My Professor #4

The suite responded to our passion, the amber light pulsing brighter with each thrust, the temperature rising until a fine sheen of sweat covered our bodies. Outside, a distant thunderstorm rolled across the city, lightning occasionally illuminating the room in brief flashes of electric blue that cut through the golden glow.

I felt myself climbing toward that peak again, faster this time, my body clenching around him as the pressure built. His rhythm faltered, his breathing harsh against my neck.

"Lucy," he gasped, "I can't—"

"Don't stop," I pleaded, digging my heels into the small of his back. "Please, Liam, I'm so close—"

He slipped a hand between us, finding exactly where I needed him, and the dual sensation pushed me over the edge. I came with a keening cry that echoed off the obsidian walls, my entire body clenching around him.

He followed moments later, my name a prayer on his lips as he shuddered above me, within me, his release triggering aftershocks that left me trembling beneath him.

For long moments we lay tangled together, heartbeats gradually slowing, the suite's light dimming to a soft, satisfied glow. The storm outside passed, leaving only the glitter of rain-washed city lights beyond the windows.

Eventually he shifted, careful not to crush me with his weight, but keeping me close against his side. My head found the perfect resting place on his shoulder, my hand splayed across his chest where I could feel his heart still racing.

"Well," I said finally, "I think we can safely say the algorithm works."

His laugh rumbled through his chest. "A ninety-seven-point-eight percent success rate seems conservative, in retrospect."

His fingers traced lazy patterns along my spine, sending aftershocks of pleasure through my still-sensitive body. "I suppose we should thank the algorithm," he murmured against my hair.

I tilted my face up to his, the amber light catching the silver in his beard. "Or we could continue our research. Verify the results."

Something sparked in his eyes—that same intensity I'd seen when he defended a particularly controversial marketing theory. "Scientific method does require repeated experimentation."

I slid my hand lower, feeling him stir against my touch. "For statistical validity."

His mouth captured mine again, hungrier this time, as if our first encounter had only stoked his appetite rather than satisfied it. The kiss deepened, his tongue sliding against mine with deliberate precision that made me whimper. His hands tangled in my hair, angling my head to grant him better access.

"I want to taste you," I whispered against his lips, the words spilling out before I could second-guess them.

His pupils dilated, nearly eclipsing the warm brown of his irises. "Lucy..."

I slipped from his embrace, sliding to my knees on the plush carpet beside the chaise. The suite adjusted around us, the lighting shifting to a deep sapphire blue that cast dramatic shadows across his face. Looking up at him from this position—my professor, my match—sent a thrill of power through me despite my submissive posture.

"Let me," I said, hands resting on his thighs, waiting for permission.

He swallowed visibly, one hand reaching out to cup my cheek. "You continue to surprise me."

I turned my head to kiss his palm. "Good. I'd hate to become predictable."

His laugh transformed into a sharp intake of breath as I took him in my hand, stroking slowly from base to tip. He was already hardening again, his recovery time impressive. I leaned forward, maintaining eye contact as I took him into my mouth.

"Fuck," he hissed, fingers threading through my hair without pulling, just holding on as if he needed an anchor.

The taste of him, the weight on my tongue, the way his breath hitched when I hollowed my cheeks—it was intoxicating. I set a rhythm that had him tensing beneath my hands, his carefully constructed composure crumbling.

"Lucy," he groaned, his voice strained. "If you keep—I can't—"

I pulled back, looking up at him through my lashes. "Isn't that the point, Professor?"

In one fluid motion, he stood, pulling me to my feet. His kiss was bruising, possessive, as he walked me backward across the suite. My back hit cool glass—the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city—and I gasped at the temperature contrast against my heated skin.

"Do you know what you do to me?" he growled, turning me to face the window. "How long I've wanted this?"

The city sprawled below us, a glittering carpet of lights. At this hour, the neighboring buildings were mostly dark, their windows vacant eyes in the night. Still, the exhibitionist thrill of being pressed against the glass, naked and wanting, sent a fresh rush of heat between my legs.

"Show me," I challenged, bracing my hands against the smooth surface.

His chest pressed against my back, his arousal hot and insistent against me. One hand slid around to cup my breast, the other drifting lower to find me already wet again.

"So responsive," he murmured against my neck, teeth grazing my pulse point. "So eager."

I pushed back against him, shameless in my need. "Please, Liam."

He positioned himself at my entrance, teasing me with just the tip. "Like this?" he asked, his voice rough with restraint.

"Yes," I breathed, fogging the glass in front of me.