He groans and sits back against the cushions. I unfasten his belt and trousers, pushing them to the floor as his cock springs hot and heavy into my hand. I kneel beside him on the sofa and bend to swipe my tongue over the head of his erection, pushing my lower body upward.
Less than a second later, Dean strokes his hand over my bottom, which is covered tightly by emerald-green silk and lace. I gasp as the heat of his palm burns through the thin material. He edges his finger into the satin border at my thigh.
Urgency coils inside me, a desperation made all the sharper by the things left unspoken. I grasp the base of his cock and lower my head again to take him into my mouth. His breath escapes on a hiss, his other hand tangling in my hair.
The salty taste of him fills my mouth, his shaft throbbing against my tongue. My breasts press against his thigh, the material of my bra abrading my sensitive nipples. I sink my mouth lower over Dean’s cock, rocking my hips as his finger probes deeper beneath my panties.
I draw him in even farther and press my tongue to the smooth underside. Up, down, lick, stroke, kiss. His thighs tense, his hand tightening in my hair.
“Liv, I’m…”
I slide my mouth upward and to the head of his cock, squeezing his shaft just as an orgasm shudders through him. I take a breath and suck him deep, swallowing the semen pulsing into my mouth. When the vibrations ease from his body, I pull back and start to sit up.
Dean presses his hand to my lower back. “Don’t move.”
My heart jolts with excitement. I brace my hands on the other side of his lap and arch my back, moaning when he eases another finger into my damp cleft. The constriction of the panties heightens my tension.
I dig my hands into the sofa cushion and strain toward the exquisite release of pleasure. Dean touches my folds in the way I love, circling his forefinger around my clit as he reaches beneath me with his other hand to pull down the cups of my bra and fondle my breasts.
I come within seconds, bucking against him as sparks explode through my nerves. He eases every last sensation from me before I sink across his lap and try to catch my breath. He runs his hand over the length of my body, rubbing circles over my ass.
I roll onto my back and look up at him—my beautiful husband with his gold-flecked eyes still dark with arousal, his chest glistening with a sheen of sweat. I brush my palm over his torso as the lovely afterglow descends.
“How many of these do you have?” Dean runs his finger along the edge of my bra.
“About half a dozen. Maybe I’ll do a fashion show for you one day.”
“If you do, I’ll give you a really big tip.”
I wiggle against his cock and grin. “Yeah, I’ll bet you will.”
He returns my grin and helps me to a sitting position. Sliding a hand to the back of my neck, he pulls me in for a deep and thorough kiss that makes me tingle all over again.
After we part, I climb off the sofa, aware of his gaze on my rear end as I walk to the bathroom. I grab one of his Tshirts from his open suitcase and use the bathroom, then pull the shirt on over my head.
Pushing my hair away from my face, I return to the main room. Dean is zipping up his trousers, and the instant I look at him, my heart sinks. That air of somberness is back, hovering over him like a cloud.
I stop halfway to the sofa. Dean pulls his shirt over his shoulders. Against reason, my pulse kicks into gear again at the sight of him all disheveled and sweaty, his white shirt open to reveal his gorgeous chest.
I pick up my discarded dress and toss it over a chair. Dean watches me. A shutter descends over his features.
I sit down on the sofa, twisting the little ring Dean sent me from Italy around on my finger. I can’t think of a way to stop whatever it is he’s going to say.
“What?” I whisper.
“I need to talk to you about the meeting.”
“Okay. What… what happened?”
He sighs and drags a hand through his hair. “When I started teaching at King’s, Maggie Hamilton told me she wanted to write about Trotula of Salerno and women’s history. Since Trotula was a physician, the research included stuff about women’s sexuality. Now Maggie is saying I was the one who suggested it, that she wasn’t comfortable with the subject… that kind of shit.”
“Oh, no.”
“Yeah.” His jaw clenches. “And when I was gone, Ben Stafford looked into my past jobs and positions. He found out that you and I started dating when we were at the UW. So now he’s questioning the ethics of our relationship.”
Shock bolts through me. I sink back onto the sofa. “The ethics of it?”
“Professor and student, right?”
“But I wasn’t your student! We didn’t do anything against the rules.”
“Doesn’t seem to matter. You were a student, and I was a professor. Considering a student is making this claim… it doesn’t look good.”
A sick feeling rises into my throat. My early relationship with Dean is one of tangled, intense beauty. The idea that strangers could make it obscene because of a vindictive girl’s lies…
I press my hands to my eyes.
“What’s Stafford going to do?” I ask.