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But none of those words come from my lips. My hands fly to his shorts, fingers fumbling with the button.
His mouth is on my breast, lips locking around my nipple. I don’t even know how he got there so fast.
He pins my body against the wall, one hand cupping my ass to boost me up. I prop a foot up against the double sink, parting my legs for him.
I work his erection free from his shorts and boxer briefs and use it like a handle to drag his hips toward mine.
“You need me to fuck you?“ Asher‘s muttered words are gravely, skidding out his lips between pants. He seems as frantic as I am, as desperate to get relief.
He yanks my skirt up to my waist and shoves his hand down my panties, rubbing a finger between my legs. I kick out of the panties and push his hand away. It’s not his fingers I need right now. I certainly don’t requireforeplay.
I’m about sixteen hours past the foreplay stage. Well beyond the female equivalent of blue balls, whatever that may be called. It feels like someone punched me in the vagina. My clit is so engorged it hurts.
“You need this cock?” He barely breathes the words in my ear.
“Yes,” I snarl, teeth bared. I close my eyes and lean my head back against the wall, so I don’t have to look at the proud planes of Asher’s handsome face so close to mine.
I don’t want this. I need it, but I don’t want it.
He spears me with his length, driving my hips up the wall to take him deeply. His exhale hits my ear with a hot blast.
I choke back a cry of satisfaction. “Oh fate,” I whisper.
He shoves in again.
My eyes roll back in my head. “Oh fate, oh fate, oh fate.”
This is everything I needed. No, it’s more than that—it’s glorious.
I wrap my free leg around his waist, so he can bounce me over his erection, my pelvis angled toward him.
“Yeah,” I mutter.
Asher’s thumb finds my lower lip, and he traces it then penetrates me there, too. I suck hard on his digit, scrape my teeth over the skin.
My core contracts around his cock on each instroke.
The sensation of Asher pumping into me is better than finding out I got into art school. Better than leaving Wolf Ridge. Better than winning first prize in our college art show.
It has the sensation and significance of life purpose. Like all I ever will need isthis. As if I could die in this moment and be complete.
But that’s just biology,I remind myself. It’s not real. This isn’t the real me.
This feeling will fade when we’re done, and I can figure out how to never do this again.
Lies, my wolf snarls.
Tears spear my eyes. I dig my nails into Asher’s built shoulders and use my foot on the sink to leverage my hips to meet his.
Asher stifles his groan. Both of us are in a muffled frenzy of panting breath and silent sobs. If someone walked by, they would only hear the water still running in the sink.
Tears streak my face. I’m not sure what they’re from—sexual frustration, maybe. Disappointment and anger with myself for losing control this way. For being so needy. For letting a student of mine—astudent!—hate fuck me against a wall in a bathroom during the middle of class.
I bite down hard on Asher’s thumb, breaking the skin. He yanks it out of my mouth. I open my eyes to watch his eyes change from bright wolf green—-back to hazel.
“Come.” I shake his shoulders. The tears are falling fast now. “I need to come.”
I watch a flare of panic cross Asher’s face. That’s when I realize we’re not using protection.
