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

She tasted faintly of wine, rich and velvety. He recognized notes of chocolate and red fruit, because he was exactly as stuffy as she’d thought he was. He’d only had Kool-Aid on the occasions he’d gone to friends’ houses, but that was all in the past. From before. He hadn’t died in that godforsaken bunker, but he’d been reborn. He was a different man now, a better one.

He slipped his hand behind her neck, reveling in the silky strands between his fingers, in the delicate nape cradled in his palm. He felt suffused with her softness, bruised and beaten by it. How could she accept him so fully? But she did. She pressed her cheek against him, right where he was most mangled. Her skin was cool, soothing him. Marking him, like he wanted to do for her.

He stood up, leaving her sprawled and languid on the sofa. The purple dress she wore hugged her curves and rode up her thighs—it had to go. He pulled it off her, careful not to tug her hair and not letting her up either. Her bra and panties went next so that she lay on the soft, cool leather wearing only her black heels.

If he could paint her like this, he would. Make her stay in this position for hours while he stood behind the shield of an easel, capturing a part of her for himself. Instead he could only look at her, burning the memory into his brain. But hell, already he’d never forget. He knew every color of her skin, from the pink of her nipples to the pale porcelain of her belly. The tanned slope of her shoulder and the golden hairs behind her neck. He had catalogued her like the most diligent of researchers, leaving little notes scribbled in the margins. Here she’s sensitive but she likes to be licked. And there, God, she can come right there.

A brief squeeze of her wrist told her to stay. He retrieved a glass of wine from the dining table. Is it a special wine? she’d asked, and yes it was. He would never again be able to taste it without tasting her too.

He dipped his forefinger in the drink and touched her nipple, allowing the deep red liquid to coat her puckered skin. He’d meant to paint her all over first, but impatient lust had him mouthing her breast, swirling his tongue around the tip, and sucking on her. The other one was delicious as well, the dry, spiced wine contrasting with the sweet, fresh flavor of her.

Her eyes were hazy with arousal. Her legs had fallen open in sumptuous abandon. Take me, they said, and fuck yes, he was going to. He tipped the glass and poured a small puddle onto her belly. Muscles quivered beneath his lips as he lapped it up, dipping his tongue into her belly button.

Her legs were spread wide now, one of her feet on the floor, the other inching up the back of the couch. She was asking him to touch her, begging him with her body. He set the wineglass on the coffee table.

She groaned. “Please, Blake.”

Jesus. He loved the sound of her, everything she said, everything she didn’t say.

“Shh,” he soothed.

He loved to make her come, but she was burning up now. On the edge. He could bring her higher, bu

t only with patience. He tucked a throw pillow under her head before shedding his clothes. She watched from beneath gilt-tipped lashes, a small, appreciative smile on her face.

Leaning over the couch, he aimed his cock at her mouth. She opened for him obediently, her dark gaze flicking up to him. The wet heat, the searing lust in her eyes, was like a vise to his balls, wrapping them up so tight he almost came right then. He shut his eyes and forced it back. Not yet.

Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock. Her mouth had always been amazing, but it was more poignant now that she had knowledge of his body. He hadn’t been the only one taking notes. She slid her tongue along the slit, and stars bloomed behind his eyelids. She scraped the underside with the flat of her tongue, and he groaned, long and low.

“Fuck, baby. Fuck.”

She sucked him eagerly, pulling him in, and his hips moved forward of their own accord. He found his way inside with small, nudging thrusts, tunneling his way into the incredible warmth. It wasn’t enough. She was still tugging on him, her suction a small, feminine plea.

He raised an eyebrow. “You want more?”

With her lips wrapped around his cock, she nodded.

He tapped her cheek. “I’m not sure there’s room in your sweet mouth.”

She moaned in entreaty.

Shifting his stance over the couch, he pushed in farther, using more control now that he was going deep. Her eyes widened, but he kept going. Kept filling her until he felt the resistance at the back of her throat. He heard her deep breaths, the evidence of her focus. He moved to pull out, but she grasped the back of his thighs, her palms slippery from her perspiration and his. He rocked himself right there, holding the position far inside, his eyes rolling back at the sensation along his dick. Sparks of pleasure ran down his spine and into the base of his cock, but he wrenched himself away from her wet heat.

Now.

She was limp in his arms as he lifted her. He settled her over the arm of the couch so that her hands and face could rest on the seat cushion and her ass was exposed to him. She had less control this way, so when he touched two fingers to her swollen pussy, she cried out but didn’t move. Could hardly push back against him at all, her toes digging into the plush carpet beneath them. The sight of her was breathtaking—glistening folds all open for him. Plump and wet and ready for him.

He retrieved the wineglass and set the curved lip right at the base of her ass, sending rivulets of liquid over the puckered hole and down the valley of her sex. The liquid looked black against the leather beneath her pussy. A few dark drops landed on the carpet, but he didn’t give a shit. He leaned in. The first taste of her was wine alone before the undertones of her flavor peeked through. Her moans were a sensual accompaniment to the meal he made of her. His cock throbbed, desperate to replace his tongue, but he ignored it. He licked and sucked at her until every trace of the savory drink was gone and he was drawing more liquid from inside her.

His balls were drawn up tight, his cock aching. He stood and leaned over her, brushing the hair from her face.

“You ready, sweetheart?”

She whimpered.

He plunged inside her, swift and deep. Her cry was muffled by the leather. Driven and desperate, he pulled back before pushing inside. All his control evaporated, his mercy for her missing in action. He could only fuck her as hard as he needed to and hope she could take it.

She sobbed gently, her hands clenching at nothing beside her head. He changed his angle, pushing down where he knew she needed it. She came with a keening cry and a rush of warmth around his cock. Again. He didn’t let up, didn’t slow or change a goddamned thing—just let her climb the peak until she came with a broken sound and more liquid, more heat. He wanted to drain her, to use her up, to fuck her so long and so hard that she would never leave.