MY HOT TEACHER: (Volume 5 of the "My Hot..." series; a stand-alone, New Adult novel) (18 page)

But again I promised only one finger.

But I can’t help making the best of it...letting this single part of my hand express it all as I penetrate him with force, make love to him from behind, feel him open in such a deeply physical and emotional way that all of my emotions burst forth, all of my desires, my longings, my needs, my ache for full romantic completeness spill from me with uncontrolled fervor.

And I cry out to him,

“You love me, don’t you?  You can’t help it!  You love me so much, want me so much!  I’m the only one you want!  We’re meant for each other!  Say it!  SAY IT NOW!”

I realize that he’s orgasming, that, incredibly, his untouched penis is ejaculating all over the side of the bed as he howls, “I do love you!  Only you!  I love you so much, Celine!”

Done, overcome with sensation and passion, he collapses face forward in one heavy emotional flop while I simultaneously remove my finger.

I look down at his perfectly shaped back, his beautifully arched ass, powerful thighs and legs, and I’m not overcome with the usual lust, have no immediate desire to receive my own penetration, to achieve one of the great orgasmic releases I have experienced so often in this bed.

I’m too frozen with surprise.

During most of this lovemaking I felt the game in it, the roleplay, at times emulating Sharon as a last ditch effort.

But now, hands trembling, breath shallow with excitement and bewilderment from the unrestricted feelings that poured out from somewhere deep inside me, I realize it has been more than that, truly. 

For both of us.

Much more.

The emptiness I usually experience when he finishes and leaves for the bathroom has come closer to being filled.

The connection I long for so often in this bed feels started.

For despite knowing how fleeting orgasmic passion can be.

Despite knowing that anything one says at the height of climax can rarely be given full credence.

My heart pounds with complete rhythmic joy.

I can tell by his whimpers and the shaking of his body that he’s weeping softly.

When he said he loved me he did not call me
mistress
, but
Celine
.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

I want to embrace him fully, but I’m still unnerved by the depth of our role-reversal.

So I lie on my back next to the Professor, in his bed, stare at the ceiling, and wait to see if this connection will be immediately severed, or if what I’m feeling—or imagining—will instantly evaporate, the rhythm of our encounters so automatic I can’t help expecting his abrupt departure to the shower.

Instead he turns on his side, faces me, cheeks still moist from tears, lays his head on my chest, his left arm going around my torso.

“I know about Sharon,” I say softly.  “And how you two do it.”

He stirs, but doesn’t lift his head.

I add, “I’m so sorry for prying.  But I’ve been out of sorts since the break up, the one night, and I could see that last time I didn’t excite you as much anymore.  I had to know.”

With a deep sigh, he untangles his body from our embrace and reclines to his back, also looking up at the ceiling.

I blew it.  I shouldn’t have said anything.  At least not at this moment.  I should be holding onto our closeness for as long as possible. 

Now for sure he’s going to get out of bed and go to the bathroom.

“I’m sorry about Sharon.  It just happened.  Things were dead over break and we went for coffee a few times and got to know each other better.  But we didn’t do anything until after you and I stopped seeing each other and then it turned into a fantasy of hers and mine.  I know it was clear that you and I aren’t monogamous but I should’ve told you after we got back together.  I didn’t know how.  I was deeply afraid of hurting you, the school year was winding down.”  I turn and look at him.  “I guess I wanted to have my cake and eat it too.”

“You tried to keep it one relationship at a time, but I got in the way as the
ingénue
.”

“I let you get in the way.  I wanted you to get in the way.”

“Really?”

He turns slightly, bends his arm, rests his elbow on the mattress, props the side of his head into the open palm, meets my eyes.

“Don’t ever think you don’t excite me.  Sharon’s just sex and has no effect on my feelings for you.”

“But the Tuesday before spring break you were so tense, it seemed difficult to maintain your erection.  You’re always Mr. Automatic.”

He smiles then flops down on his back again.  He takes a deep breath.  This clearly isn’t easy for him but I’m glad he feels I deserve an explanation.

“Last time we were together I felt a little guilty about the threesome, as if I had gone too far.  You were so out of it the next time you came here.  I wanted to make it up to you.  I know your feelings for me.  I wanted to give you a complete, sensual lovemaking.  I wanted to make you happy.”

“It was wonderful.  You did make me happy.”

His eyes close.  I so like talking to him like this.  It’s not his classroom voice, nor his Dom tone.  Which only leaves...

“I’m a little obsessed sexually,” he continues.  “I like roleplay.  I like fantasy.  Whether Dom or Sub the game of it excites me and my hard-on is perpetual and easy.”

“Why’s that?”

He forces himself to turn back to me.  My eyes never leave him.

“Because then it’s not really me.  Then I hardly feel vulnerable.  I prefer being Dom because there’s even less vulnerability.”

“Vulnerable like you felt just now?”

He reaches for my hand, holds it in his, caresses my palm with his thumb.

“Celine, what just happened never quite occurred before, like this.  It was nothing like with Sharon.  I know she’s playing.  She knows I’m playing.  But I wasn’t on guard for this and you expertly slipped through my defenses and peeled back several layers.”

“I have a good teacher.”

I squeeze his hand.

He squeezes back.

“And it not only brought out all of my vulnerability but became a deep intimacy by unlocking all of the feelings I have for you.”

I can’t stop the increasing pit-pat of my heart.

“Celine, you are a really great person, who has so much capacity to feel and learn.  You’ve always amazed me.  I had to stay closed so tight because you invited so much with the purity of your emotions, a purity I didn’t think I could match.”

“Why not?”

He drops my hand, turns on his side again, but this time faces away.

“Long story.”

I don’t want him to drift. 

“You had a difficult childhood didn’t you?”

He doesn’t answer.

I’ve probably gone too far with my questions.  But I deserve to know.  I feel closer to him now, the way I’ve wanted.  It’s amazing to have him open like this.  It’s as if I’m starting to know something real about him.

But I sense his pain.

After a long moment he speaks, still on his side.  His voice projects toward the bathroom but he talks loud enough so I hear him clearly.

“My mother had some mental illness.  I spent a lot of time knocking around in foster care.  A couple of foster parents were okay.  There was one in particular, the husband, who was an alcoholic and...
abusive
.  I eventually ran away.”

From the way the bed vibrates from the tremble in his body I can tell exactly what kind of abuse he’s referring to.  I reach for him and pull him back to me, his head resting again on my chest.

“I’m sorry for asking you all of these questions.  I understand now why you’ve been so closed with me.  I’m sorry what I did brought back bad memories.”

After a pause he looks up at me, neither of us blinking as we meet each other’s gaze.

“You didn’t bring back bad memories.  It was wonderful.  I wanted it.  All of it made me realize how much I
trust
you.”

The word freezes me for a second. 

But my heart keeps on slamming.

What an important piece of the puzzle!

He taught me the connection between vulnerability and intimacy but I realize now that none of it’s possible without
trust
.

Something perhaps neither of us had fully until tonight.

There’s a simultaneous flurry of movement as we adjust our bodies so we are face to face, parallel, fully extended, our legs entwining.

We kiss.

How we kiss.

As passionate and deep some of our kisses have been in this bed it’s nothing like the one we share now.

In his lips I feel abandonment, a true expression of profound emotion which inspires my own deep welcoming of my lover.

Our hands are everywhere, running through our hair, caressing each other’s chest and nipples, tracing lines along our backs.

We flatten out on the bed, rolling over and around each other, thrashing, each taking multiple turns on the top and bottom.

We knock over the lamp, crack the bulb, and the room goes dark.

Undeterred, not missing a beat, I kiss his neck, flick licks along his abs that make him swoon.

His tongue goes into my mouth just as he enters my pussy with his finger and the double penetration makes my throat growl with pleasure.

There’s no teacher and student.  He granted me a full education and I return to him all I learned.

We bathe each other with our tongues, painting long strips of tenderness along the other’s flesh, along the legs, thighs, even the hands.

We can’t stop kissing for very long, always returning face to face, never wanting to be away too long from the taste of the other’s mouth, the heat of the other’s tongue.

How fucking glorious!

And there’s complete silence, aside from our throaty responses of pleasure.  No talking required.  We understand what this is and let our hands, mouths, tongues, even legs communicate all we have to say.

I worship his cock with my mouth and tongue.

His licks between my legs are a tribute for the noblest of queens.

And as we continue, without fanfare or pause, he’s inside me.

The plentiful wetness of my pussy greets his penetration with a perfect union of flesh and fluid.  He gives a certain life to my pussy, helping it announce itself with all of its wondrous needs, desires, and rewards.

I love him for that.

He seems truly inspired by the openness between us, perhaps also thrilled by how thick and strong his cock remains even though there’s no roleplay, no Dom or Sub, only deep, equal, sensual exchange.

It goes on like this for what seems like hours, well past my usual visitation window.

There’s no time between us, only this moment: long, stretched, powerful, open.

I do not want it to end. 

And perhaps neither does he. 

But a time comes when all of our emotions reach a boil and there are no buried secrets to turn down the heat and we begin to orgasm in a way that’s as complete as it has ever been while he swells into a most forceful erection, forges such an unfettered easy path to his second climax of the evening that he makes Randy look like a benchwarmer.  Long, deep, thrilling.  So long that for much of it we kiss deeply, our liquid passion, our amorous sounds leaping into each other’s throats.  So long that we become breathless and have to disengage...at the mouth only.  Because it seems that nothing can stop the steady rhythmic pounding of his sweet cock into my wonderful pussy, each thrust an injection of feeling and a greeting by me, each withdrawal a snatch of my deepest emotions into him as I contract and chase, eager to welcome him back again and again, over and over.

At its pinnacle, at its most fiery height, we approach a concurrent finale that brings intense flashes of light behind my eyes within the darkness of this room, a light that exposes our tremendous passion and makes goose bumps pop up all over my flesh, makes him dig his toes into the mattress as if he’s a sprinter about to launch.  There’s heat throughout our bodies, a merging of fluids, a mutual embrace of heartfelt sharing, and a final frenetic explosion.

All of it, at the crowing moment, causes him to cry out with great intensity,

“I do love you, Celine!”

In return, completely without thought,

“I love you, too, Alan!”

There’s no bathroom departure, no shower.

There’s no guillotining of our deepest emotions, the ones that cry out to be completely fulfilled after intense sex.

Not sex, lovemaking.

There’s no gate that swings down, wall that pops up to prevent us from achieving a post-coital closeness that is deeper than any orgasm we’ve experienced.

He loves me!

And I love him!

We’re an exhausted man and woman knotted in a heap of legs and arms as we close our eyes together, slow down our breathing simultaneously, drift on equal path toward a perfect synchronized sleep.