Page 9 of Marrying My Professor

My thumb pauses its tracing on Elara’s back. I lean closer, my breath brushing her ear. “I know you want me, pet.” I murmur, my voice low, rough with intent. “But I want you like this.”

Her breath hitches, and I don’t need to see her face to know her eyes are fixed on the woman’s crumpled form, her pleasure still rippling through her like aftershocks. “You want to tie me up?”

“Only if you want it, but I really just want you to shatter for me, pet,” I press, my hand sliding up her spine to cradle the nape of her neck. My fingers curl into the loose curls of her updo, tugging gently to tilt her head toward me. “Do you like what you see?”

Her answer is a breathless exhale. “Yes.”

“And if I did that to you?” My lips graze the shell of her ear. “If I tied you down, made you come until you couldn’t think? Would you want me to do that to you?”

Her body sways slightly, and I can feel her pulse racing beneath my touch. “Yes,” she says again, no hesitation now, just raw, unguarded desire.

The word is a spark. I guide her further. Another vignette behind the mirror: a woman over a velvet-padded bench, a man delivering sharp, measured strikes with a leather paddle. Each impact is a crisp thwack, followed by a gasp that sounds more like relief than pain. The woman’s knuckles are white where she grips the bench, her back arched, a sheen of sweat making her skin glow.

My fingers drift up her spine, over the delicate vertebrae, to the nape of her neck where loose curls have escaped her updo. I twist one gently around my finger.“You want this too?” I tug the curl, just enough to tilt her head back. “To be punished for your bratty little mouth?”

Her eyes are dark pools, the intelligence in them now clouded with a raw, hungry want. Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. “Yes. Please.”

“Please?” I repeat, a teasing spark in my eye as I pull her against me.

“Yes, sir, please.” She whimpers.

The submission detonates my control.

My mouth crashes down on hers. It’s not a kiss of gentle exploration; it’s a claim. A hungry, devouring possession. She opens for me instantly, her hands fisting in the lapels of my suit jacket, pulling me closer. The taste of her is dark wine and pure, unadulterated need. I explore her mouth with my tongue, mapping the contours, swallowing her soft moans.

My hand at her thigh pushes the slit of her dress aside, my palm sliding up, up, over the curve of her ass. She’s bare underneath. The discovery is a jolt of pure lust. Fuck. My fingers dig into the soft flesh, pulling her firmly against me. I can feel the hard ridge of my erection straining against my trousers, pressing into her stomach.

I break the kiss, both of us gasping. “Earned enough?” I growl.

“Not even close,” she breathes, her eyes blazing.

I spin her around, facing the column. Her back is a long, elegant line exposed by the dress. I press my body against her, my mouth finding the sensitive spot where her neck meets her shoulder. I bite down, not hard, but enough to make her cry out and arch back into me.

“Quiet,” I command softly into her skin. “Unless you want an audience.”

My hands are everywhere. One skates up her side, fingers brushing the underside of her breast before cupping it fully through the fabric. The other hand continues its exploration under her dress, sliding around to the front. She’s soaked. The slick heat of her meets my searching fingers and a ragged groan tears from my throat.

“Look at you,” I whisper, my lips moving against her ear as my fingers stroke through her folds. “So desperate for it. And we’ve only just begun.”

3

ELARA

Holy Shit! Did I want to fuck Alexander? Yes.

Did I know he was into BDSM? No.

Am I pleasantly surprised? Hell fucking yes.

I’ve always wanted to push boundaries in bed, but every guy I’ve dated has been either painfully vanilla or needed a full step-by-step instruction manual, which kills the thrill immediately. Alexander, though, is the first man who feels like he actually knows what he’s doing. The kind of man who doesn’t need coaching, who reads your pulse and your breath and your body like he’s done it a hundred times.

Believe me, if I’d known at the start of the night that there was a sex club tucked into the penthouse, I would’ve ditched Mike two hours ago without hesitation.

Alexander kicks the door closed behind us, and before I can even take a breath, his hands are on my waist, spinning me towards him. His mouth claims mine, hungry and unhesitating, the rough scrape of his five o’clock shadow dragging heat across my skin. I reach for him without thinking, threading my fingers into his hair, tugging just hard enough to hear a low growl roll over my lips.

I hook my legs around his waist, instinctive, needy, my heels locking at the small of his back. The contact jolts through both of us, and he starts walking me deeper into the room. His jacket is still on, but I’m already slipping it off his shoulders, dragging the fabric down his arms because I can’t go another minute with his skin not on mine.

Then I’m falling. The plush bed swallows me, my blue dress pooling around me like spilled water. I push up on my elbows, my heart hammering against my ribs.