Page 29 of Taste of Thorns
“You know I do,” she whispers.
“Then take off your coat,” I say, as I click my fingers and fire roars into life at the back of the classroom, another two bursting into flame in my quarters.
“I actually came here to talk to you,” she says, peering up at me through her eyelashes as she unbuttons the coat.
“Talking can wait,” I growl as she slides her arms out of the coat. “There’re things I have to do to you first.”
Underneath she’s wearing a thick woolen sweater that’s seen better days, and a pair of tight leggings that hug her form. It’s in sharp contrast to the lacy number Veronica was wearing yesterday, and yet this has my cold blood heating.
“Take the sweater off too, Miss Storm and follow me.”
She tugs the sweater over her head. Underneath she’s wearing nothing but a bra. Something plain and cotton and a little on the small side.
“Shit,” I mumble, taking a firm grip of her wrist and pulling her into my quarters.
As soon as the door closes, I have her pressed up against it, my mouth on hers. Her kisses are as hungry as mine and her tongue plunges deep inside my mouth, twining with my tongue, stroking down my long fangs. I squeeze at her ass with one hand and her breast with the other, massaging both with my palms.
“Fox,” she whimpers against my lips.
I bring my mouth down to her neck, licking along the artery that thumps with her sweet blood.
“Do you know how damn hard it’s been, Miss Storm, to have you in my classroom and not be able to touch you? Do you know how hard you’vemademe, how much I’ve fucking ached to command you to bend over my desk so I could fuck you?”
She whimpers again, and her pulse skips a beat. I can hear it drumming in her throat and I begin to hear it drum somewhere else as well. Right between her legs.
Her own hands scrabble at the buttons of my shirt, tearing the thing open and yanking it down my arms. Then her hot little palms are pressing against my cool skin. I moan. The heat feels so good. Stars, I’ve missed how good it feels to have warmth in my body.
She glides her hands over my hard pectorals and then down over the taut planes of my stomach, down to the waistband of my pants. She’s fiddling with my belt and the buckles as she leans down to kiss my shoulder, then my neck. Her lips are as warm as her hands – no, hotter – and I gasp with each press of her mouth.
“That feels so good,” I murmur.
She undoes my fly as I untangle my arms from my shirt and toss it on the ground.
“Slow down, Miss Storm. I intend to savor you.”
But the girl isn’t patient. She’s greedy, vivacious, a live-wire. And like she said, she’s no good at doing as she’s told.
I capture her hands in mine.
“I said, slow down.”
She gives me one of her pissy little looks. “We’re not in the fucking classroom anymore, Professor,” she says, being deliberately bratty. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
I chuckle.
“Such a naughty mouth. How about you put it to good use, Miss Storm?”
I expect her to kiss me with that mouth. Instead, she sinks down to her knees on the hard floor and peers up at me, a flash of green through her dark-blonde lashes. Like a good little thrall. A good little mate.
I push that thought aside, and focus in on the girl kneeling in front of me. Every teacher’s wildest, most forbidden fantasy.
I tug my cock out of my briefs and for a moment she stares, wide-eyed, at it.
I’m well built, a large frame, and my cock is in proportion to the rest of me. Big. Back in my teen days in Slate, my cock was the talk of the fucking Quarter. It had tongues wagging here at the academy too. There was more than one reason I used to be the golden boy.
“You think you can fit that in your mouth, Miss Storm?”
She lifts up on her knees and leans forward a little, my cockhead bumping against her lips and smearing pre-come across it.
