Page 96 of Wicked Little Secret
Butterfly-like nerves quake in my belly as I raise my fist to his office door and then knock.
“Come in.”
His tone’s cool and effortless. Naturally chiding and authoritative.
My pussy clenches in response. I take a second just to gather myself, breathing in and out.
Keep calm, Nys. You got this.
From the first step inside his office, the atmosphere feels adversarial. The room’s as warm and dimly lit as it had been that night weeks ago on Halloween when he’d first brought me here and we’d… given into temptation.
My eyes scan the dozens of legal books crammed on the bookshelves and the world globe perched along a filing cabinet against the wall. Flames crackle in the gated fireplace off to my left and raindrops speckle the leaded glass window.
Professor Adler sits behind his desk, his expression pinched. His glasses have slid halfway down his nose as he’s angled his head downward and scribbles away furiously at some sort of document. My eyes can’t help tracking his movements.
The sleeves of his button-up shirt have been unceremoniously rolled to the elbow, allowing his forearms to be on display. I can’t remember ever seeing a pair that were as sophisticated yet solid and masculine as his.
Every indentation, every muscle and defined vein makes breath hitch in my chest. Sparse dark hairs pepper the length, like many other parts of his body. I almost close my eyes remembering how it feels to run my fingers along his arms.
Sink my nails into them as he grips me and fucks me…
I’m flushed and hot by the time I reach his hands.
His hands.
They’re positioned so tightly around the pen he holds, his knuckles large and prominent. His nails clean and trimmed. Fingers long, thick, and deft.
Suddenly, I’m recalling how they feel on me. Wide, warm palms canvassing my bare skin, squeezing and groping. I can practically feel his fingers sliding inside my pussy, usually while he teases his tongue to mine and kisses me.
I’m damn near on the verge of orgasming by the time Professor Adler acknowledges my presence.
His gaze snaps up to my face. The pen drops from his grasp. A scowl edges his features, making them harsher, even more masculine.
“You’re late.”
“By a few minutes,” I say, fussing with the strap of my leather bookbag. “I wasn’t sure if you meant your office or the lecture hall.”
“Don’t move.”
Simple instruction that should be easy to follow, but as he shoots up to his feet and comes around his desk, I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat. If the little butterflies in my stomach count as movement…
As a result, I hold my breath.
He approaches with an appraising stare. From behind the lens of his glasses, his dark eyes travel the entire length of me, making sure I’ve dressed as told. When he slipsbehind me, completely out of sight, I bite down on my lip and ignore how I canfeelhim.
His closeness. His heat.
He steps toward me and his woody, spiced scent fills my nose too.
Familiar notes of fine paper and clove.
Professor Adler must know what he does to me, because his hand falls to my hip and he comes up so close, I’m braced against his chest. His lips tickle the hot shell of my ear.
“I know you haven’t forgotten about Friday night, Miss Oliver,” he drawls in his thick, authoritative tone. “Today, you’re going to regret ever misleading me. You’re going to come clean about what you’ve been up to, and then you’ll hopefully learn your lesson never to do it again.”
“Yes, Professor.”
“Hands flat on the desk,” he orders. “Legs shoulder width apart. Now.”