Page 80 of The Equation of Us
“Open,” I command softly.
She complies immediately, parting her lips as I guide myself to her mouth. The first touch of her tongue against me tears a harsh breath from my lungs. I fight to maintain my composure, to not thrust too deeply too quickly.
With her hands bound, she can’t guide me, can’t control the pace or depth. She’s completely surrendering control to me, trusting me not to push too far.
The knowledge sends a surge of both desire and protectiveness through me. I’ll take what I need, but I’ll be careful with her.
“Good girl,” I praise as she takes me deeper, her eyes never leaving mine.
There’s something incredibly powerful about this moment—Nora bound on the table, her brilliant mind focused solely on pleasing me, her usual control temporarily surrendered. It’smore intimate, in some ways, than actual sex—this willingness to be vulnerable, to trust me not to take advantage.
I establish a rhythm, fucking her mouth with one hand tangled in her hair to guide her movements, while softly stroking her pussy with the other.
The position isn’t ideal—the angle awkward, her mobility limited by the restraints—but the visual alone nearly pushes me to the edge.
Nora Shaw—top of her class, always composed, always in control—looking up at me with those intelligent eyes while taking me in her mouth. It’s a fantasy I’ve had more times than I’d care to admit.
“You’re perfect,” I tell her, my voice rough with restraint. “So fucking perfect.”
She hums in response, the vibration sending shocks of pleasure up my spine. Despite the awkward position, she’s applying everything she’s learned about what I like—the right pressure, the way her tongue swirls just so.
Seven days of nothing but imagination, of relying on my own hand and memories, has left me with embarrassingly little stamina. Already, I can feel the familiar tightening, the building pressure signaling release.
“I’m close,” I warn her, giving her the chance to pull away.
But Nora—brave, brilliant Nora—just looks up at me with those clear eyes and takes me deeper, an unmistakable message in her gaze:Don’t stop.
The sight of her—flushed cheeks, lips stretched around me, eyes full of heat and hunger—combined with the tight, wet heat of her mouth is my undoing.
Release hits with unexpected intensity, a wave of pleasure that has me gripping the edge of the table with white knuckles to keep from making noise.
Throughout it all, Nora maintains eye contact, watching my reaction with the same focused attention she brings to everything. Taking note of what works, what drives me to the edge, storing the information away for future use.
Even in submission, she’s studying me. Learning me. It’s so quintessentially Nora that it makes my chest tighten with something that feels dangerously close to more than just desire.
When it’s over, I carefully withdraw and lean over her to bring my mouth to her clit.
I part her with my thumbs and suck, tongue swirling, one hand wandering up to squeeze a perfect tit—and Nora begins to unravel almost immediately.
With her hands still bound, she reaches for me. “Oh—God. Right there,” she gasps, her fingers tangling in my hair. “Don’t stop.”
She comes with a breathy exhale and a series of soft whimpers.
I really hope no one’s in the room next to us. She’s quiet, but she’s notthatquiet.
After one last kiss to the flat of her belly, I help her sit up on the table. I untie the laces from her wrists, fingers gently massaging the slight marks they’ve left behind.
“Okay?” I ask, concerned that I might have been too rough, too demanding.
She flexes her hands, examining the faint red lines with scientific interest rather than discomfort. “More than okay. That was…”
“Yeah,” I agree, understanding what she can’t quite articulate. “It was.”
For several moments afterward, we stay like this, both breathing hard but careful to remain quiet. The reality of our location—a study room in the science building—slowly filters back into awareness.
I press my forehead against hers, a gesture of intimacy that feels different from the physical pleasure we just shared. “Worth the wait?” I murmur.
A small smile curves her lips. “Seven days, thirteen hours, and twenty-two minutes? Definitely.”
