Commencement (8 page)

“Thomas,” I moaned and my hands fisted in his hair, those beautiful deep chestnut curls.

“Say that again,” he groaned against my breast, the vibration sending shivers of pleasure up my spine.

“Thomas.”

He raised his head, and lifted his torso so that he was staring down at me, his eyes the color of blue flame. “Again,” he said, yanking my head back by my hair, fluttering wet kisses along the column of my throat.

My fingers trembled and reached for his glasses. Slipping them from his face, I dropped them to the floor.

“Thomas,” I whispered.

His lips crushed mine, his tongue sliding into that hot, wet hole as one long elegant finger mirrored the movement, circling my entrance before sinking deep inside. He moved so slowly, so achingly, torturously slow that I bucked against his hand and tried frantically to move his heavy muscled frame to my whim, to hasten his pace. He broke the kiss and laughed. Pushing up on one hand, he towered over me, watching my face. He drew back his hips, then pushed forward sending a second finger inside me, to join the other.

“Fu…,” I cried, and nearly wept he felt so good.

He drew back again, and pushed forward again, his erection thick and hard against my thigh, his fingers curling inside my sex.

“Goddammit,” he ground out as his mouth crashed down to mine, his tongue plunging into my mouth as his pelvis drove down hard. He curled his fingers again, and flexed them, searching for that special spot deep inside, the one he knew would make me scream. His hand worked with his hips, his hips synched expertly to his mouth, his entire body thrusting, filled and laid claim to tight wet holes until all I could feel was him, over me, around me, inside me. My orgasm came over me like a summer thunderstorm, crashing through my limbs until I shattered underneath him. I cried out, and again he took the sound from me, swallowing my passion, consuming it like a holy sacrament. I held him as he fell, his face buried in my hair as his release shuddered through him.

“Jane, sweet Jane,” he whispered. “I want to hear it again,” he pleaded. “Say my name again.”

So I did.

“
I
think
I’ve called you by your first name now nearly as many times as I’ve called you Professor since I’ve known you.” I smiled at him as I led him down the hallway to my bathroom.

“And it’s music to my ears.” He smiled.

I opened the door to my shower and turned on the water full force. When I turned back to face him, he was staring at me.

“God, you’re exquisite,” he said, taking a step towards me, threading his hands through my hair, strands cascading from his fingers like silk.

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said softly.

“Really?” he asked. Taking my hand he led me into the shower and turned my back to his chest, folding me into his arms and guiding us under the spray together. “That’s astonishing. So you too, were thinking that your hair looks like a curtain of dark chocolate silk?” his fingers massaged my scalp, tilting my head back to rest against his chest. “That your skin is reminiscent of fresh cream?” His hands glided down my neck, and over my shoulders, setting my skin on fire, a blush raising in my cheeks. “That when you’re aroused your breasts look like that cream has been poured over strawberries?” His hands moved to cup me, lifting and massaging the heavy weight of my breasts as his thumbs brushed over the swollen pink tips. “You were thinking all those things too?”

“Well, not those exact words.” I laughed.

“What words, then? Hmmm?” he said, his lips nuzzling a magical spot just below my ear.

“No, no, please continue—I don’t want to interrupt this soliloquy.”

“I cannot decide which parts of you are my favorite,” he said, his fingers rubbing lazy circles over my nipples. “In fact limiting my praise to mere parts seems reductive, as I confess I am an ardent admirer of the entire package.”

“Oh, but you were on a roll.” I sighed, relaxing into his chest.

He tilted his head to look at me. “I wouldn’t want to objectify you, darling.”

“Please, objectify me. I’m begging you.”

“Very well,” he said, and lifting my chin with a fingertip, he pressed a soft kiss to my mouth. “These lips, so full and red, I’d often wondered would they look the same after kissing you, or would they swell further with attention?” He reached for the bottle of body wash on the shelf of my shower and poured some in his hands.

“And what’s the verdict?” I asked.

“You look manhandled,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Lips plump and bruised, like some lusty brute was abusing your mouth.”

“I’m not complaining.” I laughed, my pulse quickening at his words.
“
I’m quite enjoying your lusty brutish side.”

“I’m relieved to hear it, because it’s the same fate for your breasts, I’m afraid.” He rubbed his hands together in front of us, building a thick lather, then palmed my breasts and squeezed them, his fingers drawing soft grooves in my flesh as they trailed to my nipples. Every nerve ending sang in response to him, and I ached for more of his touch. His fingers found my nipples, pinching and rolling them roughly, until I gasped with pleasure, and a shock of lust spiked through me.

“I’m very, very fond of your breasts,” he growled, his lips brushing against my ear.

“And this,” he said, sliding a soapy hand down to the dewy cleft between my legs. “I cannot wait to taste you,” he said, “to thrust into you, and feel you from the inside, to feel that tight juicy hole sucking my cock like a greedy little mouth.”

“Oh, fuck me,” I cursed. My knees buckled and he caught me, his hand clamping between my legs to steady me.

“I keep telling you.” He laughed. “Not yet.”

“You’re evil,” I whimpered.

“Possibly.” He nodded. “But you like me that way, don’t you? You like the teasing and the torture, the slow build-up, the anticipation. You pretend you don’t, but you do. You love it.”

I turned in his arms and clamped my hands on his face, pulling him to me, shutting him up by sealing my mouth over his.

He laughed against my lips and cupped his hands around my ass, his fingers probing again, finding my slick folds from another angle, opening me to him, one finger circling the entrance to my sex.

I swear my eyes rolled back in my head. I was helpless in his arms, utterly controlled by his attentions, and I struggled to regain my wits, to give as good as I was getting. I snaked a hand between our bodies, searching for his cock that lay hard and thick against my belly. He caught my wrist and lifted my hand to his lips, kissing it.

“No,” he said firmly.

“Why do you get to dictate what we do?” I asked, looking up at him, my mood sobering. “Are you a control freak about sex, or what?”

“No,” he said, his eyes growing dark. “No, that’s not it.” His hands glided to my back and he set me away from him, taking a step back to snag a bottle of shampoo. He poured some in his hands and began soaping his hair, the cords of muscle in his arms, tensing and yielding as he moved.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’ve hurt your feelings.”

“No, you haven’t. Your comment was reasonable from your perspective of things. I just… When I make a promise to myself, I’ve learned I need to keep it. I’m sorry that it comes off as ‘control freak’ to you.”

“I don’t really understand. I mean, you’ve been laying down rules
and breaking them
since we met. It’s kind of giving me whiplash.”

He didn’t speak, just rinsed his hair, the water sluicing over his face and down his naked torso.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “Forget it.”

“No, no Jane,” he said, and pulled me back to him.

“I just need a moment to find the words.” Lathering shampoo into my hair, his fingers massaged my scalp. “When we spoke of our pasts, the things that have happened to us — well, one of the things that happened to me was a terrible betrayal of trust. A boundary was crossed, and the result was devastating and long lasting. Boundaries are very important to me. Especially this one, between us. I’m sorry that it’s confusing to you, but I have to respect that promise to myself; I have to respect that boundary.”

“Which is, exactly?”

He laughed cynically. “You’re right, I’ve been moving the line and bending the rule. But if you can see fit to indulge me, I’d prefer to control things, just for now.”

“Alright.” I sighed. “Send me a memo when I’m allowed to suck your cock.”

“Oh God,” he said. “Someone get me a pen.”

“No, seriously, just let me know, okay?”

“Here’s the deal,” he said, shifting to let the water rinse my hair. “Until you graduate, let me set the pace. Once you’ve got that piece of paper in your hand, no quarter need be given.”

I turned towards him and draped my arms over his shoulders.

“I couldn’t bear it, Jane. I won’t do wrong by you. I couldn’t bear to look in your eyes and see betrayal, or disgust, or desperation, and know that I put that there.”

“Never gonna happen,” I said. “Look in my eyes and tell me what you see now.”

He cradled my face in his hands, and leveled his eyes with mine.

“Lust.” He smirked.

“Duh, go on.”

His gaze grew serious. “Need, compassion,” he said, his eyes searching mine, probing deep. “Esteem?”

“Absolutely,” I nodded. “Go on.”

“Understanding. Kindness, and perhaps,” he said, tilting his head, “the tiniest seeds of something more, something I dare not name. Not yet.”

I gulped.

“Yes,” I said, unnerved at his insight. “Exactly right.”

“Wow,” he said, lifting me in his arms. “One hundred percent accuracy. Perhaps I should think of taking that talent on the road.”

I smiled and slanted my mouth over his. He kissed me deeply, his tongue sweeping insistently into my mouth, I softened against him, yielding, and then returned his passion ten-fold. Holding him to me fiercely, I claimed his mouth with my own, our tongues sparring for dominance. Breathless, he broke the kiss, fisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head back. His eyes locked on mine and a current of understanding crackled between us.

“Know that every part of that is returned, Jane. All of it.”

“I know,” I said, resting my forehead against his. “I told you, I see you and you see me.”

He moved to kiss me again and I dodged him, darting away to appraise him at a distance. I’d been dying for a good look at his body, a chance to soak in all that masculine beauty. If I couldn’t touch him as I wished, I was going to devour him with my eyes.

“Now then,” I said, “I believe it’s my turn to soliloquize….wait, is that even a word?”

“It is!” He laughed. “I promise.”

“Well…” I moved around him, pushing his muscled bulk in front of me and stood behind him, my breasts pressed to his back, my hands circling his torso to roam across the chiseled planes of his chest. Oh how good he felt under my hands, the strong lines of his body, smooth and hard. I had ached to touch him, and still I ached more, but I didn’t give in to temptation, instead honoring his request and limiting my exploration to his chest and arms.

“You’re so beautiful,” I said. “Like Italian sculpture, so honed I can hardly believe you’re real.” My hands crept down, tracing the angles of his hips as I circled around him, careful to avoid dipping any lower, although I wanted to—God, how I wanted to. “Let me look at you?” I asked.

“Alright,” he said, arching an eyebrow skeptically.

“I’ll keep my hands above the waist,” I said as I knelt to the tile floor.

“Thank you.”

“I can be a good girl,” I said, looking up at him, my mouth level with his cock. I smiled and licked my lips. “Although I prefer to be bad.”

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned.

I held him steady in my hands, my fingers denting the firm flesh of his hips, fixing my eyes on his cock and feasting.

Velvet steel
, I thought, biting my lip to stop from laughing at my own cliché. But it was… Oh, it was magnificent. Heavy, thick and hard, his cock jutted high and straight, the shaft curving slightly towards the thick tip. I sighed, exhaling heavily, my breath fogging over his skin unintentionally. He groaned and I saw his cock sway and twitch in response, a drop of cum beading on the tip.

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” he said, hooking his hands under my arms and lifting me upright.

“Oh boo.” I frowned, gripping his strong arms in my palms. “I was still making my appraisal.”

“Mmmhmm.” He smirked. “And what is that?”

“You,” I said, leaning in to kiss him softly, “have a beautiful cock. If Michelangelo had you for a model, they would’ve needed the whole tree to cover David’s junk, and not just a leaf.”

He threw his head back and laughed heartily.

“I love that,” I said. “You laugh so unabashedly. I love the sound.” I reached out and traced the line of his jaw with my finger. He smiled and those dimples winked into view.

“I love your dimples and, God, these lips, carved for sin,” I said, trailing my fingers over his mouth. He smiled again, and sucked my finger into his mouth, his eyes dancing with amusement.

“I love the way your smile reaches your eyes when you’re happy.” I moved my other hand to caress his cheek. “And, God, those eyes. They are the most haunting shade of blue I’ve ever seen.”

His eyes darkened and his expression grew solemn, arousal shadowing his gaze.

“You see into a girl’s soul with those eyes. Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer and I moved on, aware that I was getting a little serious when I’d intended to lighten the mood. I cleared my throat, and he released my finger. My hands wandered, traveling across his shoulders and down those finely muscled arms. I stopped halfway down, my thumbs caressing the dark bands that circled his muscles.

“I love your tattoos,” I said. “I don’t understand them, but I get the feeling there’s a lot of meaning there. It’s fascinating. They’re like hieroglyphics or a secret code.”

Great job, genius
, I yelled at myself.
Pretty sure that’s an off limits topic, right? Didn’t he say the tattoos had something to do with all the bad stuff?

“That’s exactly what they are.”

“I’m sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”