Page 52 of Prosecco with My Professor
25
Santo
After Emma’s pulses subside,I sit back on my heels. Her chest rises and falls, her pussy glistening with her juices. She hums softly and raises an arm to cover her eyes.
She might be self-conscious if she realized the view I have, so I drink it all in; the shortly trimmed hairs that cover her mound and the juncture where her thighs meet her center. She’s pink and flushed, and her clit, which I sucked hard on at the end, is erect and begging me to take it in my mouth again.
Emma’s breathing has evened out, and I wonder if she’s fallen asleep. I press a kiss to her inner thigh, and she jolts. She lowers her arm and props herself up on her elbows, looking down at me.
“How was it?” I ask.
A broad smile blooms on her face, and then she laughs, falling back against the bed once again. “Fuck that was good.”
I chuckle, pressing it into her skin.
Emma sits up fully, nudging my torso with her legs so she can close them. I pull away and stand. She straightens her dress.
Emma’s eyes immediately drop to my erection that strains the front of my pants. “Uh, do you want me to…?”
My lips quirk, and when she finally raises her eyes from my crotch, I shake my head.
I know I did the right thing when Emma looks at me skeptically. She can’t quite trust that a partner would only want to give.
“But…” she gestures at my erection. “And this is a one-time thing, right?”
I lean down, putting my fist on either side of her hips and my face inches from hers. “This was a complete sexual experience for me. I enjoyed it very much.”
If possible, she looks even more skeptical.
I kiss her instead of trying to convince her with words. If the taste of herself on my lips bothers her, she doesn’t show it. Instead, her fingers run up the back of my head and into my hair, keeping me close, and her tongue meets mine.
This kiss is an echo of how we started tonight. It is the start and the end, a goodbye and a thank you.
When she pulls away, her eyes are clear, a spark of confidence in them that makes her even sexier.
“You were right,” she says.
The kiss and lingering taste of her muddles my brain. “About what?”
“About how good it can be.” She gazes up at me, clear and honest. “Thank you.”
I slide my lips over and kiss her cheek. She stands and straightens the dress, then bends down to snatch up her underwear and stuff it into the pocket of her dress.
At the door, she turns to me. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Professor Offredi.”
I rest my forearm on the door frame and lean against it, watching her walk away.
Perhaps Emma would expect me to jerk off when she’s gone, but I don’t. I flop down onto my bed and ignore my hard-on. The sheets, my hands, my mouth, everything smells like her.
I did the job. I can stop obsessing over a shy, blushing woman. She said it herself—I was right. It can be so good.
26
Emma
I don’t knowwhat to do with myself when I get back to my apartment. I’ve never had so little stress over trying to orgasm, and Santo made me feel sexy and didn’t ask for anything in return. All things that should probably make me feel sad about my previous sex life, but the post-orgasmic hormones feel too good. What does one do after they have the best sex of their life?
Apparently, I have no choice, because once I pour myself a glass of wine I sit on my couch and replay the whole thing over and over again. I could pick up a book or take a shower or even pull the damp underwear out of my dress pocket, but no, instead I’m just going to smile into my wine glass.
