Cruel Legacy (Cruel 3)

He stepped forward, releasing my arms, and scooped me up into his. I felt weightless in his grasp as he carried me out of the living room, down the darkened hallway, and into his bedroom.

The space was enchanting in how closely it reflected the professor, whose body was pressed tight to mine. The bookcases filled with tomes and skinny philosophy texts and a row of leather journals. The navy-blue comforter that beckoned as he laid me out like a feast. The glass window that opened onto a balcony overlooking the park, fireworks already bursting in the distance even though it wasn’t yet midnight.

I propped myself up on my elbows, so I could get a better view of him. Something had shifted in his features at my acceptance. At whatever he’d seen on my face before he picked me up. Now, he was the Penn Kensington that I’d fallen hopelessly head over heels for. He was all male. Standing taller with those wide shoulders that fell down to his narrow hips. The bulge straining at the front of his slacks. My fingers itched to remove his length and feel that hardness against my skin, in my mouth, but one look from him held me in my place.

He was in control here. We might push and pull, fight, argue, and debate outside of the bedroom. But here, I was his.

No, this wasn’t some midnight romp to expunge my anger. This was finally taking back what I wanted despite the costs.

Penn untied the bow tie at his throat and let it hang loose around his neck. Then, he finished where I’d started, unbuttoning his shirt and tugging it from his pants to bare his defined chest before me. I wanted to run my fingers down his chest, lick my way down his abdominal muscles. Feel each ridge under my tongue. Watching and not touching was torture.

And maybe he knew that because one corner of his mouth lifted at my response.

“Tease,” I murmured.

“You have no idea,” he said with that same heady grin.

“I think I do.”

“We’ll test your theory.”

The heat in his look went straight to my core. “Okay, Professor.”

He dropped his shirt off of his shoulders at my comment. He snapped open his slacks and dragged the zipper down, revealing the erection hidden beneath.

“Let’s see if you can pass the exam.”

“Oh dear,” I said, playing along. My body ached all over at his playful words. “I didn’t study.”

“Who knew that you were such a bad student?” he said. “Let’s see how fast you can learn.”

“I’m definitely a fast learner,” I breathed.

He smirked. “We’ll see.”

He stepped forward, his erection still straining against his boxer briefs, but he was attentive to me. His fingers hooked into the soft material of my thong, and then he slid it down my body, effortlessly tossing it away. His strong hands came down on my inner thighs, spreading me wide open before his face.

My pussy pulsed with anticipation and need. He leisurely stroked one finger down my core, and I trembled with the desire for more. More, more, more. I couldn’t stop the need. Then he was spreading my lips apart, slicking through my wetness, hitting every nerve ending, and making my back arch off of the bed.

How could one finger make me this fucking needy?

“Don’t move,” he said, withdrawing.

I pushed toward him and felt a slight smack against my pussy. I yelped at the same time fire struck me with desire.

“I said, don’t move.”

I froze in place. Torn between wanting to move while demanding more than the little he was giving me, the torture I was enduring, and following directions so that I could get more. My eyes tracked him across the room to where the sound system was located.

Because, of course.

Penn liked his music. I’d almost forgotten. Indie music, as unknown as possible, was his preference. Though I knew he also liked some mainstream stuff if he was pushed for it.

The melody picked up, and my smile grew as I forgot all about my needs. “Is this obscure enough for you?”

“It felt poignant. I do have a taste for timing,” he said with a hint of the pain he’d felt in the last year touching his eyes.

“I love it,” I breathed as “This Year’s Love” by David Gray filled the room through surround sound speakers.

When he returned to me, the pain was gone, but I could feel the tension in the room. The tension of a year of separation. A year of fractured trust. A year of other people who never quite satisfied.

And I wished that I could wipe the slate clean. Start over. Fresh and shiny new, but I couldn’t. It wasn’t possible to erase the pain we’d caused each other. There was no do-over. This wasn’t a video game. We didn’t have unlimited lives. Just this one. So while it hurt, it had also somehow brought us to this moment. While it was far from perfect, it was still perfection. Perfection to imagine that I could trust him enough for sex after what he’d done. Perfection to imagine that he could trust me enough to be intimate and vulnerable after what I’d done.