Borrowed Heat part 4

He stood without warning, still buried inside me, and lifted.

The sudden display of strength pulled a startled sound from my throat. My legs locked around his waist on instinct. He carried me two steps from the desk as if I weighed nothing and braced my back against the nearest wall. One arm stayed solid under my thighs; the other braced beside my head. Then he fucked up into me in short, powerful strokes that stole the air from both of us.

Every thrust dragged a soft, helpless noise out of me. The wet, rhythmic slap of our bodies was impossible to hide. I tried to muffle the sounds against his shoulder and failed. My fingers dug into the muscle of his back hard enough to leave marks. He kept the pace, then shifted the angle so the head of his cock dragged across the exact spot that made my vision blur.

“Look at me,” he said, voice rough.

He saw every crack in the performance I had tried to maintain in class, every place the text message and the locked door and the way I had touched myself thinking of him had undone me. I saw the same want reflected back, unshielded, and the quiet triumph that he had been right not to let me ignore him.

He fucked me harder against the wall. The stretch without a condom felt sharper, hotter, the slick heat of me taking him completely on every upward thrust. Wetness coated both of us; I could feel it sliding down the insides of my thighs with each motion. My clit rubbed against the hard plane of his lower stomach whenever he buried himself to the hilt. The dual friction made coherent thought impossible.

I came the first time like that, it was sudden and sharp, walls clamping down around him so tightly he groaned against my neck. He held still through the worst of the contractions, letting me ride the waves, then started moving again before the aftershocks had fully faded. The oversensitivity made me whimper. He only slowed enough to keep from tipping me into discomfort, then built the rhythm back up.

“Still think you can end this by ignoring me in class?” he asked against my ear, the words punctuated by deep thrusts.

He turned us away from the wall without pulling out and carried me the few steps back to the desk. This time he set me on the edge, pushed my knees wider, and drove into me from standing. The new angle let him go even deeper. One of his hands stayed on my hip, holding me in place; the other slid between us so his thumb could circle my clit in tight, relentless strokes timed to every thrust.

The dual stimulation was too much. I reached for his wrist, not sure if I meant to stop him or urge him on. He caught my hand, laced our fingers, and pinned it to the desk beside my head. The restraint sent a fresh rush of heat through me. I was already close again, the second orgasm building low and inevitable.

“Ellis…”

He kept the same ruthless pace until I broke a second time, thighs shaking, a cry tearing out of me that I only half-managed to swallow. This time he followed almost immediately, hips stuttering, a deep groan torn from his chest as he emptied inside me in hot, pulsing waves. The sensation of him coming bare, the extra wet heat flooding me, prolonged my own climax until I was trembling and oversensitive.

He stayed buried deep while both of us caught our breath, forehead pressed to mine, one hand still loosely holding mine against the desk. The office smelled like sex and rain. My skirt was shoved up around my waist. His pants were open just enough. The mess of us was already starting to slip out of me onto the polished wood.

After a long moment he eased out carefully. He looked down between us, at the evidence of what we had just done.

He stepped closer again, between my still-spread knees, and ran two fingers through the slick mess coating my inner thighs and the lips of my pussy. The touch was light, almost clinical, except for the way his eyes stayed locked on mine. He gathered the wetness and brought his fingers to my clit, circling slowly.

“You can.”

He kept the circles steady and unhurried until the oversensitivity tipped back into fresh need. When he slid those same two fingers inside me I bit my lip hard. He fucked me with them slowly at first, then harder, curling against the sensitive front wall while his thumb stayed on my clit. The wet sounds were louder this time, filthy in the quiet room. I came a third time almost without warning, sharper, body jerking against his hand while a soft, helpless sound escaped me.

Only then did he stop. He withdrew his fingers, and helped me sit up more fully on the desk. My legs felt unreliable. He stayed between them, hands light on my waist, steadying me while both of us breathed.

We were still half-dressed and thoroughly ruined when the knock came.

Ellis’s body went still. My heart slammed once, hard.

“Professor Voss?” A graduate student’s voice, tentative. “I saw the light on. Just checking everything’s all right, you usually leave by now.”

I swallowed, forced my voice level, and called out without moving from the desk. Ellis’s hand stayed warm on my hip, a quiet anchor.

“Everything’s fine. Just finishing notes for tomorrow. Thank you.”

A short pause. “Okay. Have a good night.”

Footsteps retreated down the hall.

Neither of us spoke for several seconds. The evidence of what we had done was impossible to hide, my skirt wrinkled and damp, his pants still open, the unmistakable scent of sex in the closed office, the warm trickle of him still slipping out of me onto the desk.

I looked at the locked door, then at him.

The same steady eyes that had watched me try to ignore him in class, that had sent the photo, that had known exactly what I was doing the moment he stepped inside.