Page 10 of Lessons with the Mothman (Monster Smash Agency)

CHAPTER 10

Victoria

I brushed my fingers through my curls, teeth picking at the skin of my bottom lip and staring at my own reflection. Elias's house was eerily quiet around me. He'd emailed me the gate code and where he'd hidden me a key. It felt a bit like I was breaking in, but there was a kind of relief in not seeing him right away. I'd brought a change of clothes with me, unable to brave the idea of walking around in Chicago in my…costume, even if no one would've glanced twice, and the solitude gave me the chance to change without facing him first.

I stepped back from the mirror, surveying myself. My recently thrifted pleated skirt would never have been short enough for the X-rated movie version of this scenario; it hit the appropriate height above the knee for any school dress code, and I'd buttoned my short sleeve blouse all the way up. But I'd taken off my bra and underwear.

Fuck. What was I doing ?

It's just role-play, Vic. People do it all the time. Brett thought it was tacky, but it's perfectly normal and ? —

I pursed my lips and released a long breath. I had on sneakers and white knee socks. I just wasn't quite sure what to do with my hair.

Pigtails were a firm no. Two braids made me look like a child. A ponytail made a wild puff of curls behind my head. And I…I was already having a hard time wrapping my head around this. I twisted my hair back in the usual lazy way, grabbing a claw clip and fastening it in place, watching as strands worked their way free immediately, curling against the back of my neck and around my face. I looked more like a naughty librarian than a naughty schoolgirl, but I could still see myself in the mirror and I needed that right now.

He's not actually grading you. This won't matter , I reminded myself. And the minutes were ticking by fast.

"Can't be late to class," I murmured to my reflection, a slightly hysterical laugh rising up from my throat in answer. I shook my head, pulling the last detail of my costume out of my bag and tucking my folded clothes away, leaving them on the floor in the bathroom.

There was still no sign of Elias as I walked out into the hall, alone in the long space. The air flowing under my skirt and against my bare sex was a shock. I'd tried going without underwear a couple times with Brett when we were younger, wanting it to feel like an arousing invitation, maybe even trying to incite him into a semi-public quickie.

He'd told me it felt like an invitation to anyone, rather than just to him, and I hadn't repeated the offer.

Maybe this was too?—

No. I wanted to try it. To see how Elias reacted. There was no real risk if he didn't like it.

I smoothed my hands over my skirt as I reached the stairs, climbing slowly, wondering anyone at bottom would've seen anything, had they been there. My face warmed, heat rising in my core.

It's cheap, Vicky .

So was role-playing as a student in need of extra credit. But apparently it also got me wet.

Elias had the doors of the rooms on the second floor closed, and I itched to open them, but I knew from the last time I'd been in his home that it would take me too long to really enjoy everything I found. And he was waiting for me.

My palms were starting to sweat. I turned to the right hall, with only two doors on the left. We were at the back corner of the house, and I wondered if there'd be a view of his backyard, what it would look like.

The door was cracked open, a sunlit wood floor my only view from the hall. I paused, listening, and heard a scratch of chalk on a chalkboard, my lips curving up. How very retro of him. I wondered how long it had been since Elias had been in a classroom. It was all smart boards or whiteboards nowadays.

I knocked with two knuckles and waited.

"Come in, Miss Dempsey."

I shivered at the new firm snap of his voice and pushed the door open, frozen in place at the sight before me.

Nine desks, spread evenly in the room. The kind with chairs attached and little cubbies for your books. In Elias's house.

The windows had old vinyl pull-down shutters, and when I stepped in and glanced to the back wall, I let out a startled yip of a laugh. Inspirational posters. Thankfully, not the dangling kitten.

"Eli—"

"Miss Dempsey," he interrupted, and I startled, turning to the front once more, my mouth drying as he turned, golden wings tucking into his back.

Oh . Maybe I did have a bit of a kink for professors?

Elias was wearing perfectly tailored gray trousers, a brown leather belt, and a white button-down, although it was once again generously open over his chest. He was standing at the chalkboard, staring at me over a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. His gaze landed on my hand and the gift I'd been holding, and he offered me a perfectly indulgent smile.

"You brought me an apple."

I wanted to acknowledge what we were really doing—that I was playing a part, that this was theatrical. Had he always had a classroom taking up one of the rooms in his house? Or had he arranged this the same way he'd done with the staged bed downstairs for Atlas and Cyril's demonstration, for me ?

"Take a seat, Miss Dempsey."

I wet my lips and then nodded, stopping briefly at the large, gently scuffed yellow oak desk. A tweed jacket with felt patched elbows was draped over the back of his chair. A jar of pencils. A few file folders. A cup of paperclips.

And a stack of little blue essay books.

There was no logical reason why my body clenched with arousal, feverish goose bumps racing over my skin, except for the sheer amount of thought he'd put into this moment.

I turned and faced the desks, three rows of three, not all of them a perfect match, like he'd collected them from different classrooms.

It'd only been a week since I'd asked him if we could get away with having sex. How had he done all this in that time?

I took the middle seat of the nine, my skirt long enough to keep a little modesty between me and the warm plastic. I read the words on the board. Biology 101. I pressed my lips between my teeth to keep from laughing as Elias shuffled materials on his desk, grabbing one blue book and one pencil.

My eyes widened.

"I think a short essay is the most appropriate penance, don't you?" Elias asked, head tilting and lips smiling. I hadn't really considered his age before—it wasn't that easy to read in his still unfamiliar features—but the gentle patronization in his tone dragged me back in years, and I had to fight down the trained habit of drawing myself up, cooling my expression to hold my own against an older man.

"I did say I'd do whatever it took," I said, shrugging. "I guess an essay isn't so bad."

"I suppose I could've asked you to email it, but I need you to take this seriously. I know the kind of work you're capable of, Miss Dempsey. I expect you to apply yourself."

He'd always been taller than me, but he towered over me as I sat in the desk, sunlight making him brilliant and almost blinding.

"Five hundred words. Take as much time as you need." The essay book rested on my desk with a rustle of pages, sharp pencil settling on top.

"Five hundred words on…"

Elias's claw looked sharp, but it moved flexibly as it tapped against the cover of the book. "It's in there. I'll be at my desk if you have any questions."

I set my hands on the desk, the ridges of the pencil rolling under my fingers as I drew it closer. It wouldn't come as much of a surprise to anyone to admit I was an eager student. I obviously wasn't in any rush to give up academia. Still, I wondered if Elias could've guessed how his thoroughness, right down to the yellow pencil with a freshly sharpened tip, would give me a small thrill. It was a fantasy I hadn't indulged in, realized to exacting detail.

I flipped the book open to the first page, and my sudden breath echoed in the room. Elias's steps back to his desk paused.

HOW I TOUCH MYSELF

I bit my lip, taking a moment to study Elias's small, even handwriting, letters blocked carefully along the top line.

Elias had turned to watch me and our eyes met, the heavy black of his lightened in the sunlight, a hint of a smile in the corner tilt of his gaze.

I leaned back in my seat, spreading my knees apart, letting one hand fall to my lap to hitch the hem of my skirt higher. A grin flashed over his features and then he sobered, a small tsk ing sound from his tongue and teeth. The warning made me shiver, my body freezing in place as he shook his head.

"Hand written , Miss Dempsey. There's no need for a demonstration…yet."

I hunched forward in my seat, drawing my knees back together and hiding my smile.

I like to start with my clothes on. It makes it feel more like a seduction…

I shifted in my seat, a short sigh escaping, matching the airy breath as I turned another page. My skin was hot, and sweat beaded on my back, both from the sun shining through the windows and the steady pool of arousal that had been building the longer I thought about masturbating. I'd taken my hair down, the claw pulling uncomfortably at my scalp, but it just made me even more warm and I kept trying to twist it back away from my neck, only for it to slowly explode once more.

My tongue flicked out on my lips, and I scratched out "fondle" and replaced it with a more specific method. The clock above Elias was ticking loudly, and more than thirty minutes had passed. This was one of the most indirect methods of foreplay I'd ever experienced, and I found it agonizing.

And wonderful.

My hand landed in my lap, fisting and pressing over my throbbing sex.

Elias's throat cleared and I snatched my fist away, sitting up and turning another page, racing through the words once more, barely seeing them at all. It was enough.

"Done."

I sat up, resting my elbows on my desk. I flipped the book closed and my eyes lifted slowly to his, waiting.

"Bring it here. I'll grade you now," he said, pushing back his own seat, wings stretching.

I rose on weak, tired legs, blood rushing below my waist. The room seemed impossibly long as I walked, until suddenly I stood at the corner of his desk, holding out the essay book in one hand. Warm, soft fingers wrapped around my wrist, and I wondered if he could feel my pulse racing as he tugged me closer, between his body and the desk.

"Up."

My eyes widened and I rose up on my toes at the command, perching on the hard edge of the desk. A small gasp slipped free as he nudged my knees apart and stepped closer to stand between them. I gaped up at him, trying to remember to breathe, to predict what came next, and he snatched the blue book from my fingers, sitting back down in his chair and scooting it close, forcing my legs a little wider. The hem of my pleated skirt stretched and inched back higher on my thighs.

Elias flipped open the cover, and I tried to hold my breath, or to at least keep myself from heaving in eager breaths. His lips curved, and I watched his free hand raise and then hover above my left knee. My leg seemed to lighten, as if it wanted to lift and press itself into his touch like a cat stretching for a pet, but it didn't have to wait. Elias's hand settled, firmly pressing and stroking upwards, and I released a shuddering sigh at the velvety sensation.

"Lean forward, Miss Dempsey," he said, eyes sliding over the words on the page so slowly.

My hands gripped the edge of his desk, and I withheld my whimper at the loss of his hand on my thigh, only to release a short groan of relief as it lifted to grope my breast. There was no shyness, no hesitation. Elias clutched and rolled my flesh through my shirt, thumb swirling until it found my nipple, then brushing back and forth.

Just as I had written.

My eyes shut on the picture of him, sitting tall in the chair, shadowed from the sun, studying my essay as he put it to practice. Except?—

My brow furrowed. Was he trying to use what I'd written to prove he could get me off? It was thoughtful, actually, a clever trick, but I knew the habits of my arousal, the pattern of pleasure I went through with another person, and I knew how easily I got in my own way.

"Eli—"

"Professor," he murmured, fingers sliding and pulling the buttons of my shirt open, then tugging the hem loose from where I'd tucked it into my skirt. "I can't give you an accurate grade without putting your thesis to the test, Miss Dempsey."

My hands slid back on the desk, giving him room even as I considered breaking the moment, calling us back from these characters to ourselves.

Elias stood up from the chair, arching over me, and I held my tongue as he pushed the collar of my shirt wide, over my shoulder, exposing one breast. I just wanted to feel—Ah!

My head fell back as his hand stroked over my bare skin. His touch was so soft, the coat of fur that covered him making it feel like he wore a velvet glove.

"It's a shame you can't suck on your own nipples when you masturbate," Elias whispered, close enough for his breath to rush over my throat.

I was torn between opening my eyes and reaching for him, drawing his mouth down in invitation, but he was studying the words I wrote, and I was already anticipating the rest of the essay.

"Let's see…where did I leave off?" Elias asked, slowly twisting the nipple poised between his fingers as I squirmed in place under the small touch. "Ahh, I'll need both hands for this. Can you hold the book, Miss Dempsey?"

I raised a quaking hand, and he slid the pages into place as my thighs spread wider for him, knees nearly touching the corners of the desk.

"A full hand cupping over your panties…" Elias recited, and I stiffened in expectation, the heat of his touch just hovering an inch from my skin. My eyes opened, and I found him staring down into my face. "But you aren't wearing any panties, Miss Dempsey. I'll have to take points off for that."

"I—I left them in the bathroom. I could go and?—"

"Too late," Elias said sharply, and then that decadent hand was covering my sex, fingers delving into my folds, his claws dense but not harsh or scratching. He hummed as I moaned and arched into the pinch on my nipples, heels catching on drawer handles and trying to find enough purchase to lift my hips.

"'I like pressure.' How much, exactly? You could've been clearer here. Say when, Miss Dempsey."

I whimpered as Elias pressed and plucked but I had never found my own edge, and he was gripping me so tightly, pulling and twisting slightly on my nipples, claws digging in. I cried out even as I leaned into the touch.

"I see," he said, and it was distantly reassuring to hear the breathless note in his voice.

I rocked into his touch as it eased. My blood pounded and pierced into my breast as he released it, pushing the other shoulder of my shirt out of the way, trapping my arms close to my sides. His fingers brushed mine as he turned the page, and then his claws traced over my collarbone.

"Imagine if another professor were to walk in and see you like this," Elias said softly.

Unfortunately, that brought a sudden image of Phillip Stanton into my mind, and I stiffened, shoulders drawing forward and eyes skidding away.

Elias's fingers rubbed over my sex, and he released a strangely soothing hissing sound. "Never mind. We're alone, Miss Dempsey. I made sure."

"I…" I swallowed and shook my head as his fingers circled up to my clit. "I can't?—"

He turned the page, ignoring my words, and then slowly eased a finger inside of me. My eyes widened at the slow pump, just the first knuckle, just as I'd written, and Elias's black stare pinned me in place.

"You're very wet. Were you wet before you sat on my desk?"

I nodded.

"Hmm, I suppose that interferes with the veracity of the essay as well. A few more points off."

I huffed out a laugh, but it strangled into a moan as he added a second finger. "That's not-not fair," I said, flushing at the whine in the words.

"Miss Dempsey, I've already offered you the opportunity of extra credit. It doesn't come with a guarantee of full marks," Elias said, smile hitching in the corner as his touch reached deeper, his thumb lifting to rub over my clit. "This angle is wrong, isn't it? I should have you in my lap."

I swayed forward, wanting that now , to crawl into his lap, have his arms around me, acting as my own touch. I didn't need to get off. It would be nice to be held.

"Circle your hips as you've written here, Miss Dempsey."

It was hard with my perch on the desk, but I lifted and rocked my hips into his fingers, drawing him deeper, gasping for air, savoring the heady warmth that built in answer. My body was tensing, too aware of his stare, of the expectation of what that building heat might turn into, and I tried to wrestle back the tension, to curve into familiar softness. Elias's touch slowed, the pinch on my breast softening, thumb passing lazily over my clit. My eyes were squeezed shut, cheek tucked toward my shoulder, breaths short and quick, and he stopped the pumping motion inside of me.

"Well, it's an adequate essay," Elias said, and my eyes blinked open. "But I'm not inclined to recover your grades for 'adequate,' Miss Dempsey."

He'd stopped.

His touch was lodged inside of me, the other hand on my naked breast, and he'd stopped. I found his stare once more, gasping as his fingers curled in my core before drawing free.

He stepped back, releasing me, and then sat down in his desk chair, eyes sliding down to my sex.

"How would you feel about an additional exam?" he asked, heavy lashes batting slowly before lifting to meet my gaze, his hand landing in his lap and the two slick fingers that had been inside of me squeezing over a thick ridge of arousal. "This one would be oral."