My Professor #3

He shrugged off his partially unbuttoned shirt, revealing a lean torso I'd only ever imagined during particularly inappropriate daydreams in Marketing Theory 301. My eyes traced the trail of dark hair disappearing beneath his waistband.

"You're staring," he observed, voice tinged with amusement.

"You're worth staring at." I propped myself up on my elbows, drinking him in. "I didn't expect—"

"The elbow patches to be hiding this?" He raised an eyebrow, and I laughed, the sound dissolving into a gasp as he knelt between my legs, pushing my skirt higher.

"I was going to say I didn't expect to find my marketing professor in a place like this," I managed as his fingers traced patterns on my inner thighs. "But yes, the elbow patches were deceptive."

His eyes darkened. "And what about you, Lucy? What deceptions are you hiding?" His fingers hooked into my underwear, sliding the lace down with agonizing slowness.

I lifted my hips to help him, suddenly shy under his intense gaze. "I'm an open book."

"Mmm." He tossed the scrap of black lace aside. "With very selective annotations."

Before I could formulate a response, he lowered his head, his breath hot against my most sensitive skin. His beard tickled my thighs as he pressed open-mouthed kisses higher, higher, until—

"Oh god," I gasped, fingers clutching at the velvet beneath me.

He hummed against me, the vibration sending shockwaves through my body. "Not god," he murmured, pausing to look up at me with wicked eyes. "Just Professor Jeffries will do."

I would have laughed if his tongue hadn't chosen that moment to find exactly the right spot, turning my laughter into a desperate moan. My hands flew to his hair, fingers tangling in the salt-and-pepper strands as he worked me over with the same methodical precision he applied to everything else.

The suite seemed to pulse around us, the crimson walls darkening further as my pleasure built. The smart glass windows fogged slightly, the city lights blurring into smears of gold against the night sky. I could feel myself climbing higher, teetering on the edge as his tongue circled and flicked with maddening expertise.

"Please," I whispered, not even sure what I was begging for.

He pulled back just enough to murmur, "Patience was never your strong suit," before sliding one long finger inside me, then another, curling them in a way that made my vision blur at the edges.

"I hate waiting," I gasped, hips rising to meet his mouth as he resumed his attentions.

"I know." His free hand pressed down on my abdomen, holding me in place. "That's why you need to learn."

But his actions belied his words as he increased his pace, fingers and tongue working in concert until I was writhing beneath him, incoherent pleas falling from my lips. The pressure built, coiling tighter and tighter until—

"Liam!" I cried out as I shattered, waves of pleasure washing over me in relentless succession. He stayed with me through every aftershock, gentling his touch only when I tugged weakly at his hair.

When I could focus again, he was looking up at me with an expression I'd never seen before—hunger mixed with something almost tender. My use of his first name hung between us, more intimate somehow than what we'd just done.

"That's the first time you've called me that," he said, rising to hover over me, his weight supported on his forearms.

"Should I go back to Professor Jeffries?"

He caught my hand, pressing a kiss to my palm that made my heart stutter. "No. I like the way my name sounds on your lips."

The suite shifted again, the lighting softening to a warm amber that cast golden highlights across his features. I became aware of music playing softly from hidden speakers—something classical with a modern electronic undertone that perfectly matched the rhythm of our breathing.

"This room really does adapt to mood," I murmured, trailing my fingers down his chest.

"The Obsidian Suite is renowned for its responsiveness." He brushed a strand of hair from my face. "Though I suspect even its algorithms couldn't have predicted this particular scenario."

I smiled, hooking my leg around his hip. "Speaking of predictions... I can feel that you're not finished with your research, Professor."

His eyes darkened at the title, and I filed that reaction away for future exploration. "Thorough investigation requires multiple methodologies," he agreed, voice rough as I pressed against the hardness still confined by his trousers.

I reached between us, fingers working at his belt with more success this time. "I believe in hands-on learning."

"So you've mentioned." He helped me push the fabric down, kicking free of his remaining clothes until we were skin to skin, his heat searing against me.

He paused, suddenly serious. "Lucy, are you certain about this? Once we cross this line—"

I silenced him with a kiss, pouring everything I couldn't articulate into the press of my lips against his. When we broke apart, I whispered, "The algorithm was right, Liam. We're here because we both want to be."

Something shifted in his expression—relief, perhaps, or surrender. He reached down between us, positioning himself at my entrance, the blunt pressure making me gasp.

"Tell me if I hurt you," he murmured, pushing forward slowly, inch by exquisite inch.

I wrapped my legs around him, urging him closer. "You won't."

The stretch and fullness as he entered me completely drew a moan from deep in my chest. He stilled, allowing me to adjust, his forehead pressed against mine as we shared breath in the amber light.

"You feel..." he began, then shook his head, apparently at a loss for words—a first for the eloquent Professor Jeffries.

I rocked my hips experimentally, drawing a groan from him. "Show me," I whispered. "Show me what you can't say."

His control snapped. He captured my mouth in a bruising kiss as he began to move, each thrust deeper than the last. My nails scraped down his back, leaving marks I hoped would remind him tomorrow that this wasn't a dream.

The chaise creaked beneath us as our pace increased, my body rising to meet his with growing urgency. He shifted, changing the angle until I cried out, seeing stars.

"There," he growled, hitting that spot again and again until I was babbling incoherently, begging him not to stop.