I’d paint her curves with my tongue, feeling her shiver, sliding my hand over the goosebumps of her skin.
I step into my personal gym and I add even more strain to my already-strained muscles, my body telling me that I’m overdoing it.
But I don’t give a damn.
Hauling more weights onto the bar and straining with everything I have is the only way to quiet my thoughts …
Usually.
But now I can’t help but hear my savage grunting that fills the room and wish it was directed toward her.
The other women in the class hold no interest for me, none whatsoever. Even as I noticed them trying to get my attention, one even crossing her legs over and over in her pathetically short skirt, I didn’t care, I don’t care.
I only want her.
Because she belongs to you, a voice rages in my mind as I do my thirtieth rep. She’s yours now as much as your pen and your novels and your aching muscles. Take her. Use her to satisfy your pleasure and give her greedy helpings of her own.
I grunt and toss the weight bar onto the floor, flying to my feet and pacing through the apartment.
All night it’s been leading to this.
I can’t stop.
I feel like a man possessed as I tear my clothes off and climb into the shower, turning it up hot, hotter, as though by scalding my body I can purge my mind of thoughts of Tess.
Even if this is not a typical course – I’m not a college professor – there’s still the obvious glaring problem that she’s my student. She’s come to the class to learn about writing, not to become the monomaniacal fixation of her teacher.
But even as I try to tell myself this, my manhood is swelling and my tip tingles like fucking mad, roaring at me to plunge deep into her gorgeous fleshy folds.
That’s what she is.
Gorgeous, her body made for grabbing and massaging and exploring.
To sink my hands into her hips, fill the juicy beautiful meatiness there, to grip tightly and watch as she shivers—and how the shivers make her breasts jiggle alluringly, her thighs doing the same, her whole body imploring me to touch her, to please her, to taste her, to own her.
I close my eyes and picture her in the shower, naked, the water dripping down her breasts and beading at the end of her nipples. In my mind I prowl across the bathroom and take her breasts in my hands, squeezing onto her nipples, making them hard as she wriggles and writhes for me.
“Fucking bend over, now,” I roar next, the animal inside of me unleashing.
I can’t stop myself.
I reach down and grab my cock and start stroking furiously, pumping my hand, everything inside of me fixated on the world of imagination filling my mind.
I’ve always had a very vivid imagination.
I spin her around and she sticks her ass out, my curvy fuckable queen knowing exactly what her beast requires. She looks at me over her shoulder, her wet hair falling across her back, shifting her hips from side to side, tempting me.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” she moans. “But I want it so bad, Tanner. I don’t care that you’re my teacher. Fuck my tight wet pussy. Use my hole. Fill me up with your seed and put a baby in my belly. Take me as long as you want. Take me as hard as you want. Fuck me, fuck me.”
I’m jerking my cock like a madman now, and in my mind I step forward and roughly grind my cock into her, grabbing onto those delicious ass cheeks and then spanking her, again, and again, spanking her so that her ass cheeks wobble lusciously and red handprints appear on the sinful glory of her flesh.
“Ah,” I grunt, exploding my seed all over the shower wall in unforgivable wastefulness.
Every last drop of it deserves to be in her womb.
“Fuck,” I mutter, opening my eyes and grabbing the shower head to clean myself off.
After washing myself, I step from the shower, beads of water sliding over my muscled body and pooling on the floor.
I expect thoughts of Tess to settle down a bit now.
After all, I’ve cleaned the pipes, as they say.
But if anything they speed up, a cacophony of her in my mind, the way she answered the question in the lecture today.
I don’t know.
That magnetizes her to me just as much as her goddess like body, the bare truth of what she said.
I just have to.
She wasn’t trying to impress me like some other women tried. She was just talking, being herself. That sends a howling imperative directly into my mind, my goddamn soul.
I just have to.
It’s the same reason that led me to start writing when I was ten years old, and then to really start writing after the home invasion.