‘No.’ The sternness of his voice lifted my gaze again. ‘Finish your statement. Women who are what?’
‘Who…’ I quickly deflected. ‘Women who don’t jeopardise your career. Someone closer to your own age.’
His brows furrowed. ‘Does the age difference bother you?’
‘No. I think you’re…’ Losing my courage again, I looked away.
‘Please finish your sentence,’ he said softly, like he already knew the depths of my feelings for him.
‘I think you’re the most fascinating man I’ve ever met,’ I whispered, staring at the floor, at the spot where I’d stood bent over his desk. ‘But I don’t even know your first name.’
Nor did he offer it now. When I peeked at him, he stared at me with an incredulous expression.
‘Apply yourself, Ophelia. You have so much potential.’ He returned to his papers, leaving me to mull over those mysterious words.
Chapter Four
My high heels clicked on the stairs as I climbed the library building. Stupid. The task Dr Braithwaite gave me for tonight was stupid and reckless. Embarrassing? Maybe. Arousing? Yes, although I would never admit it to him.
The security guard downstairs should have stopped me on my way in. Who came to study at this hour, pimped up in a dress which barely covered their breasts and butt, doused in perfume and stupidity? And the shoes I’d dug out of my wardrobe? Nothing said ‘sexual deviant’ like six-inch stilettos. I was a walking cliché, a tipsy student seeking validation from an older man. Yet, I kept climbing the stairs, eager to please him, keen to prove myself.
The library stretched over two floors and always smelled of coffee and crisps, even though we weren’t supposed to bring in food and drinks. We definitely weren’t supposed to use the library for what Dr Braithwaite had in mind.
My heart pounded as I pushed through the doors. Thankfully, the librarian wasn’t at the desk. I couldn’t hear or see anyone as I rushed across the floor, bumping into a magazine rack in my hurry to get to the back rooms. I shouldn’thave drunk half a bottle of wine before coming here, but who was I kidding? My inhibitions needed to be obliterated. Since Dr Braithwaite wasn’t with me, I also needed reassurance. It didn’t matter that it was late evening and the study room was dark when I entered. I checked behind every row, shelf, and even the copiers, in case there was someone else here.
‘This is insane,’ I muttered to myself as I pushed the curtains further apart, exposing the floor-to-ceiling windows and the view of his office building across the narrow street. Dr Braithwaite was supposed to watch me get off. No man had watched me masturbate before, so the challenge was twofold. But could I do it knowing someone could walk through the door at any moment?
I nibbled on my bottom lip and cursed myself inwardly for arguing with him about this task. It had bumped up my time here from ten minutes to thirty minutes before I realised what was happening.
‘That will teach you not to question my orders again,’ he’d said with a wry smile, and I should’ve known better. He was always strict with his students. Of course he would be the same as a Dominant.
Thirty minutes. I looked around again. This was the best room for his assignment. I had scoped it out earlier this week, tormenting myself about this task rather than studying. Then I’d tossed and turned at night as my mind conjured up the worst scenarios, from being spotted by a random pedestrian to being caught by a security guard.
I rechecked the door before sitting on a desk facing the windows.Hiswindows. He wasn’t the only potential watcher. The building housed dozens of offices, lecture rooms, and labs. Like other buildings on campus, it was open all day, in case someone needed the facilities.
My leg bounced nervously against the desk as I studied every dark frame across the street, searching for silhouettes and an excuse to abort this challenge. Only a few windows on the first floor were illuminated, including the offices of people who sat on the ethics committee with Dr Braithwaite. I stared at them until my eyes burned. No one appeared to be around, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t return to their desks, look outside and…
I blew my hair away from my flushed face and turned my attention to his windows on the second floor. My breath hitched when our eyes locked from across the street. Only part of his face was visible in the duskiness of his office, but Dr Braithwaite’s small smile was enigmatic. Commanding even from across the street. He held a tumbler of a dark liquid, whisky probably. Lifting it to his lips, he took a small sip while waiting for me to start his show.
I hitched up my dress with trembling fingers and spread my legs wider. Per his instructions, I had no pants on, but I hoped the stockings and garter belt were a pleasant surprise. He’d called me prudish. He hadn’t used that exact word, but he’d implied it. I wanted to prove him wrong. I could be daring. Brave. Worthy of his admiration.
Maybe I was. He froze mid-sip when I exposed my lower half. Pride filled my chest. I had surprised him. Judging by his grin as he lowered his glass, he approved of my attire. I tucked away that information to use against him at a later date, but first, I had to earn my invitation to cross the street.
I slid my hands up my inner thighs. I was already wet, having been so since I woke this morning, thanks to a vivid dream about him. Although I had tried to approach this assignment as any other scientific study, thoughts of how he would reward me afterwards kept that fire going all day. So did the image of him jerking off because of me. I wanted to see his large handwrapped around his cock. Wanted to hear his groan as he came. God, I even wanted to taste him.
Maybe he would let me watch him as well. The thought made me smile as I circled my clit with two fingers, teasing myself as I looked at Dr Braithwaite. He remained still, watching me with such intensity that I flushed. Damn it. When would I stop flushing whenever he was around?
He was too distracting; this had to last for thirty minutes, so I shifted my focus to the research I had done this week. The submissive was supposed to hold equal power, or possibly even more, than the Dominant. He would guide me, yes, but nothing happened unless I wanted it to. The thought reassured me somewhat about taking this journey with him, but it still puzzled me why someone as experienced as he would bother with someone like me.
I hadn’t sought him out at a club. I’d stumbled into a lecture hall four years ago. And I’d become so besotted with him that I was now playing with myself in the library. Risking my career. My reputation. And worst of all, my dignity.
But I loved how he looked at me, how I held his attention. My other hand moved to cup my breast through my dress. As I kneaded it, I imagined he was the one touching me, that it was his fingers pinching my nipple, making me gasp. My dress had a scandalously low cut. I hesitated for a second before pushing the material past the swell of my tender breasts. My hardened nipples pointed in Dr Braithwaite’s direction, and I squeezed one as I imagined it was his fingers.
If I had been sober, I never would’ve exposed this much of myself to potentially dozens of onlookers, but as I sat before him with my legs spread wide and my fingers pinching and rolling my nipple, I only saw him. The other rooms and their potential occupiers became insignificant. All I cared about was how distracted I could make him.
Would he forget to take another sip?
Move to adjust his crotch?
