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23. Brooke

My heart jumped at his words, but I listened. I crawled out from under his desk and sit on the edge.

Connor pushed me back until I was flat. Whatever paperwork he had been looking over crinkled underneath me as he spread my legs.

"Fuck, you're dripping," he muttered. "Insatiable."

"If it's too much for you, old man —"

He flicked my nipple, causing me to gasp.

"Don't," he ordered.

He lowered his face between my thighs, sliding his tongue along my slit.

I moaned softly as his mouth touched me; the sensation sending shivers up my spine. His tongue delved deeper, exploring my wetness and arousal. My hands fisted in the fabric of his shirt, the rough texture grounding me in the pleasure that was flooding through me.

Connor"s fingers began to caress me, teasing and probing, and I could feel my body responding to every touch. His thumb pressed against my clit in perfect rhythm, sending waves of desire coursing through me. I knew that if I didn"t regain control soon, I would be lost in the euphoria of it all.

"You have some fucking nerve, Westwood," he said as he continued to move his fingers. "Coming into my office. I'm your professor, for fuck's sake. And you took my dick into your mouth when Sarah was here…fuck. What am I going to do with you?"

"Professor," I whispered, trying to catch my breath.

He looked up at me, his eyes dark and intense. "You like this, don't you?" he asked, his mouth glistening with my essence. My core throbbed. "You like that this old man makes you feel like this, huh?"

A smile played on his lips, and I knew he held all the power in this moment. My body trembled, aching for more of his touch.

"Yes," I breathed, knowing full well what I was getting myself into. "I like it."

He smirked and returned his attention to my sex, his fingers exploring my folds with expert precision. I cried out in pleasure, my hips arching involuntarily as his thumb continued to rub against my throbbing clit. His lips met my core, his tongue darting inside me, teasing my most sensitive parts.

"You"re such a filthy little slut, Westwood," he growled, and the words sent a jolt of desire straight to my core. "You're my filthy little slut."

His fingers slid inside me, and I moaned loudly, my body reacting involuntarily to his every touch. His fingers moved in and out of me, hitting a perfect rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through me, my body twitching uncontrollably. I could feel myself getting close, my orgasm building with each thrust of his fingers.

"Please…" I begged, not sure if I was pleading for more or asking for mercy.

But Connor didn"t seem to care. He just continued his relentless assault on my most sensitive parts, his fingers pounding into me like a well-oiled machine.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his eyes locked on mine as he watched me disintegrate under the pleasure. And then, just as I thought I couldn"t take any more, he added his tongue to the mix, licking and sucking at my clit in a way that sent me over the edge.

"Connor," I whimpered.

Begged.

"That's right," he said. "I want them to hear. I want them to know who the fuck is doing this to you. I'm going to ruin you, Westwood. And you're going to enjoy every fucking second of it."

Connor didn"t let up. He kept up his rhythm, driving me higher and higher with every stroke. My body was a tight, pulsing coil, ready to snap at any moment. I clawed at the fabric of his shirt, nails digging into his skin.

"Fuck, please," I begged, but I didn't know what I was begging for anymore.

Just as I was about to fall apart, Connor"s thumb flicked against my clit in a precise, rhythmic motion. My body tensed, and then I was gone. I screamed his name over and over as wave after wave of pleasure washed over me.

When I came down from my high, I looked up at him, my eyes heavy with lust and adoration. He was soaking in my pleasure, his face twisted with satisfaction.

He stood up and slammed his cock inside of me. How he could recover from before so quickly, I had no idea, but my toes curled and eyes rolled into the back of my head.

"Can you imagine someone walking in on us?" he whispered as one hand grabbed my waist while the other cupped my breast. "Watching me fuck you like some faceless puck slut?"

His words sent a surge of lust through me, and I felt my pussy clench around his cock.

"Imagine them seeing how much you want it, how much you love being fucked by an older man," he growled. I moaned softly, my body responding to his dirty talk just as much as it did to his cock inside me.

I just moaned and tightened my legs around his waist, not caring who might hear or see us. I closed my eyes and surrendered completely to the pleasure he was giving me.

The sound of his thrusts, my moans, and the creaking of his desk echoed in the room. Connor's dick stretched me tightly, demanding space inside of me, each impact sending waves of desire coursing through my body. His fingers dug into my flesh, leaving bruises that I knew would serve as a reminder of this moment for days to come.

As he continued to thrust into me, I felt another orgasm building. My body was already sensitive from the intense pleasure I had experienced earlier, and this was sending me over the edge once again.

"God, Westwood," Connor growled. "You"re going to be the death of me."

I bit my lip, trying to hold off the inevitable, but it was no use. The pleasure was too overwhelming, and I knew I wouldn"t be able to resist much longer.

"Please, Professor, don"t stop," I begged, my voice shaking with need.

"Fuck, I love when you call me that," he muttered and thrust harder, his cock hitting my most sensitive spot with each stroke. "I won"t stop, Westwood. Fuck, I can't. You feel too damn good."

I moaned, feeling the waves of pleasure building up inside me. My body was on fire, and I knew I was about to lose control.

"Fuck, yes," he said, tightening his hold on me even more.

I knew he was about to lose control, too, but I couldn"t care less. All I wanted was more of his touch, more of his dominance. The feeling of his cock inside me, the way he commanded me, it was exhilarating.

Without warning, Connor"s thrusts quickened, his movements growing more erratic. He leaned down, his breath hot on my neck as he growled, "I"m going to fucking come."

I could feel him reaching the end of his rope, and I knew I was about to join him. My pussy clenched around his cock, milked him with every thrust, trying to draw his orgasm out as long as possible.

"Come with me, Brooke," he groaned, his voice hoarse. "Come for your old professor."

I couldn"t hold back any longer. My body shook as I reached my peak, my pussy pulsating around his cock. My orgasm seemed to ignite something in him, and he thrust deeper, his cock twitching inside me as he painted my insides with his release.

We both collapsed onto his desk, my body still quivering from the aftershocks of my orgasm. Connor"s chest heaved, and I could feel his heart pounding against mine.

For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the sound of our heavy breathing and the occasional creak of the old wooden desk. But then, he leaned in and whispered in my ear, "Let's get out of here."

He slid out of me, his cock twitching as it slipped out of my soaked pussy. He held my hips steady for a moment, savoring the sight of his release glistening on my skin.

"Let"s clean up," he said, helping me stand up. My legs were shaky, and I leaned against him for support.

We quickly cleaned up, leaving no trace of our encounter. As we dried off, I couldn"t help but feel a sense of exhilaration and liberation.

"You go first," he murmured. "Leaving together might raise questions."

I nodded, adjusting my skirt and making sure the buttons of my blouse were lined up. I was positive my hair was mussed up, my face was flushed, but I didn't care.

I felt too good to care.

Leaving Connor"s office, my legs felt unsteady, each step feeling more like a wobble as I made my way across the campus. The chill in the air bit through my clothes, a stark contrast to the warmth I had felt in the confined space of his office. Despite the overcast sky, the campus was imbued with a Christmasy spirit; twinkling lights adorned the trees and buildings, and festive decorations added a touch of color to the otherwise dreary day. The atmosphere was a blend of winter"s chill and the warmth of impending holiday celebrations, a duality that mirrored the tumult of emotions swirling within me.

I made my way to where I knew Connor"s car would be parked, each step taking me further from the chaos of the moment in his office and towards an uncertain future. The ground beneath my feet felt solid, yet I couldn"t shake the sensation of walking on unsteady ground, my mind replaying the events that had just unfolded, the words exchanged, and the unsaid thoughts that hung heavy between us.

As I waited by Connor"s car, the overcast sky seemed to reflect the conflict I felt inside, a perfect backdrop to the whirlwind of feelings Connor had stirred in me. My breath formed small clouds in the chilly air, dissipating as quickly as they appeared, much like the fleeting moments of connection I had just experienced. The campus around me was quiet, the usual hustle and bustle of students and faculty noticeably absent, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

When Connor finally appeared, his presence was like a beacon in the muted landscape. He approached with a purpose, his expression unreadable. Opening the car door for me, there was a momentary pause as our eyes met, a silent communication during the chaos that had become our interactions. Without a word, I climbed into the passenger seat, the simple act charged with an unspoken acknowledgment of the complexity of our relationship.

As we left the campus behind, the car became a capsule, isolating us from the world outside. The chill of the campus was replaced by the warmth of the car"s interior. Connor"s focus was on the road ahead, but the silence between us was a loud reminder of the questions and feelings that remained unresolved. The campus, with its festive lights and decorations, faded into the distance, a reminder of the normalcy that seemed just out of reach for us both.

I had assumed Connor would head straight back to his place, the silence between us a comforting blanket that allowed me to collect my thoughts. But as the familiar turns and streets that led to his townhouse slipped past, replaced by ones less known to me, curiosity began to nibble at the edges of my confusion. The shift in our direction was as unexpected as everything else that had happened between us.

"Where are we going?" I finally asked, breaking the silence that had settled comfortably around us. My voice sounded small, almost hesitant, in the cocoon of warmth inside the car.

"It"s a surprise," he responded, a hint of something in his tone. He spared me a glance, a softness in his eyes that surprised me. "Come on. I want to show you something."

"All right," I murmured, my voice barely breaking the hum of the car"s engine.

Despite the uncertainty that had marked much of our interactions, there was an underlying trust that made me follow his lead without question. As we drove further from the campus and the safety it represented, I couldn"t help but wonder what Connor had in store, what piece of himself he was eager to share. The surprise, whatever it was, felt like another layer of Connor being peeled back, and I was both nervous and eager to see what lay beneath.

Connor turned off the main road, guiding the car into a suburban neighborhood that seemed to exist in its own bubble of festive cheer. Every house was adorned with Christmas decorations, from twinkling lights that outlined the roofs and windows to inflatable Santas and reindeers populating the front yards. The effort put into each display was impressive, transforming the neighborhood into a wonderland that sparkled under the night sky. Music floated through the air, a mix of classic carols and modern holiday tunes, creating a soundtrack that enhanced the magical atmosphere.

I was in awe. My eyes darted from one house to the next, trying to take in all the details—the way the lights played off the snow that dusted each lawn, the elaborate nativity scenes, and the animated figures that danced in sync with the music. It was as if the entire neighborhood had conspired to create the perfect Christmas experience.

Connor parked the car, and we stepped out into the crisp winter air. The chill was immediate, but the beauty of our surroundings offered a warmth that countered the bite of the cold. We began to walk, and I found myself drawn to the displays, each one a testament to the joy and spirit of the season. The houses seemed to compete in friendly rivalry, each decoration more elaborate than the last, yet all contributing to a cohesive tapestry of light and music that was utterly enchanting.

As we strolled through the neighborhood, Connor remained silent, allowing me the space to take it all in. His presence beside me was comforting, a steady force amid the overwhelming spectacle of lights and sounds. It struck me then how much thought he must have put into bringing me here, into sharing this experience with me. It was a side of him I hadn"t expected, one that added depth to the complex image I had of him.

The night air, filled with the scent of pine and the crispness unique to winter, seemed to encapsulate the moment, preserving it in my memory. This wasn"t just a simple tour of a decorated neighborhood; it was a glimpse into the softer, more reflective side of Connor—a side he had chosen to share with me.

"I can"t believe you brought me here," I murmured, unable to hide the wonder in my voice. "It"s so beautiful."

Connor stopped and turned towards me, his hand coming up to cup my cheek gently, a tenderness in his touch that felt as surprising as it was comforting. "Make no mistake, Westwood," he said, his eyes searching mine, "these lights don"t shine half as bright as you do."

My heart stuttered in my chest at his words, a mixture of shock and something sweeter rippling through me. Then, as quickly as the moment came, it passed, with Connor pulling away as if he had never said anything at all, as if the vulnerability between us hadn"t just deepened.

"Come on," he said, a hint of his usual demeanor returning. "You"re going to make me some hot chocolate when we get home to make up for how cold it is out here."

"Aren"t you a hockey player?" I asked, quickening my pace to catch up with him, my arm sliding through his as we walked back to the car.

"Yeah, but even we have limits," he retorted.

"See? Old man, can't stand the cold."

Without warning, Connor"s arm snaked around my waist, lifting me effortlessly before I found myself hoisted over his broad shoulder. His strength was undeniable, with a physical prowess that defined him both on and off the ice.

A burst of laughter bubbled out of me, unrestrained and genuine. The world tilted, a blur of lights and colors as he carried me, but the laughter that filled the air was a clear, bright thing, untouched by the complexities of our situation. It was a moment of pure, unguarded joy, a testament to the unexpected turns life could take.

I wanted to hold on to it as long as I could, knowing this moment wouldn't last forever.

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