Crazy in Love - Lane Hart Page 0,21

thing over her head, leaving her standing in front of my used and battered wooden desk in nothing but a pair of purple lace panties, no bra, looking like a fucking goddess. Jesus, her body is even more beautiful than I imagined.

“You’re stunning,” I tell her while dipping a finger into the front waistband of her panties and jerking them down her legs. “Sit on the desk,” I command, unable to help but wonder just how much she’ll hate me for what I’m about to do. Will she forgive me? If I’m right, she’ll be angry but quickly get over it. But if I’m wrong, and she’s not out to bring me to my knees, she’ll be hurt, upset by me taking advantage of her. If so, she’ll have to trust me just like I’m trying to trust her not to screw me over.

Once Reagan eases her bare bottom back up on the desk, I resume my place between her spread thighs to kiss her. Knowing this may be the only time she ever lets me touch her after what I plan to do, I intend to feel every inch of her skin, starting with filling both of my hands with her perky tits, squeezing them, making her moan into my mouth. I keep kissing her as I trail one hand down her stomach, then both palms up her thighs, spreading them for me wider until they come to the juncture. When I brush my thumb over her clit for the first time she gasps and startles in surprise. I keep rubbing her nub until Reagan breaks our kiss when her head falls back, eyes closed, lips parted. Holding on to my shoulders, she lifts her hips, seeking more contact with my hand. Knowing what she needs, I dip a finger through her wet folds. I have to cover her lips with mine to drown out her cries when I start to penetrate her with the tip. Her tight, silky walls squeeze my index finger, and she’s so aroused that her pleasure gushes out, coating my desk. It’s so fucking hot I want to use my tongue to clean it up and then lick her pussy until she screams my name. But she’s already so close this time.

With my free hand, I ease my phone from my pocket, quickly flip to the app, and press the red button right before Reagan moans my name and trembles with her release still clutching my shoulders so tightly in her fists she’s probably wrinkling my dress shirt.

She’s still gasping for breath when her hazy eyes blink open and she sees my phone in my hand.

“What…what are you doing?” she asks, dropping her hands from me to wrap her arms protectively around her breasts to cover them. The hurt in her voice and her moisture-filled eyes instantly make me feel ashamed of doubting her.

“You’re not the first girl who has wanted this from me, and I can’t blindly trust you,” I tell her. “But I swear to you, Reagan, no one will ever see this video unless you try to screw me over.”

Her bottom lip trembles, and then she pushes off the desk, grabs her dress from the floor and hastily pulls it back on, maybe even inside out. She doesn’t look at me again, and knowing I’ve made her so upset is like an agonizing weight crushing down on me.

“Reagan,” I say as she starts for the door. She reaches for the knob. And when it doesn’t open because it’s still locked, her bare shoulders hunch forward and the first sob wretches free, more painful to my ears than a fucking pickaxe.

My arms are wrapped around her before I even realize it, so instinctual it is for me needing to comfort her, hating myself for doing this to her. I’m thankful when she doesn’t pull away. She just rests her forehead against the door and lets me hold her while she cries.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur in her ear. “Please forgive me.”

Elbowing me in the gut to urge me to let her go, which I totally deserved, she flips the lock, yanks open the door, and then she’s gone.

…

Reagan

I collapse to my knees under the oak tree across from the English building, unable to make it back to my apartment as the tears pour down my face.

This is a disaster. Beyond disaster. What was I thinking? That I could just waltz up to my professor and he would fuck me on his desk so