Beauty and the Professor (A Modern Fairy Tale Duet 1)

One long finger dipped down to her opening to draw the moisture up to her clit. His mouth worked along the side of her neck in light kisses and licks. Her head fell back to his chest as she abandoned herself to the pleasure. His fingers slid down into her folds and slipped inside, thrusting his fingers in as the heel of his hand pushed into her clit.

Her hips bucked as she mindlessly sought climax.

She came in a blinding whirl of pleasure, an almost unbearable relief, as if she’d been waiting to come since she saw him climax last week. Her whole body fell back against him, sated, boneless. The tension of these past few days, of these past few months, if she were honest, finally released. All her worry made quiet in one explicit moment.

He undressed her completely and placed her on the bed.

She had no strength to stop him. No desire to stop him. By the time she floated back down to earth she lay spread eagle on the bed, completely naked, with him kneeling between her legs. She only had a glimpse of his scarred face, taut and carnal with arousal, before he lowered his head and brought her to ecstasy again.

He brought her to climax four, five times—a generous lover. She lost count. He made her come again and again with his mouth on her clit and his fingers thrusting inside her.

“Yes, yes, that’s it,” he would moan when she came.

He was relentless in his pursuit of her orgasms, taking unmistakable pleasure in her sounds and responses. She was reminded of how they would discuss topics related to his work or her college classes. He always argued fiercely and often won their debates, but when she would win, he wouldn’t look disappointed or angry—he looked almost proud. Triumphant, even. Like her victory was his, and now her ecstasy was his, too.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “So damn beautiful. You look like a goddess. Like a warrior. Like you could slay me and you do. Just looking at you ruins me. I could watch you lying spread like this forever. Open to me, wet and flushed—forever and never grow tired.”

She’d read his articles and treatises and interviews. He had plain-spoken words and scientific words and even words of dry humor, but she had never heard these words before. These almost-poetry words melted her everywhere, sex and love made into sound.

Her body throbbed, exhausted from her climaxes, but her heart burst from his generosity. She wanted to do something for him. She wanted to do everything for him.

Erin reached down and touched his cock, drawing a gasp from him. The pulsing shaft jerked in her hand. He pulled away. From her position she couldn’t reach him in his retreat. He touched her again and she jumped, oversensitive.

“Just let me please you,” he said. “Let me give you pleasure.” His caress lightened.

She moaned and her legs relaxed open again. It felt too good to question, too incredible when he had learned how to touch her in exactly the right way to make her come.

“Yes,” he murmured. “Yes, that’s right. Good girl.”

His fingers spread apart her folds, slick and swollen. “I’ll make you feel so much pleasure,” he said. “So much you won’t care that it’s me.”

Wait, what? She tried to push through the haze of her arousal.

“So good you’ll forget it’s me,” he whispered, staring down at her spread legs, entranced. “You won’t regret this. I won’t let you regret this,” he promised.

“Stop,” she gasped out. “What—what did you say?”

He shook his head and some of the sensual fog cleared from his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Did you…did you want to stop? Are you done with me?”

“No, I don’t want to stop,” she said, torn between exasperation and a deep tenderness for the man between her legs. “I want to keep doing this with you. Lie down.”

He blinked in apparent surprise but moved to obey, his muscled body splayed on the bed. Like it had been that day she walked in on him, except now she could touch him.

Without giving him a chance to reject her, she reached down and grasped his cock again. He felt heavy in her hand, large enough to intimidate her—but he held so still. As if he didn’t want to scare her. All the muscles in his body held tight, strong hands twisted in the sheets.

She touched her tongue to the tip.

“Oh God, yes,” he groaned, just as he had when he’d pleasured himself with his hand, imagining her mouth. This time was real, and she’d make sure he knew it.

She savored the salty flavor as it hit her tongue, breathing in the musky, male smell of his groin. His thighs shook with restraint, especially when she pressed her lips to the crown of his cock in a chaste kiss. All this power and virility trembled under her mouth. It intoxicated her.

Erin took him deep and then pulled back to the tip. In and out.

Deeper and deeper.

The rhythmic motions of his cock sliding back and forth between her lips felt like a chant. This man was so good and so kind and yet…did he question his worth because of his scars? It was impossible. Those wounds, received in battle as a soldier, proved his bravery and honor. It was another example of him protecting others, the way he advocated for unheard groups and causes in his writing, the way he debated social justice.

How dare anyone—how dare he—question his value? He was everything she could ever want in a man. He was everything she wanted, and for this moment, he was here, in her hands. In her mouth. She loved him.