Page 78 of The Front Runner
“That’s because I fucked your brains out.”
I clench, not fully understanding why hearing him talk this way does it to me. The dirty words drive me crazy. The way he switches from all proper and business-like to scorching hot and foul-mouthed. It’s the dichotomy that gets me off. He pulls it off so well.
He stands and tugs open the top button of his shirt before turning his attention to the cufflinks at his wrists. He rotates them slowly, his calloused fingers moving so deftly, it’s almost distracting. The plunk of the metal as he sets each one on the desk top sounds loud in the otherwise quiet office.
The silence stretches between us before he says, “And now I’m going to pull those tight jeans down and fuck the uncertainty right out of you.”
A small gasp erupts from my lips, and my heart rate crescendos as he ambles around the desk.
“You look pleased. I thought I wasn’t your type.”
I roll my eyes. “Men who gloat aren’t.”
Amusement rumbles in his chest as he rolls up his sleeves like he’s about to get to work. “But are you bored?”
I wish he’d stop rubbing that in my face. He knows damn well I’m not bored. I’m not sure how any woman in the world’s history could be bored with Stefan Dalca. Or how any of them had him and then let him go.
“Do you fantasize about your professor, Mira?”
My head snaps up as he adjusts the glasses on his face.Fuck. Looking that good should not be allowed.The forearms. The dress shirt. The glasses. Just… fuck.
My eyes widen as he draws closer. “My professor?”
“Yes.” He comes toe-to-toe with me, forcing me to look up at him. This conversation doesn’t make him the least bit uncomfortable, but I’m glowing pink. “You brought that up like it’s something you’ve thought about before. Did you? While you were still in school? Do you now?”
What the hell? Was he taught to be some sort of psychic in Romania?
“It—” I roll my shoulders back. I will not be ashamed of this ongoing fantasy of mine. I refuse. I dig the dynamic, so what? “It is. So yes, I have.”
The smile that takes over his face is far too greedy. A smarter woman would run with a man looking at her like this, but all it does is make my stomach drop and my heart race. I realize I trust Stefan. With my heart and with my body. So instead of running, I bite down on my bottom lip and hit him with my best wide-eyed look.
He picks up on the change instantly.
Hand darting behind me to grip my ponytail, he asks, “Care to tell me why you came to my office today, Miss Thorne?” He leans close, voice vibrating across the sensitive spot below my ear. “Are you concerned about your most recent grade?”
A small part of me wants to laugh. This issounlike me. So out of character, it feels almost silly. But when he tugs at my ponytail, forcing my head up further, I catch sight of his glowing green eyes. All traces of humor melt away. I’m not good at dirty talk, but I love listening to his. So here goes nothing.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Do you have any suggestions for how you’d like to make it up to me?”
I pant as his lips slide down the side of my neck and across my chest, the cool plastic corner of his glasses scraping against my throat.
“I was hoping you could tell me what it would take.”
“Dangerous choice, Miss Thorne.”
The change is subtle, but he’s not calling me Dr. Thorne right now. I love his intelligence. Even during sex, Stefan is thinking. In one swift motion, he turns me toward the desk and bends me over it, my ponytail still wrapped around his hand.
He gently presses my cheek against the cool surface as his free hand roams the center of my back, all the way down so he can grab a handful of my ass. “How hard are you willing to work?”
“As hard as you want me to.” My fingertips slide over the polished desktop as I try to get some purchase. I feel like I’m free falling. Completely out of control. Completely out of my element.
“Fuck, you’re perfect.” His body looms over mine as he presses a gentle kiss to the back of my neck. “Now stay right where you are. If you move, there won’t be any extra credit.”
All I can muster is a whimper as I feel the heat of his torso leave my back. His hands glide down my sides, savoring every curve with reverence I’ve never felt before. When he reaches my hips, his arms encircle me while his hands do away with the button and zipper at the front of my jeans. He drags my skin-tight jeans down, savoring every rasp of fabric and inch of exposed skin. He unwraps me like a present he’s always wanted and will never forget. He uses one dress shoe clad foot to nudge my feet into a wider stance, and then my panties are slid down, stretched between my thighs while I’m bent over and bared to him.
“You were made for me.”
