Page 75 of Grave Matter

Then he parts my legs with a bruising grip and reaches up to my hips, fingers curling over the waistband of my underwear. He starts bringing them down over my thighs, his movements urgent, like he’s afraid he’s going to change his mind.

“I’m going to hell,” he murmurs.

But he doesn’t stop.

If he’s going, I’m going too.

He pulls my underwear to my knees then suddenly straightens up.

Leans over me. Reaches for something on the desk.

I raise my head up just in time for him to shove a pencil in my mouth.

“Bite down on that when you feel like screaming.”

I smile, tasting the wood. Guess he already figured I’m a loud one.

Then he moves back into place between my legs, grabs my hips, and lowers his head.

My whole body tenses in anticipation, my fingertips digging into the desk.

But he doesn’t do anything, not at first.

I can feel his breath tickling me, making my hips squirm, and I’m so close to just bucking up into his face so I can get some pressure, some sort of release.

“So fucking pretty,” he says, his voice gruff, and it’s apparent he’s staring at my pussy, just open and on display for him. “So fuckingbeautiful.”

He touches my clit with his fingertip and I grind my teeth against the pencil, moaning, wanting more. He rubs it slowly then drags his finger down, the pressure now like a feather, until it reaches where I’m terribly wet.

“So sweet,” he groans, teasing around my entrance. “So desperate.”

I gasp, agreeing with him, unable to keep from holding back. I try to thrust my hips toward him.

It only makes him withdraw his finger, leaving me to whimper.

“Such a greedy little cunt for such a good student,” he surmises, his stark words making me feel dizzy with desire. “I can smell your desperation. I can see it.”

I make a noise of want, muffled by the pencil.

He lowers his head and blows on me.

I shriek, the pencil nearly falling from my mouth.

Suddenly he’s on me, devouring me with lips and tongue, a feverish attack, a messy one. He’s licking me up and down, sucking my clit into his mouth, biting lightly, while his fingers start to fuck me by ones, by twos, by threes. He works them in and out of me while he devours and I am moaning, bucking, nearly falling off the desk.

Several times he has to grab my hips and pull me back down or pull me back up and then he’s right back at eating me, like his appetite will never be vanquished.

This feels right. It feels like a million different things but it feels right.

Like I’m his to be tasted, like I’m his for whatever he wants.

In the back of my head, I know he’s going to try and pull back after this, I know he’s letting himself give in because he wants me that badly. But I’ll worry about tomorrow, tomorrow. For now, my pussy is being ravaged by my psychologist, right on his office desk, and that’s all I need. One good orgasm might undo weeks of strife.

“Oh fuck,” he gasps against me, and his breath hitches, his body stiffening. Then a long moan that vibrates against my clit.

Did he just come?

In his pants?