Black Sheep

My lecture on neurodegenerative diseases and their impact on cognition is the last of the day, and a few students are starting to flag by the end. It’s early in the term. Some pupils are still finding their feet with the flow of classes and assignments and the turbulence that this stage of life can throw their way. But most remain attentive, and there’s a good discussion near the end about the next essay assignment before I dismiss them.

When the last student has gone, I start gathering my laptop and notes into my satchel, then check my phone for messages. One from Fletch. She loves her memes. A message from my motorcycle buddy Simon about an upcoming street race, the Autumn Adder, the last race of the season. Adrenaline surges through my veins with the thought of it, but I hold off on replying. Another message from one of my old trysts putting the feelers out for a hookup next weekend while she’s in town for a conference. I fire off a quick response to say I’ll be busy, but the truth is I’m just wholly disinterested. That’s it for messages. Not sure what else I was expecting, but for some reason, a sense of dismay and disquiet settles into my chest.

But that feeling is wiped clean with three simple words.

“Afternoon, Dr. Kaplan.”

My eyes dart up to the second row of terraced seats where Bria stands, leaning against the end of the long, curved table, her arms folded across her chest. I didn’t even hear a sound.

I release the tension from the strap of my satchel, leaving its weight on the table. “Bria.”

A smile as dark as the shadows of hell stalks across Bria’s face and I want nothing more than to dive into the flames that chase it.

Bria pushes her weight into the hip leaning against the sharp edge of the laminated wood to right herself. She takes her time to drift down the steps. “Neurodegenerative disorders and their impact on cognition. What’s next on your syllabus?”

She heard my lecture.

“You’re here to talk about my syllabus?”

Bria pauses on one step as her smile broadens. “No.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Bria slowly ascends the stairs to the stage, rounding the table to stop just out of reach. She rests a hand on her hip, her shirt pulling open where it’s been unbuttoned low on her chest, revealing her black bra. My dick hardens at the sight of that patch of exposed skin and the knowledge of how much more I’ve already seen and felt, and want to feel again.

“Questions about the interviews?” I ask.

“Not at present.”

“Cognition?”

“No.”

“The history of tweed?”

Bria snorts a derisive laugh. “Fuck no.” She takes a single step forward and starts unfastening the next button on her shirt. “I don’t have questions about the library hours, or the university student union, or which coffee shop is the best in town either.”

Christ, I want to fuck her right here, and a thousand options scroll through my mind. I could lay her on the table. She could straddle me on one of the seats. I even glance at the podium while my desires war with the worry that someone could easily intrude. My eyes dart to the doors before I meet Bria’s gaze once more, and she regards me with a knowing smirk as though she can see every thought in my head.

“What are you going to do, Professor? Hide me in the lectern?” Bria looks down at the empty cabinet built into the podium and folds her arms across her chest. “I don’t think I’d fit.” Her eyes slide back to mine. The edges of her lips curl with a dark smile. “Maybe you do hate me if you’re willing to stuff my body into a little box and fuck my mouth like I’m a dirty secret you regret keeping. But you just can’t help yourself, can you?”

My jaw is clamped so tight it’s ready to snap. I want to tell her she’s wrong. Except she’s not. I do want to fuck her pretty mouth until she’s gagging on my cock. But damn straight I would push her into that lectern if I heard as much as a footstep from the hall or a click on the door handle.

“You’ve got that right, sweetheart.” I stalk forward and twine my hand in her hair, gripping it tightly. I pull with gentle, steady tension, Bria flashing a triumphant smile as I bow her backward and she drops to her knees, licking her lips. “You’ll be drinking my cum like it’s fucking lemonade. But I regret to inform you that you’re dead wrong about one thing,” I say as I release my zipper with my other hand and free my erection, gliding the glistening tip across her waiting, wanting lips. Her eyes turn black with my words. I hold her gaze and lean closer. “I won’t hide you away because you’re my dirty secret. I’ll hide you away because I’m the only one who gets to see you on your knees, Bria.”

The flare of surprise in her eyes turns to ravenous need.

I lean back, my cock nearly touching her lips, so close I can feel their heat. “Tap three times if it gets too much.”

“Tug on my hair three times if it gets too much,” she replies, darting her tongue out to swipe at the precum beaded on the head as I swallow the moan already climbing my throat.

“Doubtful.”

“We’ll see.”

“Indeed.” My grip on her hair tightens and I add my other hand. “Now take it like a good girl and make me come.”

I plunge into the hot, wet heat of Bria’s mouth and hit the back of her throat. And then I do it again. And again. And again. Rhythmic gagging and garbled groans vibrate through my cock as she sucks and chokes down every thrust. Her eyes flood and dampen her lashes, tears slide down her cheeks. But she never breaks the connection of her dark gaze. She glares at me with a mix of desire and loathing so potent it sets my blood on fire.

Bria tugs my pants and briefs down and wraps her hand around the base of my cock, adding sensation to what I can’t shove down her throat. I watch as she grips and strokes with strong fingers, her nails painted a dark crimson so perfectly Bria that it makes my dick impossibly harder. She scrapes those nails across my balls and I shudder, pounding into her mouth with no restraint.

“You are fucking perfect, Bria Brooks,” I grit out as I tug on her hair. She moans and hums in satisfaction. Lightning skitters up my spine. “Pretend to hate me all you want, but your mouth says otherwise. I think you love the taste of my cock. You can’t wait to have my cum filling your throat.”

Bria whimpers and her glare intensifies, as though she’s angry at herself for the needy sound that just escaped her control. It’s like tinder for the flame within me. I fist Bria’s hair and thrust mercilessly as pleasure winds through my nerves and my heart rages.

Her devious, dark smile wraps around my erection as Bria passes a finger through the saliva glistening on my cock, then keeps going, tracing the underside, past my balls to the rim of my ass. She watches for my reaction as she tests the resistance and I give her nothing but heated want and desperate need in return. Bria pushes her finger in, that teasing smile encircling my cock once more.

My balls tighten. I growl.

Bria adds another finger and sinks a little deeper, humming with approval when she finds the perfect spot. She massages with her fingertips and strokes with her other hand and sucks with that beautiful mouth. Pleasure rolls through me. I tip my head back, shuddering a desperate breath.

And just as I’m about to shoot my cum into Bria’s mouth, she pulls back.

Bria’s hand is still gripping my cock as I spill down her chin and across her collarbones, dripping down her chest. The cum pulses in ropey spurts on her face as she works my shaft. She holds out her tongue to catch some, then runs it across her wicked smirk, coating her wet, swollen lips. I glare down at her in a lecherous rage, realizing she’s just replicated in me what I think she must feel when we collide.

“Now, now, Dr. Kaplan,” Bria chimes, her voice such a sweet contradiction to the strength of her grip around my cock. She sweeps her tongue from her bleached knuckles to the tip, licking the cum and saliva as she blinks up at me with feigned innocence. “I know you wanted me to drink you down like lemonade, but I have a yoga class to teach tonight and I wanted to take your scent with me.”Content © NôvelDrama.Org 2024.

The thought of marking her with my cum sends a greater thrill up my spine than the idea of it sliding down her throat. Now that the idea is there, I’ll never get rid of it. I want her to spend the next few hours with this secret on her skin. I want her to go home tonight and touch herself, feeling the evidence of what we’ve done right there on her flesh.

Bria licks again, a slow, languorous pass of her hot tongue, and keeps licking until every inch of my cock is clean. After wiping her fingers with a tissue she stands, holding my gaze as she smears the mess across her chest and then buttons up her shirt. “Our little secret,” she says with a wink.

“Until you pull a fire alarm and campus security arrives,” I reply. Bria huffs a laugh as she turns toward the table and picks up my second-favorite tweed jacket. She pivots in my direction with a wicked grin. I sigh with resignation, trying to hide how bewitched I am with every move she makes. “Not that one too.”

Bria’s smile grows. “Erroneous clothing choices deserve consequences,” Bria says, then uses the lining to wipe the cum and tears from her face in slow passes. “Like I said, Dr. Kaplan. Our little secret.”

Bria holds the jacket out for me to take, and if it means our mixed scent of sex and tears will linger in the threads, I might never launder it again.

I slip it on and Bria watches my movement with keen interest. As soon as it’s in place on my shoulders, she turns to stride away across the stage. I catch her wrist before she can gain momentum.

“Wait,” I say, trying to keep any urgency from infusing my voice. “What time is your class?”

Bria doesn’t try to wrench away from my grip or twist my arm into a pretzel. Her expression is oddly blank. “Eight,” she replies.

“Come to Deja Brew with me. We can get a coffee.”

Bria’s eyes narrow.

“Tea,” I offer.

Her head tilts.

“I can get a coffee and you can get whatever you like. We don’t even have to sit at the same table.” I lean a little closer, keeping my eyes on Bria’s, closing in until my lips nearly touch hers. “You can even spend the whole time glaring as though you hate me, even though I know you don’t.”

A faint smile finally passes across Bria’s lips. “I can’t really refuse an opportunity to openly loathe you, can I.”

“I was hoping you’d see it that way.” I lean back and give her a grin that brings out the dimple in my cheek. She gives it the evil eye as though it’s her mortal enemy. “You hate that dimple, don’t you?”

“I really do. Truly.”

With a final, heated look between us, Bria and I leave the lecture hall side by side. We walk to Deja Brew. I order coffee, she gets a kale salad. We sit at the same table. We talk about politics. University. Traveling. I even earn one of her rare laughs.

And though I promised Bria that she could pretend to hate me, she doesn’t.