He works me with a patience that feels less like seduction and more like medication – long flat drags of his tongue that slow my heartbeat and settle the tremor in my hands, followed by the focused pressure on that specific spot that makes my thighs clamp around his ears and my back arch and my fingers twist in his hair.
The orgasm that builds is quiet and deep and rolls through me in waves that I feel behind my eyes and in my fingertips and in the bond where it echoes back to him through the mark.
I c*m with my hand over my own mouth and my heels pressing into his spine and his name whispered into my palm because the classroom door doesn’t have a lock and anyone could walk in and find a girl cumming on a teacher’s desk while a man with tattoos and golden-edged eyes kneels between her le
