Read Online PleasuringtheProfessor by Angela Claire - Free Book Online
Authors: Angela Claire
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keeping his mind blank. “Fuck me,” he demanded gruffly, pulling
her onto his lap.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she set one leg on
either side of his and lowered herself carefully on to his throbbing cock. She slid
her wet cunt up and then down again a few moments later, but it was too slow.
He needed more. He needed something to make it all go away.
Gripping her hips, he lifted her up swiftly and then brought
her back down again with force. Pleasure shot through him as he repeated the
motion again and again, pounding up into her, feeling her getting wetter and
wetter, his own breath coming harshly. But before they could orgasm from these
wild thrusts, she urged his hands off her hips, and slowed her movements deliberately.
Leaning forward to press her lips to his, she sifted her fingers through his
hair, causing a tingle in his scalp as she kissed him slowly, thoroughly. At
that sweet, deep kiss, and the calm, wet clasp of her cunt taking him in below,
what had been harsh and desperate became smooth, mellow…right.
His hands, no longer trying to control her pace, drifted up
to the delicate contours of her back beneath her shirt. He explored the curves
and valleys and silken smoothness of her skin with his fingers as she pressed
short, feather-light kisses along his brow, his temples, his neck. When her
lips reached his ear, she nipped at his earlobe and he groaned.
“We’ll do this slow, Liam,” she whispered. “Me and you.”
She rose up on his cock, swaying toward him in that sweet
rhythm as she came back down and he took her mouth, bringing her closer as they
kissed, moving together, so in sync.
When he came this time, it wasn’t frantic. He didn’t need to
blank his mind. He felt as if maybe he was starting to open it again.
What did she want from him? This, of course. The
sated pleasure he seemed to be able to deliver to her so effortlessly. But she
wanted something more too. She guessed she wanted to help him after all, since
he had so helped her—whether he acknowledged it or not.
She dropped a kiss on his heated forehead and started to
climb off his lap. But as soon as he slipped out of her, he pulled her back,
firmly, cuddling her sideways in his arms and burying his face in the curve of
her neck.
“He was the sweetest little boy.”
She heard the whispered words, but just barely.
“Did he look like you?” she murmured and he raised his head,
smiling.
“A carbon copy. Kate used to lament my domineering genes.
God, I loved that kid.”
She let him hold her, not knowing what to say. The loss of a
child was something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She wanted to say
something trite. Like he had to cherish the memories. Or better to have loved
and lost.
But, thank God, she managed to stop herself. She didn’t know
what the loss of a child felt like. She hoped to God she never would. And that
was all she could do to protect against it.
It was better to have loved and lost than never to
have loved at all. That was true whether she said it or not. She hoped he knew
that.
“But you’re right,” he finally said. “I didn’t die, no
matter how much I thought I wanted to.”
“The drinking…”
Instead of being outraged by her prying, as she’d thought he
might, he laughed. “Christ, your generation is so goody-two-shoes.”
“Except for the sexual liberation thing.”
“Except for that, fortunately. So is that on your to-do list
for me after dinner and a movie? Signing me up for AA? Don’t you know true
writers are supposed to be drunks?”
“I never bought that.”
“Yeah? Well, no AA for me. I’m not a joiner. But don’t get
all worried about saving me from my dissolute ways. The drinking, the hardcore
drinking, stopped a long time ago, if I’m honest about it. Not long after I got
fired from my last teaching gig. I’d even started running again, doing pushups—forgetting
to drink, I guess. Until a gorgeous, soaking-wet blonde showed up in front
her onto his lap.
Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she set one leg on
either side of his and lowered herself carefully on to his throbbing cock. She slid
her wet cunt up and then down again a few moments later, but it was too slow.
He needed more. He needed something to make it all go away.
Gripping her hips, he lifted her up swiftly and then brought
her back down again with force. Pleasure shot through him as he repeated the
motion again and again, pounding up into her, feeling her getting wetter and
wetter, his own breath coming harshly. But before they could orgasm from these
wild thrusts, she urged his hands off her hips, and slowed her movements deliberately.
Leaning forward to press her lips to his, she sifted her fingers through his
hair, causing a tingle in his scalp as she kissed him slowly, thoroughly. At
that sweet, deep kiss, and the calm, wet clasp of her cunt taking him in below,
what had been harsh and desperate became smooth, mellow…right.
His hands, no longer trying to control her pace, drifted up
to the delicate contours of her back beneath her shirt. He explored the curves
and valleys and silken smoothness of her skin with his fingers as she pressed
short, feather-light kisses along his brow, his temples, his neck. When her
lips reached his ear, she nipped at his earlobe and he groaned.
“We’ll do this slow, Liam,” she whispered. “Me and you.”
She rose up on his cock, swaying toward him in that sweet
rhythm as she came back down and he took her mouth, bringing her closer as they
kissed, moving together, so in sync.
When he came this time, it wasn’t frantic. He didn’t need to
blank his mind. He felt as if maybe he was starting to open it again.
What did she want from him? This, of course. The
sated pleasure he seemed to be able to deliver to her so effortlessly. But she
wanted something more too. She guessed she wanted to help him after all, since
he had so helped her—whether he acknowledged it or not.
She dropped a kiss on his heated forehead and started to
climb off his lap. But as soon as he slipped out of her, he pulled her back,
firmly, cuddling her sideways in his arms and burying his face in the curve of
her neck.
“He was the sweetest little boy.”
She heard the whispered words, but just barely.
“Did he look like you?” she murmured and he raised his head,
smiling.
“A carbon copy. Kate used to lament my domineering genes.
God, I loved that kid.”
She let him hold her, not knowing what to say. The loss of a
child was something she couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She wanted to say
something trite. Like he had to cherish the memories. Or better to have loved
and lost.
But, thank God, she managed to stop herself. She didn’t know
what the loss of a child felt like. She hoped to God she never would. And that
was all she could do to protect against it.
It was better to have loved and lost than never to
have loved at all. That was true whether she said it or not. She hoped he knew
that.
“But you’re right,” he finally said. “I didn’t die, no
matter how much I thought I wanted to.”
“The drinking…”
Instead of being outraged by her prying, as she’d thought he
might, he laughed. “Christ, your generation is so goody-two-shoes.”
“Except for the sexual liberation thing.”
“Except for that, fortunately. So is that on your to-do list
for me after dinner and a movie? Signing me up for AA? Don’t you know true
writers are supposed to be drunks?”
“I never bought that.”
“Yeah? Well, no AA for me. I’m not a joiner. But don’t get
all worried about saving me from my dissolute ways. The drinking, the hardcore
drinking, stopped a long time ago, if I’m honest about it. Not long after I got
fired from my last teaching gig. I’d even started running again, doing pushups—forgetting
to drink, I guess. Until a gorgeous, soaking-wet blonde showed up in front
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