow, deliberate strokes.

His other hand left my breast only long enough to slip under my blouse, seeking the clasp of my bra. One practiced flick and it was undone. He pushed the fabric aside, his palm closing over my bare breast, kneading it while his thumb brushed over my nipple, circling until it peaked beneath his touch. Then he pinched, sharp enough to make me gasp.

His lips trailed from my jaw to the side of my throat while his fingers moved lower, stroking at my wet entrance before sliding inside-one finger first, then two, stretching me with slow, deliberate thrusts.

I gasped when he rolled my nipple between his fingers at the exact moment his thumb pressed harder against my clit. The double sensation sent my mind spinning, my knees threatening to buckle.

He kept the pace maddeningly controlled-sliding deep, curling upward, then dragging out so slowly my thighs trembled.

"You like this, don't you?" he said, voice low against my ear, his breath warm.

I gripped the edge of his desk, knuckles whitening.

"Y–yes..." The word came out on a breathy exhale, my body betraying me even as my mind scrambled to hold on to some semblance of composure.

"Yes what?" His teeth grazed my neck, a teasing scrape that made my pulse stutter.

"Yes, Professor."

His smile curved against my skin. "Good girl."

The words vibrated down my spine. He kissed me again, leaning forward over my shoulder this time, lips hot and insistent, swallowing every sound I made as his fingers worked me open.

Every movement felt intentional. The way his chest pressed against my back. The way his other hand squeezed my breast in time with each thrust of his fingers. My knees wobbled, my breath quickened, and I felt myself teetering on the edge.

He broke the kiss just long enough to murmur, "Bend over," his fingers never slowing.

I leaned forward, my chest pressing into the desk, skirt bunched high around my waist. His hand on my breast slid away, bracing on the desk beside me, while the other kept working between my legs, faster now, pushing me closer to the brink.

Then, just as my body tensed in readiness, he drew his fingers back. The sudden loss made me groan in frustration. He dragged his slick fingertips along my folds, teasing me, before plunging them back in with a steady rhythm that left me dangling between pleasure and impatience.

When he pulled away again, I whimpered, only to hear the faint rustle of movement behind me. The sound of a zipper. Fabric sliding to the floor.

Then I felt him, thick, hot, and hard, pressing against my backside, the last thin barrier between us the only thing keeping him from sliding in.

"Not yet," he whispered in my ear, his breath making me shiver. "I want you begging first."

His fingers returned, slick and merciless, alternating between curling deep inside me and flicking quick, maddening strokes over my clit. Each time I tried to chase a rhythm, he shifted, keeping me teetering just out of reach.

I pressed back against his hand, desperate for more, but he refused to give it.

The relentless pace-thrust, curl, stroke-pulled me closer, then yanked me back from release. My breath turned shallow and ragged. My nails digging into the polished wood of his desk.

"P–Professor..." My voice cracked, part plea, part warning.

"What is it, Miss Langford?" His tone was maddeningly calm, as if we were still talking over lecture notes.

"You're... you're driving me crazy," I managed, hips rolling restlessly against his hand.

His low chuckle slid down my spine like a caress. "Good. I want you crazy for me."

Then his fingers pressed firmly, curling into that spot that made my vision spark, while his thumb circled my clit with ruthless precision. My thighs clenched involuntarily, my body straining toward him.

"Say it," he murmured, leaning in so close I could feel the faint scrape of his stubble against my ear. "Say what you want."

My pride fought the need clawing through me, but another deliberate twist of his fingers shattered my restraint.

"Please... let me cum," I breathed.

"Not enough." His voice dipped lower. "Beg me, Victoria."

Every nerve in my body felt alive. Every thought burned away, leaving only this aching, desperate need.

"Please... please fuck me," I said, the words trembling out of me. "Fuck me with your fingers until I cum,"

His quiet, satisfied hum was the only warning before his fingers slammed deeper, thrusting faster.