Page 99 of She’s Worth the Risk

“That your pussy is so fucking perfect for my cock?” I rasp, fingers fumbling for her clit, stroking roughly. “That every night you’re not in my bed, I fuck my fist and think about you?”

“Fuck, Nick, oh my God.” Her breath comes shuddering out as my thrusts grow frenzied and urgent.

“This pussy is mine, Zinnia. Understand?” I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore. All I know is that desperate, possessive urge to claim her. “Mine.”

“Yes,” she breathes, and my balls tighten as she clenches me like a vise, quivering. “Yours.”

“That’s it, honey.” I bite her again, driving myself deep. “Come on your professor’s cock.”

This time, I’m ready. I wrap a hand around her mouth just as she cries out, muffling the sound. She spasms against me, and I press her to the stacks as my own release comes rushing down my spine, obliterating all thought.

My heart gallops as I come back to my senses and glance around us, checking we’re still alone. There’s not a soul in sight, and with a breath of relief, I reluctantly step away from Zinnia. Pushing my glasses back onto my nose, I search my pockets for something to clean the mess, but they’re empty.

“Shit,” I curse, as she turns back to me, adjusting her dress. “I don’t have a tissue.”

A slow, sinful grin slides onto her lips. “Then I’ll have to walk around like this,” she says, squeezing her thighs together.

I frown. “Zinnia…”

“I like it,” she purrs, leaning close to whisper, “I like the idea of sitting in your class with your cum dripping out of me.”

My dick jumps excitedly, as if my balls haven’t just been drained, and I lean in to take her mouth in a scorching kiss.

“You are such a dirty girl.”

She smirks. “And you love it.”

I sigh, dropping my forehead to hers. She’s right. I love it.

And it’s not the only thing I love.

There’s a sound nearby, and we freeze, glancing at one another. Zinnia rises onto her toes, stealing one last quick kiss.

“See you in class, Professor,” she whispers, before grabbing her bag and slipping away.

My heart thuds as I watch her leave. Try as I might, I can’t stop thinking about that invitation, sitting on my kitchen counter.

38

NICK

It’s impossible to focus in class. All I can think about is Zinnia, and that reckless moment we stole together in the library this morning. I’ve never done something so risky in my life, and while part of me is terrified by what could have happened, another part is exhilarated. Already wanting her again. Wanting her in places that would only cause certain destruction.

Instead, I have to button my jacket and stand in front of the class, all while knowing she sits in the front row, full of my seed. As hot as it is to have that dirty secret between us, it only makes the reality of what we’re doing hit harder. Today’s lecture is about risk and power imbalance in Renaissance patronage, and the irony is not lost on me.

“When it comes to the relationship between patrons and artists,” I say, avoiding Zinnia’s gaze, “breaking rules could make—or ruin—careers.”

I pace in front of the lectern, restless and uneasy. Do people know I’m thinking about Zinnia as I speak? Is my not looking at her only making things more obvious?

“An artist who pushed the boundaries risked many things,” I continue carefully. “Reputation, income, church approval, political fallout.”

I bring up the next slide, gesturing to Botticelli’s The Birth of Venus. “Botticelli was a famous example, producing many mythological figures—nudes, no less—that suffered a great deal of religious scrutiny.”

A knot forms in my gut as I gaze at the projected image, thinking about the risk I’m taking with Zinnia. About all the risks I want to take with her. About what would happen to my career if anyone discovered us.

I glance back at the class. When my gaze finally meets hers, soft and warm in the low light of the lecture hall, the knot eases. She’s worth it, a thousand times over. This woman brought me home to myself. Reminded me of what it means to feel alive. Being with her feels like… like the world is brand new and ours for the taking.

“But imagine if Botticelli hadn’t pushed those boundaries,” I say. “We wouldn’t have the beautiful works we have today.”