The Secret (Winslow Brothers 3)

“Sit on my desk, Rachel,” I instruct, stalking toward her.

Her eyes are wide and worried, but she’s not following orders—and right now, that just won’t do. “Sit on my desk, Rachel,” I repeat.

“W-what are you doing?” she asks—only while following orders, though.

Her eyes watch me as I round the desk and take a seat in my chair. She spins her body to follow, just as secretly eager and excited as I am. I can see it in the pounding of her chest and the light in her eyes.

Rachel Rose, whether she would admit it or not, has missed me just as much as I’ve missed her for the last four days.

She stares down at me from her perch, her long brown hair falling toward her face and her skirt edging up her thighs that are currently clamped closely together.

With one index finger, I reach out and just barely caress the spot where clothing meets skin.

Her body shivers, and ever so slightly, her hips fidget in a way that makes her thighs spread the teeniest amount.

“Ty,” she warns, reaching desperately for the will to enforce our “be good for a week” agreement.

Her mind might be clinging to our arrangement, but her body is not. Her nipples are hard beneath her silk blouse, and her teeth have nearly created a permanent crease in the plump flesh of her bottom lip.

“I’m trying to be good,” I tell her, smiling up at her through hooded eyes. It may not seem like it, but I’m telling the truth.

Every cell inside me wants to pull her onto my lap and show her just how fucking much I miss the feel of her skin against mine and how badly I want to fill her up and feel her tight cunt wrapped around my cock and how desperate I am to swallow her moans into my mouth as she comes, but what I’m doing now isn’t about that.

What I’m doing now is about teasing. Taunting. Making her come.

I move my index finger to her other thigh, creating an invisible straight line from one side to the other, and only hovering for a moment when I reach the spot that’s slightly open.

“You call this being good?” she questions, a knowing smile forming at the corner of her lush mouth.

“Yeah, Rach. I call this really good.” I lean forward in my chair as I gently spread her thighs all the way apart. Her panties are visible now, and they’re a delicate, sexy version of lace and silk that makes my cock do a double take.

“Ty…”

“Don’t worry, I’m just looking. Not touching.”

Her hips fidget again, spreading her legs even farther for me, and I glance up to see that a little pout has formed on her lips at the news of no touching.

Yeah, doll. I feel the same exact way.

I move my face closer to the apex of her thighs, so close that my mouth is just a brush away from her panties, and Rachel’s breasts push out as she inhales a deep breath.

“How many more days?” I ask, staring desperately at her lace-covered pussy.

“Uh…technically, two,” she breathes out. “But if we’re saying spring break starts the moment our last classes end, then only one.”

“So, we’ll go with one, then.”

She laughs, but when I blow on the overheated center of her, she chokes to an immediate stop, all humor strangled out by a moan. “Yeah, okay. Yes. It’s definitely one day.”

Her gorgeous hips squirm on my desk, and all of my patience flees. I can’t wait any longer—I’ll never survive it. “You know what I need?”

“What?” she whispers.

“I need to see you come. Right here. On my desk.”

“But…”

“I locked the door. My next class isn’t for another hour. And you still have forty minutes until yours.”

“But we said we were going to be good.”

“Oh, we’re still going to stick to the rules,” I tell her and reach up to grasp her hand in mine. I guide it to the apex of her thighs and use my other hand to slide her panties to the side so her fingers touch her clit. “Like I said, I won’t touch. I’m only going to watch.”

A little whimper leaves her lips, and I know she needs this just as much as I need to see her do it.

“Do it, Rachel. Show me how you pleasure yourself. But imagine it’s my mouth and my tongue and my cock while you do it.”

Slowly, hesitantly, she starts to rub her fingers against her clit, and the sight of it—the sight of her sitting on my desk with her legs spread and her hand between her thighs—is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life.

“Fuck, I’m jealous of those fingers,” I whisper and brush my lips over the top of her still-moving hand.

She moans and cries out, but she doesn’t stop. She keeps touching herself, picking up the pace, but at the same time, not going so fast that she can’t savor the buildup.