CHAPTER 20

Samantha:

Gavin looks so official sitting at Dr. Peterson’s desk in his office, sorting papers and inputting grades into the computer. I’m not technically supposed to be in here, and certainly not supposed to be perched on the corner of his desk like a naughty secretary with my skirt hiked up to give him just the tiniest glimpse of my even tinier panties. But Gavin and I have been doing a lot of things we shouldn’t lately. Including fooling around in the parking lot yesterday.

There’s something incredibly hot about giving my super sexy teacher—student teacher—head in his truck. Knowing that anyone could have been walking by outside and looking in the window. They may not have seen me, of course. But they’d definitely have seen the look of pure pleasure on Gavin’s face, might have even heard his moans as I sucked him. Feeling his hard cock inside me and riding him to orgasm—his and mine—was the icing on the cake. I’m getting more than a little wet just sitting here remembering.

I slip my foot out of my ballet flat and set it on his thigh, drawing his attention away from the computer. “Can’t you do that at home?”

He smiles sheepishly at me. “I can, but I want to get this all done and out of the way before Thanksgiving break so I can focus on more important things.” He wraps his fingers around my calf and then slides them up to my knee to demonstrate what “more important” things he’s talking about. “Plus, I kind of like having my naughty student in here with me. We’re fulfilling fantasies I didn’t even know I had.”

“All we’re doing is sitting here,” I tell him. “But if you want to fulfill some fantasies…” I glide my foot up his thigh to his crotch, use my toes to tickle the bulge there. He’s already hard; I knew he would be. The man has been in a near constant state of hardness since we had sex for the first time a little over a week ago. Which is great for me. I don’t think I’ve ever had this much sex in my life, and the orgasms he gives me are incredible, each one better than the last. The man is a master in bed. At least compared to the three other guys I’ve been with.

Gavin sits back in his chair and rolls his head back, closes his eyes, and thrusts his hips ever so slightly. “Sam.” My name on his lips is a request, but I can’t tell if he’s asking me for more or asking me to have mercy on him and let him do his work.

“Gavin,” I say back in the same tone he used on me.

He chuckles and pushes my foot from his lap, shoves his chair away from the desk, and gets to his feet. Then he’s standing in front of me, pushing my knees apart gently so he can position himself between them. I slide to the edge of the desk, the movement causing my skirt to ride up higher and bare my panties completely. They’re white and lacy and almost completely sheer. I might was well not be wearing them at all for all the coverage they offer. But I’m not wearing them for coverage. I’m wearing them so Gavin will look at me exactly how he’s looking at me right now, with heat in his gaze.

Gavin drops his mouth to mine, and I fall helplessly into our kiss, leaning into him for support when I become too weak-limbed from passion to hold myself up. He knows what I like now and just how to kiss me to make me melt for him. The world outside this space ceases to exist for me.

Gentle fingers land on my thigh and trace a line upward. I feel the tickle of cool air as he pulls my panties to the side, and then his fingers are delving between my folds, searching and finding my arousal. He twirls the pad of his finger in the tiniest of circles there, ramping up my pleasure to the nth degree. I buck against his hand and pant against his mouth.

I’m only vaguely aware of his other hand under my shirt, blazing a trail to my breast, cupping it, molding it as his kisses move down to my neck. He lifts my shirt out of the way and lowers his head to my breasts, taking turns worshiping each one.

“Gavin,” I call out, the sound of my voice echoing in the small office. In response, he sets a finger of his free hand—the one not buried between my legs—over my lips, encouraging me to be quieter without ever taking his attention away from my body. “I need you,” I whisper, but the words still seem so loud between us.

He lifts his head from my chest and his hand from my panties, sets both hands on my hips, and pulls me off the desk so that I’m standing in front of him, waiting with barely contained lust to see what he’ll do next. He doesn’t disappoint.

Gavin spins me around in one smooth motion and folds me facedown over the edge of the desk. My skirt is around my waist in the seconds that follow. Riiiip. The sound of fabric tearing meets my ears, and then my panties are gone from my body entirely. He tore them right off me. That knowledge sends a shiver of excitement through me, and I giggle in response.

His hands land on my ass, cupping my cheeks, squeezing. “Is this what you want?” He leans his body over mine to whisper in my ear. His voice is deep and gravelly and pure sex, making my mouth water and warmth flood between my legs.

“Yes,” I pant, hoping that will spur him into action.

Instead, he begins a slow perusal of my body with his fingertips, tracing the lines of my neck, my back, my ass. Finally, he dips a finger between my legs to stroke along my slit, and I gasp at the contact, try to lift my hips to get closer to him.

Something metal clinks behind me, and it only takes a moment for me to realize that it’s the sound of Gavin’s belt unfastening, followed shortly by the sound of his zipper. He presses the tip of his erection against me but doesn’t enter me right away. Instead, he reaches around my body to find my clit and rub.

“Please, Gavin,” I beg, arching backward against him.

“Tell me what you want,” he commands.

I moan, frustrated and so fucking turned on by his teasing. “You… inside me. Do it. Please!”

He obeys, sliding into me and driving home in one smooth move. The feel of his fingers rubbing me and his cock inside me, deep and so hard is enough to have me on the verge of orgasm already. I arch my back again and roll my hips.

Gavin lets out a long, low groan of pleasure and pulls almost all the way out of me so he can slam back into me, then again and again. Over and over, he drives into me from behind, and all the while, I feel my pleasure growing, my peak mounting.

And then I’m there. Rapture washes over me, flooding my body with wave after wave of pleasure, and Gavin wrings every bit of it from my body, rubbing me mercilessly until the last vestiges of my orgasm have faded and I’m a puddle of well-sated lover under him. Then he grasps my hips and thrusts hard into me one last time. He gasps a curse and folds over me, reaching past me to tightly grip the edge of the desk as he shudders his own release, throbbing and pulsing inside me.

As his own orgasm begins to fade, I squeeze my inner muscles around him, and he jerks against me with a moan. “Fuck, Sam.” He presses a series of gentle kisses to the back of my neck before lifting himself away from me and pulling out of me.

“What the hell is going on here,” a deep voice booms from in front of me.

Gavin and I break apart quickly, and I pull my skirt down as best as I can before getting down off the desk.

“Dr. Peterson,” Gavin says, and my heart sinks. Of all the people to catch us in the aftermath of office sex, he’s definitely the worst. I might as well drop his class right now. Except it’s too late in the semester. I drop my head in shame and turn to face my professor. The one who hated me before he found me making out with his TA in his office. I’m fucked.

Dr. Peterson glowers at me. “Samantha Martel. I knew you were bad news, but I didn’t expect something like this.”

Bad news? And what the hell does he mean by “something like this”? And isn’t Gavin here with me? He was making out with me willingly when Dr. Peterson walked in. Why am I the bad guy in all this?

“Sir, I can explain—” Gavin interjects, but Dr. Peterson cuts him off with a wave of his hand.

He’s still staring daggers at me. “So, you couldn’t bring up your grade the honest way, so you decided to seduce my TA?”

I take a stumbling step backward at his words and feel Gavin’s hands land at my shoulders, steadying me. Words elude me, and for a moment all I do is fish mouth. When I do speak, I half expect it to sound like Glub, glub, glub. “Seduce? I’m not seducing him!”

“What would you call it then?” Dr. Peterson challenges.

What would I call it? Fucking, sure. A bad decision, probably. Seducing? Not a chance. Gavin is completely 100 percent complicit in this. But he’s not defending me, I realize and shoot a glance his direction. In fact, he’s not saying anything. He’s standing there, tight lipped and flushed, hands fisted at his sides. I’m going to get no help from him.

I turn back to Dr. Peterson, hoping I can plead my case, make him realize there were extenuating circumstances. Gavin is my roommate, my maybe-boyfriend—we haven’t exactly had that conversation yet, though.

But before I can say anything, Dr. Peterson beats me to it. “Consider yourself failed, Ms. Martel.” Then he motions to the door. “You may go.”

Failed. I worked so hard to bring up my grade, and all for nothing. Never mind the utter and complete lack of help from Gavin in all of this. My throat clenches in emotion as my eyes well with unshed tears. “Dr. Peterson…” I try again to plead my case.

“You. May. Go, Ms. Martel.” His tone is final.

And with that, my tears spill over. I grab my bag from the floor and scurry out of the room. Once I’m out in the hall, the torrent breaks loose, and rather than ugly cry in front of the handful of students loitering along the corridor, I race for the women’s restroom at the far end of the hallway. It’s empty, thank goodness. I stop at the sink and rest my palms on the countertop, doing my best to get my tears under control. I’m not usually a crier. But I am a stress crier, and I’ve never been good at confrontation. Eventually, I manage to pull myself together. I grab a paper towel and wet it, use it to dab away the remnants of my not-so-waterproof mascara and try to pat away the red blotchiness from my skin.

I wonder if Gavin is still talking to Dr. Peterson, or what else Dr. Asshole might have had to say about me and about finding us together in his office. But I don’t want to find out. Gavin was my ride home, but I don’t want to face him right now. Instead, I pull out my phone to text Maggie.

Me: Are you still on campus?

She responds almost immediately.

Maggie: At the library. What’s up?

Me: I need a ride home.

Maggie: Mr. Hottie McTeacher ditch you?

I almost tear up all over again at her question.

Me: Something like that.

Maggie: Want me to key his car for you?

That’s my Maggie. Supportive to a fault.

Me: Can you just give me a ride home?

Home… the place where Gavin lives too.

Me: Scratch that. Can I stay with you and Michael for a few days.

Maggie: Sweetie, you’re still on the lease. It’s still your place too.

Right. I completely forgot Maggie and I needed to go together to the leasing office to remove my name from the rental agreement.

Me: Heading to the library now.

I tuck my phone into my bag and shoot out of the restroom, not bothering to look in the direction of Dr. Peterson’s office in case he and Gavin are still there. The air outside is practically frigid, and I immediately regret wearing this short skirt instead of something warmer… like a freaking snow suit. I only wore the damn thing to tease Gavin, and look how that turned out.

Luckily the library isn’t too far from Archer Hall, and Maggie is waiting out front for me—dressed much more appropriately for the weather in jeans, and sweater, a scarf, and a coat—when I get there. She takes one look at my face, which is probably still all splotchy from crying, and leads me to her car without a word.

Once we’re in and buckled and driving out of the parking lot, she asks, “Do you want to talk about it.

“He failed me!” I exclaim.

“The TA?”

I shake my head, even though she probably can’t see it with her eyes on the road. “Dr. Peterson.”

“Wait… I thought he was on leave. How could he fail you?”

During the short drive to My old apartment, I relay the entire story, how Dr. Peterson caught us, how Gavin didn’t say anything. How I’m going to fail the class now.”

“What a dick,” she says when I finish.

“Dr. Peterson or Gavin?”

She nods her head. “Yes.”

“I can’t go back to Robby’s place, Mags.”

“Obviously,” she answers. “Give me your key, and I’ll go get your clothes for you.”

“And Poofie.”

“Oh, shit, yeah. And Poofie,” She agrees.

Maggie drops me off at our place, and gives me the spare key so I can go up without her. Being back here feels weird, like I’ve come full circle but it took me a million years to do it. Luckily, Michael is at work, so I can wallow in peace until Maggie gets back with my things and my cat. But it’s only temporary. I still need to find a new place to go. The only thing I accomplished over the last few weeks was getting a big fat fucking F in what was supposed to be my easiest class. And I have nothing to show for it but a broken heart.