⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⋆✼♡✽⋆∘∙⊱⋅•
Mr. Fairchild got up and finally shoved his pants down just enough. He stepped between my legs, hands sliding under my thighs to hook them over his broad shoulders in one smooth, practiced motion that made the desk creak beneath us.
My knees bent toward my chest, opening me up completely, and the vulnerability of the position, combined with the way his eyes darkened as they roamed over me had me trembling before he'd even touched me again.
He ran two fingers along my rim, gathering the slick that had been dripping steadily since he'd started edging me. The touch was slow, almost respectful, and I couldn't help the breathless little laugh that escaped me.
"Come on, don't be shy now," I teased, voice wrecked and airy. "You already have me leaking like a damn faucet for you."
