He seems to relax at my words, because he follows me down the hall to the elevator. I’m just about to press the button when he stops me, pressing the doors closed button and then the emergency stop button.
“What are you—”
“I won’t be able to think straight until I fuck you again,” he growls, and I whimper as he twists me around and pushes me against the glass of the elevator wall.
“Blake—”
“Should I stop?” he whispers into my ear, his hands roving down my back, over my hips, to the buttons of my jeans. I feel him press himself against me, and I instinctively arch my back so that he has better access. I drop my bag on the ground and shrug off my coat.
“No. Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop,” I answer, breathing heavily.
“I don’t think I’ll be able to stay away from you,” he rasps.
I close my eyes and throw my head back as he tugs my pants down to my ankles, and then he knocks my legs apart as he gets down on his knees.
“Blake—”
“Tell. Me. To. Stop,” he grits. I feel him spread my cheeks and my chest flushes when I realize what he’s about to do. I don’t want him to stop, because I trust him, but I’ve also never done… that. I gasp as he inserts his middle finger into my pussy, and the other arm comes around and begins to work my clit. I twist my hips on his hands, and his finger curves inside of me to the point of causing a near instant orgasm. Whatever he does down there—the constant pressure as I move myself on him—is something he’s had practice doing. He’s playing my body like a skilled musician—like he knows all the right buttons and chords to create a harmony.
Just as I feel my pussy tighten around his finger, his tongue dives into my ass, and I cry out as a plethora of sensations causes my orgasm to intensify tenfold. Immense waves of my climax crash through me, cleaving me in half as my body convulses and my knees go weak. Instead of the friction causing me to come, it was his technique—the way he handled me, the way his tongue darted in and out, rough yet gentle, intense yet sweet. I am still gasping for air as I feel his hands leave my pussy, and then he stands behind me, slamming into me in one push.
I groan and close my eyes, moving against him as the sounds of my arousal fill the small, mirrored space.
“You’re so fucking wet,” he mutters, reaching under my sweater and bra so that he can pinch my nipples.
I gasp, and again, the sensation is all new to me. I expect it to hurt, but it sends shivers down my legs and causes me to tighten yet again as I come on his cock.
“Oh, fuck, Wren,” he whispers, driving into me roughly.
My mouth is open against the cold mirror, and when I open my eyes, I can see us everywhere, reflected at every angle. I can see how his perfect, bare ass contracts with every thrust—how he’s plunging into me with pure abandon, with wild ferocity. His eyes meet mine in the mirror, and he gives me a large, feline smile.
“Stop,” I command, and he stills completely. “I want to swallow your come.”
He pulls out of me, and I drop to my knees, turning to face him—and his monster cock. Taking the thick, slick shaft in my hands, I give it a few strokes before I take him in my mouth. He groans loudly, covering his face with both hands as his cock twitches against my tongue.
“Holy… fucking… fuck…” he trails off, his voice completely shattered.
I’ve broken him apart, piece by piece. He’s unraveling before my very eyes, and I can’t fucking get enough.
I bob my head and ready myself to take him fully, to swallow him as deep as he’ll go. I don’t have a lot of experience giving blow jobs, but I want him to know that I appreciate him. I want him to know that he’s been the single best thing about this trip, and, if I’m being honest, the highlight of most of my days. When he’s gone, I’m in a noticeably worse mood. When we’re not bickering, life feels boring. And now that I’ve had him in bed? I could never go back to a high school boy.
I stroke his length with one hand and swirl my tongue on the head of his dick, and my other hand gently fondles his balls. I’d read about that in a magazine once, and always wanted to try it. He twitches, letting out some sort of animalistic growl when I do, so I keep going. I take him deeper with each passing minute, sucking on him as if he’s a lollipop, as if I can’t get enough of the salty pre-cum.
“Wren, I’m—”
He doesn’t finish as I show him the grand finale. Bracing myself, I place my hands on his ass as I take him in fully—into the back of my throat, past my tonsils, past my gag reflex. My eyes water, but I’ve never been so turned on as I hear him roar, as he bucks against me. His cock hardens, and it makes me gag, but I hold steady as his steel rod pulses and jumps inside of my throat.
“Oh, fuck, Wren,” he cries, slamming a hand against the railing to hold himself up. “Oh, fucking hell.”
I swallow every drop, letting it slide directly down my throat, swallowing with each contraction—which makes him continue to spill into me, extending his orgasm. Finally, he stills—the sounds of our heaving breaths loud in the small space. When I look up at him through my lashes, he looks emotional—like he knows he just fell apart for me, and me for him.
Like he knows this is it—and we’re choosing this path over the saner, more responsible one.
Together.
“I never want to forget the sight of you on your knees before me,” he mumbles, his voice soft and velvety. His hand brushes my hair out of my face, and then he fists it, pulling me up to standing. Kissing me, his tongue swirls around in my mouth, and I realize with a start that he’s tasting himself—and that I’m tasting myself, too. “We’re in dangerous territory, Ms. Chambers.”
I nod. “What are we going to do?”
He smiles as we clean ourselves up, and he presses the button for the elevator to continue downward.
“I guess all we can do is eat dinner, and then tomorrow, go through the motions. There’s no point in overthinking until we’re back in New York.”
New York.
Real life.
But I do as he says, and we link arms as the cold blast of the Czech air hits us all at once. Laughing, we meander to dinner, and for whatever reason, it feels… normal. I don’t think of him as my history teacher, or my best friend’s dad, or the grumpy guy I’ve known since I was fourteen. And I can tell he’s seeing me in a new light, too. Maybe Felicity was right, maybe our souls were always meant to be together, and because society deemed it inappropriate, we fought against it, and the resistance caused the abrasive relationship we’ve had for years. It wasn’t until we gave into it—into whatever’s between us—that everything righted itself.
The server refers to me as Blake’s partner all evening, and it’s nice knowing that to the unsuspecting eye, we look like any normal couple out to eat while on vacation. Not that it really matters, or that I care about what other people think. But it cements the fact that only our small town might have an issue with it, and that gives me the courage to kiss him after dinner, to thank him for everything.
With an arm around my shoulders, we walk into the unknown together.
Of course, we don’t forget Felicity’s Gatorade—and we make plans for how to deal with the rest of the school year. But one hurdle is done, and we have my friend’s blessing.