Nothing had ever gone so smoothly from start to finish.
A strange nostalgia lingered even though Cal had never been here. Or he didn’t think he had. Not to this house. Or this part of town.
But he’d been here.
Satisfied.
Comfortable.
With someone like her.
No college girl — no one — had ever bared so much of herself so quickly, without judgment or trepidation or plain agitation. No one had ever told him, Be yourself, Cal.
Nothing had ever gone so smoothly from start to finish.
Fuck ... the finish.
Cal had yet to finish, and now he was going to finish inside Jocelyn — sweaty, determined, full of her. He was going to finish her completely, fucking her until there was no more...
No more...
Shhh…
A quiet...
A hum…
An ache…
Having her, filling her, inhaling her lemons and marigolds, sticking to her skin, pulling her apart and putting them both back together until they had to return to the goddamn school and pretend that she was only his teacher.
She was his teacher.
No.
She was his paramour.
He would have to pretend he didn’t want to fuck her over her desk, against the door or the blackboard or the floors.
The last student would leave … he imagined as he found a place deep inside her body on the couch in her living room, the wind blowing — Jocelyn had just come all over his face. And Cal would lock the door, bend her over her desk, and fuck her into that harsh, unforgiving piece of furniture. Push, push, push. Against the stacks of papers, the deadlines, the grades, the books. The risk. Making her forget about work, their loneliness, her age.
God, her age…
She was ageless, beautiful — more stunning than any other woman on campus.
Yes, yes, that’s it, he thought, digging his nails into her skin. He would have her on that desk. Fuck, fuck, fuck. His jaw clenched, his heart pounded, and his throat ached as it began … on the couch … in the living room. Pushing himself so far inside Jocelyn Ryan, deeper and deeper and deeper…
Cal shook, trembled, peered into her eyes. This being the first time he’d allowed himself to feel the comfort of staring into a woman’s eyes while…
...he came ... he came ... he came.