In Too Deep (23 page)

He cocks his head at me, and a dark kiss-curl dangles on his brow. It looks so perfect, so tantalising, that I have to reach out and touch it, smooth it back. But it only flops down again.

‘I don’t know what you mean, Gwendolynne,’ he says archly, grasping my wrist. He has hold of me by both wrists now. Not too hard, but there’s a definite masterful quality to his grip, and it intensifies when he gently presses me back on to the pillows and looms over me.

‘You won’t admit it, will you?’ I stare back, taking the game to him.

‘Admit what?’

‘You know.’

He’s laughing again, in my face, low and deliciously evil.

‘You’re a wicked girl, Gwendolynne, making vague, unfounded accusations.’ His body is pressing against me, hard and vital, up for it in all senses of the word. My heart swells, happy to feel it, even as my own body revs up again, seemingly inexhaustible in its desire.

‘Not vague! You’re N–’

I can’t finish because his lips come down hard on mine and his tongue is in my mouth, suppressing the word I tried to utter. We both know what I nearly said, though, and we both acknowledge it’s the truth. The kiss itself proves it.

He moves on top of me, his rock-hard cock jabbing at my belly. With crafty dexterity he manages to grab both my wrists
in
one hand, while with the other he makes an insolent progress down my flank and my thigh, then cups my bottom, his fingers between me and the mattress. He grips hard, squeezing the cheek, threatening in a way that only makes me more breathless.

Holding me, pinioning me, he slides against me, skin on skin. I feel his packed muscles and his mighty erection. My jaw starts to ache from the force of his kiss, but I welcome it. I revel in his energy. I submit to it, and to him.

When he’s thoroughly quelled me, at least for the time being, he breaks the kiss and growls, ‘Any more accusations, library girl?’ He doesn’t allow me to answer, just punishes me again with another kiss, more seductive this time. His tongue stirs and tastes, dabbing at mine, flicking it. He does a thing with his hips, compelling me, if that were needed, to acknowledge his cock.

‘Nothing to say?’ he persists, his voice throaty and devilish.

‘No, I don’t need to. You know what I was talking about.’

‘You won’t back down?’ His eyes look furious, wonderful, sharp and clear. I cannot imagine a man less whole.

‘No!’

‘I should punish you then. You deserve it. You won’t take no for an answer.’

My innards quiver, and all thoughts of Daniel’s uncertain future fly away in the excitement of the moment.

‘Do your worst, Professor Hottie, do your worst!’

13 Lessons with Professor Hottie

HE ALMOST BARKS
with laughter. ‘“Professor Hottie”? Why, you cheeky little cow! Is that what you call me behind my back?’

‘Yes. Me and all the girls in the library. I thought you knew that.’

‘I bet you encourage them, don’t you? I bet you speculate endlessly about me and that you always come up with the wildest stories and fantasies.’

‘I might have done a bit. Well, a lot really …’

Still chuckling, he rolls off me and sits up.

‘Turn over. Show me that gorgeous arse of yours.’

Something breathtaking stirs inside me. A sense of weakening and melting, a mutinous pleasure at being ordered about and at giving in to those orders. I never wanted this before. I resented it before. But now it’s delicious, irresistible. So exciting it makes my pussy flutter and flow. My head fills with images of leather masks, dark rooms, the perspective of kneeling before a stern but beautiful master. This stern but beautiful master, none other.

‘You need a damn good seeing-to, madam,’ he says in the tones of a dictatorial schoolmaster, then adds, ‘And I don’t just mean a fucking.’ Which rather spoils the impression of an august and serious scholar.

Slowly I comply, rolling over, my heart racing madly as he lifts the sheet away from my lush, rounded bottom and flings it to the end of the bed. I bury my head in my arms because
somehow
I daren’t look at Daniel. He’s suddenly become too awesome in my imagination, too dazzling. I shudder, shaking like a racehorse as he begins to stroke the curves of my backside, exploring the meat of me, the muscle and the softer dimples. He tracks his fingertips over every inch, bringing hot blood to my face as he explores my anal furrow and the rosy little hole that nestles there. He spares me nothing, dabbling and probing and causing me to wriggle, mashing my crotch against the sheet beneath me. I’m his creature. He can do anything he wishes.

‘Touch yourself. Do it now,’ he growls, leaning over my back, still playing with my bottom.

I moan involuntarily. The idea is so shaming and delicious.

‘Gwendolynne,’ he says ominously, pushing at me.

Gasping for breath, I squeeze a hand beneath me, probing for my sex. When I find my target, the amount of simmering wetness is astonishing. I’m creating a little puddle of sticky fluid beneath my pussy.

‘Finger on your clit.’

‘Nooo …’ I wail. ‘Why not?’

‘I don’t know … It seems so dirty to be turned on while you’re playing with me like that.’

‘That’s because you’re a dirty little girl, Ms Price. I know you masturbate.’

I narrow my eyes. Ha ha! How do you know, Professor Hottie? I’ve only told Nemesis. But then I remember how he nearly caught me in the garden behind the library. What I’d been doing there must have been unmistakeable, even if he feigned not to notice.

‘Yes, I know I do, but so what, everyone does.’ I grit my teeth as he presses harder, testing my resolve, my resilience. ‘You certainly do!’

There’s dead silence for a moment, even though he continues his wicked play, slithering his own free hand beneath me to make sure I’m obeying him.

‘And how would you know that?’ His voice is in my ear, his breath caressing my face, ruffling my hair.

My clitoris seems to tingle beneath my fingertip as I imagine that exquisite scene I witnessed. Daniel touching and caressing himself in the tiny library washroom. I see again the pure, agonised lines of his face, the tension in his back and thighs. His cock spurting and his semen sliding down the porcelain base of the wash-basin, white on white.

‘Because I’ve seen you do it.’

More silence. His fingers are behind mine, increasing the pressure on my clitoris.

‘Ah,’ he says eventually, the word quiet against my skin. ‘I had a suspicion that I was watched that day.’ His lips settle and kiss, ever so lightly. ‘And a suspicion that it was you … at least I hoped it was.’

‘You’d have been in big trouble if it’d been Mr Johnson!’ I want to laugh. It’s just a reaction. A defence mechanism.

‘How so? I’m sure a visiting celebrity can be allowed his little foibles.’

‘That’s some big foible.’ I nudge the side of my hip against his mighty erection. ‘And what if old Johnson had been gay? He might have started making overtures.’

‘That’s an impertinent thing to say about your boss … and about me.’ He nudges back with his cock, pressing it into my flesh. ‘I’m more and more convinced that you should be disciplined, you saucy minx. Don’t you agree? Aren’t you ashamed of your own wickedness?’

‘No! Not in the slightest!’

Daniel laughs again, rubbing his face against my hair and my cheek, then kissing and nibbling.

‘I adore you, do you know that? Even if you are the most teasing and tantalising woman I’ve ever known. I’m going to have to spank you, you know that, don’t you?’

I squirm against him, wanting it, scared of it. Excited beyond measure. I could almost come on the spot, I’m so close. He’s still tickling my anus and my groove.

‘Yes,’ I hiss, as he first prods, then pats me. ‘As long as you know what you’re doing. Have you spanked someone before? I would imagine it’s quite an art.’

He bites my earlobe, gently but with authority.

‘I’ve spanked a girlfriend or two in my time. I think I can manage.’ The tips of his fingernails ever so lightly dig into the inner slope of my bottom cheek.

‘That’s all right then,’ I gasp, feeling lightheaded as the tiny pressure increases. ‘Get on with it, why don’t you?’

‘I should tan your hide.’ He drops a light pat on my left buttock. It’s nothing. Just playing. I barely feel the impact, although my sex responds by fluttering.

‘I should wallop you with a leather belt or a teacher’s cane or something. Then you’d know.’ He slaps harder, and I do feel it this time. It’s like fire, soft fire, and, though my bottom cheek doesn’t seem to like it and makes me try to squirm away, the nerve endings in my pussy seem to think it’s delectable. Another ripple of pleasure makes me moan more than the pain does.

‘You like it, don’t you, you kinky little girl?’ He sounds so happy, so relaxed, so far from his troubles. Part of me rejoices in this, while the rest of me goes slightly mental when he smacks me again and again. My brain doesn’t really know what’s happening. It registers the fiery beat of his hand, tries to process it as unpleasant and to be avoided, but there’s some rudimentary seat of animal intelligence that dwells much lower down, which is telling me it’s fabulous, it’s thrilling, it’s pure sex.

I wriggle and writhe, grinding against my fingers, and his, as I move.

‘Little? You’re joking, surely,’ I gasp at him when I can spare a breath. ‘I bet I’m the furthest from “
little
girl” that you’ve ever gone out with.’ I pause to squeal as he gives me a very sly slap on the inner slope of one cheek that stings like a firecracker. ‘A man like you can have his pick of gorgeous supermodels, I’ll bet.’

‘Don’t be stupid, Gwendolynne,’ he says amiably, as he really whacks me one and I shout like a madwoman. ‘I would say, “Fuck supermodels”, but I don’t actually
want
to fuck them. I only want to fuck you and your luscious, magnificent body.’ He whales me again, really hard, and I have something that I think is a mini-orgasm, although the signals are so scrambled I don’t really know what it is. ‘Why don’t you believe me when I tell you that you have the most beautiful figure I’ve ever seen? For an intelligent woman, my love, you can be wilfully and mulishly thick!’

He’s really smacking hard now, and I
am
coming. My sex clenches in hot, violent spasms in time to the loving blows, and silky honey flows out across our fingers. I groan and snarl and rock myself against the fulcrum of my own middle fingertip, but not once does Daniel miss his target, or the beat. The fucker, he’s spanked more than a couple of girlfriends, that’s for sure. He knows how to do this. I’d swear he’s an expert.

I’m mangling the pillow, I’m gouging the sheets with my toes, I’m all over the place. But he’s still in control and he’s still smacking me. My bottom feels as if it’s swollen hugely and has turned fluorescent red, and the incendiary heat in it is spreading to my quivering sex. Suddenly I want more. I want him. I need him inside me. I squirm free, roll over and begin to plead.

‘Please, please fuck me. I can’t bear to be empty. I want you inside me.’

His eyes look strange, dark, full of emotion. Can he see me? I think so. Even if his vision is choosing at this moment to be recalcitrant, he’s seeing me with other senses, in perfect clarity. He leans sideways, fishes in the bedside drawer without looking and brings out another condom. He rips off the foil, rolls it on quickly, then parts my legs and plunges inside me up to the hilt.

I grab him, scrabbling at his shoulders and back, then his buttocks, wanting him closer, ever closer, as close as can be. He’s filling me, but I want him inside me even more, inside my cells and nerves and consciousness. I heave my hips up to meet his, crushing our sexes together just as he meets me with equal and opposite force. Hot twinges streak from the soreness in my bottom, only adding to the intensity, the pleasure.

The chaos of our thrusts and our jerking and struggling makes it impossible for us to kiss, but he jams his mouth against my neck, lips parted, teeth scraping my skin, nipping, almost feral. That drives me even crazier, it’s so basic. Tilting my pelvis, I lock my ankles round the back of his waist, taking him deeper.

We strive and rock against each other, making wild, not quite human sounds. If thunder suddenly cracked and rolled outside, it wouldn’t surprise me. The storm’s already raging and crashing inside our bodies and our hearts. Even if he doesn’t feel what I feel, I can’t believe that he’s left unmoved by our union.

Tumult like this can’t last for long. It’s too furious, too intense to sustain. Orgasm hurtles through me like a blazing, falling star, and with a great cry Daniel joins me in the heart of it. I shudder on the edge of a blackout, dragging in great breaths, my chest heaving and Daniel’s heaving against it.

We’re a tangled heap of limbs and sweat and fluids and shredded consciousness, but slowly we disengage, my legs flopping open against the mattress, allowing Daniel to lever himself free. He just lies between my thighs for a few moments, as if gathering strength to move, then with a gasp he lifts his weight from me, our sticky skin peeling apart as he heaves himself to one side, and collapses alongside me.

I don’t know what to say, and I sense he doesn’t either. But as he reaches for my hand and laces our fingers, my heart turns over.

For the second time tonight, we drift into sleep.

14 Bombshell Time

WHEN I AWAKE
, it’s proper morning and Daniel is at the door of the room, taking possession of a laden tray of breakfast. I glance at the clock and see it’s ten thirty, which makes me sit bolt upright in a panic, until I remember that I’ve prudently made sure I’m not working today.

Daniel’s eyes widen appreciatively behind his glasses as he brings the tray to the bed, his attention zeroing in on my frontage. He looks fresh and rested in a dark-blue towelling robe, and his curly hair is wet from a recent shower. I feel slightly irritated that he’s got up without waking me, but I suppose he only did it out of consideration for my obvious state of totally shagged-out exhaustion. Because I feel as if I’ve run a dozen marathons, and I have tiny subversive twinges nagging me in most unlikely places. Or likely, when you consider our sexual exploits. Strangely, though, my spanked bottom seems OK.