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

“Is it self-serving for me to agree to that one too? It makes me so hot how flexible you are.”

She grinned. “And an occasional girls’ night out?”

“All these questions, this civil unrest,” he murmured against her neck. His lips skated over her collarbone, igniting nerves all over her body.

She shivered. “Maybe I’ll have a rebellion.”

“Ah, but you already rule me. Anything else is just a game we play.”

Blake

Blake allowed her to flip them over. She grasped his hands in hers, pinning him to the bed. Her curves were pale and tantalizing. He could do nothing but stare at her, entranced by the sight of her.

Her strength held him down too. Not the physical force of her palms against his or her slender thighs straddling his but that indomitable will of hers. Threatened, but she pushed forward anyway. Uncertain, but she laid her heart open to him.

She had humbled him downstairs. This, she’d said, connecting their hearts with their hands. And he’d known she was right. He’d felt she was right, but he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to find this place without her. It was like wandering a forest for years, only to have her take him by the hand and lead him to a cool, running stream. It had been here all along, he’d just been too blind to find it.

She nipped at the line of his jaw. The pinch slid down his spine and burrowed itself into his balls. He bucked his hips, rubbing his cock between the damp folds of her sex.

“Jesus, woman.”

Her smile left no doubt that she knew her own power. It was potent sexuality. It was peace. He grasped her hands where they held his down, dying without being able to touch her and more than willing. This was the stuff of wet dreams, her body spread open to his hungry gaze, his held down for her pleasure.

“Use me,” he said hoarsely. “Fuck me.”

She bit her lip. “Not like that.”

“How then?”

She released him, supporting herself with the bed and half entwined with him. He immediately ran his hands along the slope of her back, admiring her smoothness, embracing her. A sensual roll of her hips and she hovered over him, the head of his cock hitched to her opening. He gritted his teeth to fight the piercing desire to thrust upward, holding his body flat against the bed. Slowly, achingly, she lowered herself to him, around him, enveloping him in softness and scalding him with exquisite heat.

Her eyes remained on his through the entire downward slide and beyond. Even when she began to move over him in a sumptuous undulation, her warm gaze was locked with his. He drowned in those eyes, those amber pools of desire and acceptance. She looked deep inside him and found him worthy; he tithed with his body, his soul, for a chance to make her come. The ripples around his cock meant she was close, but her expression was solemn, focused. Steady.

It wasn’t the right rhythm to make him come, not fast enough really, but he was glad of it. This way he could last. Even her gorgeous body and the poignant feel of her couldn’t overcome biology. The slow grind was a communion, a prayer—a goddamned miracle. He swallowed thickly. If he fondled her clit or sucked her nipples, she would clench around him in seconds, but he found himself reluctant to end this quickly. He wanted to watch her come at her own pace, to take her own pleasure. He wanted to suffer in wait.

Her breasts pressed to his chest, and he knew she was rubbing her clit against his body. He was hard and aching in the clasp of her body, trembling with restraint. Her movements became smaller, more specific, rocking her hips over him, fucking him.

She was taking from him, her pleasure, his power, and he was hollow from it, open. There wasn’t a single thing he’d hold back from her—not love, not sex. Not surrender.

“Blake. Blake.” She was calling for him, sounding lost and afraid, staring into his eyes.

“I’m here, baby. Fuck, I’m right here.” His voice was like grit in the air around them, rough and unruly.

He felt a tightening of her inner muscles as she clamped down around him. A rush of hot liquid coated his cock. His eyes narrowed to slits, but he couldn’t close them, couldn’t look away—fuck, he couldn’t look away from the sight of her in climax, her face slack and open and so damned lovely. So lovely.

He came. She was completely still over him, frozen at the peak, but he was coming in long, painful drags, emptying himself into her body, finding completion and so much more. There was nothing sweeter than the feel of her falling apart in his arms, needing him, trusting him—of finally trusting himself.

Trusting himself to do what was right, what was necessary, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. Her inner muscles flexed around him, and he forced himself to roll them over, to pull away from her. He pushed the hair away from her face, cradling her cheek.

“Erin,” he murmured. “I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Her body went rigid beneath his, sensual pleasure draining from her eyes. “What?”

He dealt with Melinda, but she was only a symptom of the problem. Sh

e would never have been able to threaten Erin if Blake hadn’t been with her. “Baby, I love you more than life. And I love you enough to let you go. How can I stand behind a podium and teach about ethics, without living it myself?”

She sat up, dragging a sheet to cover herself. Already he was losing her, even if it was only the sight of her pink-tipped breasts. It felt like losing a limb. A vital organ.