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He undoes them, allowing his pants and briefs to slip down his legs, his impressive length jutting out with a drop of precum. I sit up, reaching out to grab hold of his base and run the tip of my tongue along his seam. His salty flavor coats my tongue, and I hum around him, dragging him deeper into my throat.

He slides a hand through my roots, tugging me back, and I glare up at him, saliva hanging from my lips.

“As much as I love your mouth on me, it’s your cunt I want to fuck, to fill and claim as mine. Can I have that, Calista?” he asks, my name a whisper on his lips.

My heart stutters a beat before I can answer him. “You can take anything you wish from me, Alastair.”

“I don’t wish to take. I want you to offer it as a willing and enthusiastic participant.”

The way he reaches out to cup my cheek, my heart rate speeding up, I get the distinct feeling that we’re no longer talking about sex. My resolve to pull away or distance myself from him has crumbled with every loss, and though it may make me weak, I cave, giving him what he wants, for now. We can clean up the pieces of my mistakes when the sun shines again and the storm has passed.

“I want you to take what’s yours, Alastair. And I think I’ve always been yours.”

He releases a sound that resembles a growl as he reaches down, plucking me up as if I’m not nearly six feet tall, throwing me over his shoulder. He swats at my ass before pressing me against the shelf nearest to us, the wood biting into my back as I envelop him with my limbs.

“No one has ever been as perfect as you, Calista.” He lines himself up with my entrance, swiping the tip of his engorged length through my swollen, sensitive folds. I squirm, both overstimulated and desperate at once. He nudges himself inside, the bite of pain as I stretch around him is delicious. I arch my neck, eyes rolling back as he fills me with an aching slowness.

Once seated inside me, he slides a hand between us, his thumb pressing on my clit as he holds me with one arm beneath my bottom. The slow, deliberate rolls of his hips have me clenching tighter, tears pricking my vision. “You’re so strong,” he murmurs. “Determined. The best friend anyone could ask for.” Each of his sentiments are punctuated with a deep thrust, taking his time to bring us both the pleasure we seek. “Beautiful. Intelligent. Well-read.” He continues praising me, listing each of my apparent many many attributes as he drags us closer to our release, and I meet him thrust for thrust, sliding against his length as I bounce myself on him, scraping my back on the wood frame behind me.

I wrap a hand around his throat, squeezing until I feel his Adam’s apple bob beneath my flesh. “No more talking, Professor. I’m ready for my favorite lesson.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His agreement is a desperate and needy thing as he brings his lips to mine, claiming my mouth as he thrusts deeper and harder into me, my legs turning to gelatin as we near our climax together, and I feel him swelling inside me.

He releases a ragged breath as he pulls himself out, brows furrowed in concentration, but I tighten my legs around his hips. His eyes shoot to mine, and I whisper words I’m almost certain he’s been waiting to hear since our very first time.

“Fill me with your cum, Alastair. I want to feel it dripping down my thighs, reminding me of exactly who I belong to long after the night is over.”

His nostrils flare, gaze turning bright as he buries himself inside me, pounding into me without a second thought. Doing as I asked, we come undone together, my pussy aching as he fills me.

Our breaths mingle as he rests his forehead against mine, chests heaving. When he finally slips out of me, so does his arousal, creating a sticky wetness between my thighs that I don’t dare try to clean up as he helps me into my skirt.

We finish getting dressed in comfortable silence, but rather than sneaking out, he takes a seat by the window, patting his thigh. I settle onto his lap, curling into myself as he wraps his arms around me, pressing a gentle kiss to my temple.

He smooths a hand through my tousled hair, fingers careful as though each touch is something he has weighed and chosen rather than taken.

“Calista,” he murmurs, and my name alone is enough to make my chest tighten. He hesitates, breath warming my skin. “I care for you. More than I ever intended to.”

The words are quieter than a confession, but they carry the same weight. They linger between us, carefully spoken, as though he has learned restraint not from lack of feeling, but from patience.

Something aches low and deep inside me. It is not fear, nor regret, but the awful pull of wanting something I do not yet trust myself to hold.

I don’t answer him. Not because I don’t feel it, but because I feel it too much, and the weight of uncertainty presses hard against my ribs. Not now. Not when everything feels so fragile, so easily undone.

And yet, nothing has ever felt uncertain where Alastair is concerned. So why does the thought of reaching for him feel like standing at the edge of something I may not survive?

A flash of memory intrudes without permission. A man I once loved, or thought I did, his devotion dressed up in fine words and finer suits. Promises made to sound like safety. A prison disguised as refuge.

“I’m still—” The words catch in my throat.

“It’s alright,” he says, tightening his hold on me as though anchoring me to the present. “You don’t owe me anything. I don’t need your certainty. All I desire is for you to know how I feel, and I can only hope that some day, I’ll earn your heart in return.”

I cup his cheek and press a kiss to the bridge of his freckle-dusted nose. “You are more than enough, Alastair. It is not you who needs to earn anything, I assure you.”

His arms draw me closer, unspoken words whispering in the dark between us. When the last of the oil lanterns have burned themselves out, he reluctantly slips away, swallowed by shadow, leaving me with the taste of him and the echo of his words in my chest.

I linger, fingers trailing over the spines of the books as though they might steady me. Then I gather myself and step into the corridor.

The storm howls louder now, wind and hail hammering the windows. My footsteps echo up the stone stairwell. Almost there. Almost safe, though the shadows creeping around every corner set me on edge as I climb the stone steps.