My Professor #2

I moved first, closing the infinitesimal gap between us. My lips found his with an urgency that surprised even me, soft at first, then hungry as his hands came up to frame my face. He tasted of champagne and certainty, his beard rough against my skin in a way that sent shivers down my spine.

"Lucy," he breathed against my mouth, a warning or an invitation—I couldn't tell which.

I didn't care. In one fluid motion, I rose to my knees and swung myself over him, my mini skirt riding up as I settled onto his lap. His hands instinctively gripped my hips, steadying me as the emerald light played across our bodies.

"Tell me to stop," I challenged, my hands splayed across his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my fingers.

His eyes, dark with desire, held mine. "I should."

"But you won't." I rolled my hips experimentally, drawing a sharp intake of breath from him.

"No," he admitted, one hand sliding up to cup the back of my neck. "God help me, I won't."

His mouth recaptured mine with newfound intensity, all pretence of professional distance evaporating like morning mist. I could feel him hardening beneath me, the evidence of his desire pressing against the thin fabric of my underwear. My statement necklace swung forward, cool metal brushing against his neck as I deepened the kiss.

"The algorithm," he murmured against my throat, his lips leaving a trail of fire down to my collarbone, "seems to have identified a significant data point we both overlooked."

I laughed breathlessly, arching into his touch as his hands slid beneath my blazer. "Are you analyzing this? Now?"

"Professional hazard," he said, a smile in his voice as he found the zipper at the back of my top. "I analyze everything."

"Then analyze this," I whispered, grinding down against him deliberately, drawing a groan from deep in his chest that reverberated through me like thunder.

The suite responded to our heightened emotions, walls shifting to a deep crimson that bathed us in sensual light. The smart windows dimmed automatically, cocooning us in privacy as his fingers traced patterns on the bare skin of my back.

"Do you know," he said between kisses, his voice rougher than I'd ever heard it, "how many times I've had to look away when you wear this exact outfit to class?"

I pulled back slightly, surprised. "You notice what I wear?"

His laugh was low and self-deprecating. "I notice everything about you, Lucy. Your bold accessories that somehow work despite breaking every rule of conventional style. The way you tap your pen when you're formulating an argument. How your eyes light up when you're about to challenge something I've said."

The confession sent a thrill through me that had nothing to do with physical desire and everything to do with being truly seen. I leaned forward until my forehead rested against his, our breath mingling in the crimson-tinted air.

"I didn't think you saw me at all," I admitted. "Just another overconfident student with more enthusiasm than experience."

His hands framed my face, thumbs brushing my cheekbones with unexpected tenderness. "I see you, Lucy Andrews. Perhaps too clearly for my own good."

The suite's temperature control adjusted again, a subtle warmth enveloping us as I shifted in his lap, feeling the delicious friction between our bodies. His hands slid down to my thighs, fingers tracing circles on the sensitive skin just below my skirt.

"This is crossing every professional boundary," he murmured, even as his touch grew bolder.

"We're not in your classroom," I reminded him, unbuttoning his shirt with trembling fingers. "We're in the Obsidian Suite. Different rules apply here."

The walls pulsed in agreement, crimson deepening to the colour of wine. Outside, the city lights twinkled like stars, distant and inconsequential compared to the universe we were creating between us.

"Different rules," he echoed, sliding his hands higher beneath my skirt. "And what exactly are these rules, Ms. Andrews?"

The formal address sent an unexpected jolt of pleasure through me. I leaned in, my lips brushing his ear as I whispered, "That's what we're here to discover, Professor."

His fingers tightened on my thighs, leaving imprints I hoped would last until morning. "Discovery requires thorough research," he murmured, voice dropping to that register that always made me sit straighter in lecture. Now it made me melt against him, boneless with wanting.

"I've always been a hands-on learner," I breathed as his palm slid higher, finding the lace edge of my underwear.

"I've noticed." His eyes held mine as his fingers traced the damp fabric, a smile tugging at his lips when I gasped. "Quick to grasp concepts but impatient with methodology."

I rocked against his hand, shameless. "Are you going to lecture me on methodology now, Professor?"

"If necessary." He circled his thumb just where I needed it most, pressure light enough to make me whimper. "Some subjects benefit from... deliberate pacing."

The walls shifted again, deepening to the colour of garnets in candlelight. The suite seemed to breathe with us, temperature rising degree by subtle degree. Somewhere a hidden speaker released the faintest hint of jasmine into the air, mingling with our shared breath.

I fumbled with his belt buckle, clumsy in my eagerness. "I didn't join the Velvet Key Society for a lecture."

His laugh vibrated through me as he caught my wrists, stilling my movements. "Didn't you? The Lucy Andrews I know always wants to prove herself the quickest study in the room."

Heat flooded my cheeks. He saw too much—had always seen too much.

"Let me teach you something worth learning," he whispered, lifting me effortlessly and laying me back against the velvet chaise. The fabric was cool against my feverish skin as he stood, towering over me. Backlit by the crimson light, he looked like something from a Renaissance painting—all strong lines and shadowed angles.