finger sank inside her, her breath hitched. “God, yes.”
He drew back enough to watch her swallow and half-close her eyes when he fucked her with one finger, then two. And when he used that slickness to circle her clit again, only his hand in her hair kept that heavy-lidded gaze on his.
She was moving against him, grinding, panting, her face flushed.
“Cover my mouth. Your hand.” It was a desperate gasp, her brows drawn as if in pain. “Simon, I’m—”
As soon as he freed his hand from her hair and pressed it over her mouth, she moaned against his palm once, then again, and came hard.
Her legs quaked and her flesh pulsed against his fingertips, and he worked her until the very last spasm of pleasure eased, watching her face turn slack, her expression beatific. Sweaty wisps of hair clung to her temples, and her buns had entirely ceased to exist. She was gripping his bare shoulders—had she unbuttoned his shirt at some point, or had he?—so hard she might leave bruises.
At that moment, nothing else existed but her pleasure and his savage satisfaction at having given it to her. Nothing. Not the danger of what they’d just done, not the fierce throb of his cock.
When she was still, he lowered his hand from her mouth so he could kiss her hard, and she returned the embrace with equal heat.
Then, somehow, his pants were down around his thighs, and so were his boxer-briefs, and she was the one pressing him up against the shelves. Before he could muster a single coherent word, her strong, pale hand wrapped around his dick and stroked.
He made a strangled sound deep in his chest and jerked against her.
When her hand stilled in response, he almost wept.
“I’m sorry, Simon. I should have asked.” She touched his cheek. “May I?”
His only response was his hand atop hers, setting it back in motion as she grinned up at him. When she paused to slip her hand between her legs, then resumed gripping his cock with slick fingers, he thunked his head against the shelves hard enough to bruise.
Each squeeze of that capable hand raced up his spine like a line of fire. Lighter fluid set aflame, flaring with such immediate heat, he was surprised his hair wasn’t singed.
“Look,” she murmured, and he set his forehead to hers as she grasped his neck with her free hand. Together, they watched her pump his dick, his panting breaths and low groans gathering in the space between their mouths.
Helplessly, he was fucking her fingers now, the nape of his neck sweaty. She was squeezing there too, holding him steady, making him watch, tugging his hair until he was so overwhelmed by sensation he whimpered.
His hands were on her breasts, on that amazing, generous ass, roaming as if she might leave at any moment, as if he needed to touch all of her at once.
He was making too much noise, he knew it, but he couldn’t—he couldn’t—
With one final squeeze, one more ounce of pressure against the underside of his cockhead, one more lungful of turpentine and musk and sweat, he bucked his hips and buried his face in the damp crook of her neck and sank his teeth into her flesh and came with a muffled shout, jerking hard with every spasm.
She stroked him through it, her grip gentling, her murmur soothing.
When he could see again, when he could stand without her support, he registered what they’d just done. What he’d just done.
If anyone unlocked her classroom door, there was no mistaking the situation.
They were propped against the shelves along one wall. Her panties were still around her knees, and his pants and boxer-briefs rested just below his ass. His shirt was unbuttoned, gaping open, and it wasn’t only paint and glue staining her dress now.
If his expression resembled hers at all, they both looked pink and dazed and well-fucked. Her hair bore the marks of his hands. They smelled distinctly of sex. And the pink imprint of his teeth on her pale skin…
That, honestly, was the only thing he regretted.
“Did I hurt you?” He touched the mark carefully, mouth pinched tight. “I’m sorry.”
As always, her smile dazzled him. “I’m not.”
“Good.” He pressed his lips to that mark, then her temple, her cheek, her nose, her round chin. “After we clean up, may I come home with you?”
“Yes.” Her fingertips on his own cheek were tender. “Yes, Simon.”
When he kissed her again, her mouth sweet and soft beneath his, he found