So I stepped closer, watched her pupils blow wide and black as I slipped an arm around that little waist, and then I hauled her up against my chest so I could smile down into her face.
“Hey, teach,” I said just to watch that blush flare up over her cheeks, but then I was done with teasin’, and my mouth was over hers.
She was stiff at first, that split-second hesitation that lingered even after four years of livin’ a different kind of life than she had before with a totally different kinda man. The truth was, I fuckin’ loved that little hiccough of doubt, of prudishness that would never die. It was like suckin’ on an ice cube; at first, it stuck to your mouth, intractable as hell, but a second later came the melt.
That was how it happened, the kiss then, and the kiss always, in public. She went hard, then soft in my arms, her breasts pressing against my chest, her hips curving into mine, and her hands sliding up into the back of my hair where they loved to tangle and pull me closer.
She lost herself in me, in the texture of my hot mouth sealing over hers, in the way our bodies fit together and ignited like perfectly stacked tinder to a flame.
You ask any man, they’ll tell you, nothin’ fuckin’ headier than that.
When I finally pulled away, her eyes were still closed, long lashes like fans over her pink cheeks, lips damp and parted, invitin’ further plunder.
I refrained even though I wanted to bend her over that podium and fuck her until her moans echoed in the auditorium.
Instead, I cupped the side of her face in my big palm and grinned at her until she swam up from lusty depths and once again realized where we were. When the awareness came, she frowned puckishly at me, then shoved me away with her little hand.
I laughed, but followed her unspoken order and put distance between us, perchin’ my ass against her desk with my arms and legs folded as I stared down the four crestfallen assholes lustin’ after my girl.
“Whoa,” the only other girl murmured, her eyes wide and glitterin’ behind her glasses as she looked back and forth between the prof and me. “Is that your boyfriend?”
The woman I’d just kissed senseless scrunched up her nose in an absurd and adorable expression of displeasure. She waved a hand my way and shrugged. “That’s King.”
“Like the King?” one of the idiots asked, shootin’ me a confused glance.
“Drake,” she reprimanded kindly. “Does he look like an aristocrat?”
I grinned wolfishly at them and waggled my ring burdened hand at them. “At your fuckin’ service.”
She flipped her long, thick mane of hair over her shoulder to shoot me an eye roll, but there was a smile on her lips.
Cressida Irons had changed in a lotta ways over the past half-decade, but she had not lost one ounce of her sass.
“I think that’s enough for today, boys and girl. If you have any questions, you can email me or visit me during office hours, but I think you are all as prepared as you can be for finals.”
“But I had some questions––”
“Professor Irons said enough,” I said casually, leanin’ back on my hands so that the muscles in my arms popped into relief. “Think you’d better get goin’. Unlike you, apparently, your prof has a life outside the classroom.”
The guy stuttered, then swallowed his pride and turned with his friends to shuffle up the stairs and out of the room. Only the girl remained, cute but way too young. She looked up at Cress like she was some kind of superhero.
It was cute as hell, mostly because my girl was worthy of such adulation, but my patience was at its end.
“Got an appointment we better get to,” I urged Cress.
She cocked a hip and planted a fist on it. My cock twitched at the sight of her so prim and proper like that, buttoned up and polished as if she wasn’t secretly the dirtiest girl I knew.
“What kind of appointment?” she demanded with a secret smile that said she was enjoying calling me on my bullshit.
“One with our bed. Maybe the kitchen floor if we can’t make it up the stairs in a timely fuckin’ fashion.”
I swallowed my laughter as the blush in her cheeks travelled down her neck into the slice of skin revealed by her blouse just over her breasts.
The female student made a noise of distress in her throat and turned big eyes to Cress. “Is he really your boyfriend, Professor Irons?”
I wanted to tell her no. Cressida was not my “girlfriend”. What a fuckin’ paltry term for what she was to me. Our relationship felt as elemental to me as Adam and Eve’s. As if we were born of each other and meant for each other. As if there was no other choice in the world as inevitable as our decision to be together.