Page 43 of Love, Academically

He closed the door to her office with a soft click and prowled forward, steps slow and measured, his erection bulging hard against his trousers, and oh my God, that was all for her.

Being the object of his obvious lust heightened the tightness in her belly and the heaviness in her breasts. She squeezed her thighs together.

“Because I know you’re here, wearing that sinful green bra that barely holds your tits in, and I’ve been thinking about all the ways I could make you come.

” He stopped half a step from her, resting one hand on the filing cabinet behind her, and the other on the windowsill, caging her in.

He bent closer, and she was surrounded by his masculine scent and it was all she could do not to bury her face in his chest and huff on him like an addict.

“Rhys,” she started, but her voice trailed off when his hot breath puffed across her neck. This was dangerous, his filthy words making her so hot, desperate for him.

“I could work my way under that long skirt, push your knickers aside and fuck you with my fingers,” he whispered, lips just a fraction from the burning skin of her neck.

He held himself back, deliberately staying just a breath from her, waiting for her to come to him.

“Or, I could bend you over the back of the chair and make you come on my cock.”

Oh my God.

A raspy, pleading noise came from her throat and she pressed her thighs together harder.

“Someone could come in,” she breathed. Rhys trailed his nose up her neck, leaving a trail of delicious shivers in his wake.

“There’s no one there, it’s lunchtime. And I don’t care,” he whispered, pressing hot kisses to her neck.

She tilted her head to give him better access, and threaded her fingers in his hair.

He didn’t care, and she wasn’t sure she did either.

“I don’t think it would take much, would it?

You’re already wet for me.” It wasn’t a question.

Yes. Wet and ready for him.

“I—” she started, but the words wouldn’t come.

“It wouldn’t take me long, I’ve been thinking about your pussy all morning.” He pulled back to look at her, desire vibrant in his eyes.

He hadn’t been able to concentrate because he had been thinking about her, and that made her feel beautiful and powerful.

She reached for the button of his trousers, and he hissed out a breath.

Slipping her hand inside his boxers, she gripped his hard length, sliding her hand up and down.

His jaw muscle pulsed and his eyes fluttered shut briefly, the arms caging her in shaking with tense control.

“Bend me over the back of the chair,” she breathed across his lips and his eyes snapped open, darkening with primal need.

He grabbed her waist, spinning and pressing her against the chair. Lila moaned as he pushed up her skirt, hands shaky and urgent against her skin. Rhys cupped the hot wetness between her legs and the noise she made was more animal than person.

“Lila, you have to be quiet,” he ground out, pulling her underwear to the side and swiping his fingers through her sex, and she bit her lip, hard. “Fuck, you are so ready for me.”

There was a tearing of a wrapper and a quick fumbling behind her, and then he was back on her, positioning the head of his cock at her entrance.

She pushed her hips back, desperate for him.

It took one thrust for him to be deep inside her, and the delicious stretch and fullness of him was nearly too much.

“Fuck Lila, you take me so well,” he rasped as he withdrew and slammed back in.

This wasn’t slow and sensual, it was hard and fast, his fingers digging into her hips, driving into her faster and faster.

The moans she was trying so hard to keep in became louder, and she couldn’t bring herself to care because the heat of her orgasm was building so quickly, so intensely.

“I fucking love the sounds you make,” he said through panting breaths, “but I’m going to cover your mouth. You want me to stop, you tap my hand.”

She nodded and his strong hand closed over her lips.

His other arm wound around her hips, dragging her back towards him so he could get deeper, the wet noise of flesh on flesh the only sound other than their harsh pants.

Even with the submissive position she was in, the hand over her mouth, him taking and taking, she felt safe and in control. She had the power.

“Give it to me, come on my cock.” His voice was low and strained.

The danger of being caught, the eager, frantic pounding of his cock and his words brought her to the edge, and one more deep thrust had her clenching hard around him, her cry muffled by the hand clamped across her mouth.

“Fuck,” he hissed, driving into her one final time, before collapsing over her, his hand slipping from her lips. “Fuck, Lila. You are so good.”

Lila tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow as they headed towards her bench, smiling up at him like he hadn’t just railed her over the back of the chair in her office. Sitting, Lila took her lunch bag and handed him a chicken salad sandwich.

“Can I take you home after work?” he asked.

Rhys was just, well, he was just the sweetest guy (most of the time).

Can I take you home after work? He asked her every day.

Thing was, she wasn’t going to be able to get home without him, because he was driving her in to work after staying the night.

Except on kickboxing nights with Dan, which Lila forced him to go to, he went home and she called her parents, happy to listen to the trials and tribulations of wine tours.

They even asked her how she was now and again, and she could actually tell the truth. She was happy.

“Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “What if we go to yours?”

“But my flat is so… so…” Rhys frowned, looking at the lake, “dull. I much prefer your house. I much prefer you.”

“You can drop me home. But you’ve got kickboxing tonight.” She poked his chest.

“Dan’s not going. I’m not going.” There was a distinct whine to his voice.

“That’s not how that works,” Lila said with a reprimanding smile. “You need to do the things that make you, you.”

And she needed to put in some boundaries to stop her from falling, falling, falling. Because it would be easy to fall for Rhys and she was just so wary and nervous of losing herself again. Technicolour Lila had been hard fought for.

“You make me, me.”

Obviously, Rhys had other ideas because that guileless honesty squeezed her heart.

“Rhys.” She shook her head with a smile.

“What?” He took another bite of his sandwich. “It’s true. I’ve never felt freer, more like myself. That’s all because you’ve showed me a better way to live my life. How to actually enjoy it.”

He was so matter-of-fact, like it was so obvious, but it wasn’t.

Not for her. Emotion clogged her throat because she finally felt needed.

No, that wasn’t the right word. She felt wanted.

She had been convenient for Jason. He just needed her financially to support his dream.

Rhys didn’t need her, he wanted her. And that made her feel like she was free falling without a parachute; exhilarating and terrifying.

“Kickboxing,” she croaked out. “You’ve got kickboxing tonight.”

“Fine,” he grumbled and linked their fingers together.

It was so calm, so easy and best of all, she wasn’t worried that something she said or did was wrong. He wanted her for her, not for what she could do for him. Tears pricked at her eyes and she looked away, trying to blink them away.

“What’s wrong?” Rhys tugged at her hand. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…” She rubbed a finger under her eyes. “I’m happy.”

“Oh, okay.” An awkward, crooked smile pulled one side of his lips and he squeezed her hand. “I’m happy too.”

A blush flared across her cheekbones. The way he was looking at her was soft and warm, and no one had ever looked at her like that before. Gosh, her poor battered heart was working overtime. The subject needed changing before either of them said something that she wasn’t ready to hear or say.

“I’ve handed my application in to Sue. She just has to sign it and submit it.” It felt so good to be getting somewhere. “When are you handing in your Fellowship application?”

“That’s brilliant, Lila.” He kissed the back of her hand. “Tomorrow. Definitely.”

“Good.” Lila handed him a cookie from her lunch bag. “I’ll cook you a celebratory dinner.”

Rhys grinned and leaned closer to whisper in her ear.

“I’d rather have you for dinner.”

A shiver ran through her as his hot breath ran down her neck. Already needing her again was hot.

“Rhys,” she hissed, glancing around quickly. “You can’t say things like that! Not here.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t love it.” Rhys sat back with a smirk. “Besides, I’ve just fucked you in your office, when anyone could have come in.”

The thought of the past fifteen minutes made heat coil again low in the base of her stomach. How much she wanted him was worrying, and exactly why it was good to have some separation.

Lila poked his hard thigh in reprimand and Rhys leaned forward to grip her chin, before planting a solid kiss on her lips.

Rhys

Kickboxing was hell. Not just because Dan wasn’t there, but because he wanted to be with Lila. He completely got what she was doing, he really did. But he didn’t like her feeling she had to protect herself from him. Because she didn’t. Not at all.

Things like this should be straightforward. He liked her, more than liked her.

Fuck, who was he kidding? Rhys was in love with her.

Desperate, stomach-churning, sleep-depriving, all-encompassing, love.

And he was more than fine with that. Lila didn’t want his money, didn’t want his name or his connections.

She didn’t need anything from him at all.

Except his patience, and perhaps his mouth, and he was more than happy to give her that any time she wanted.

He grinned and aimed another long reverse punch at the poor skinny guy he was partnered with today. If he wasn’t going to have her tonight, then he’d have to get rid of his energy somehow and if it meant taking it out on this guy, then so be it.

Lila’s eyes softened and warmed for him, and for him alone. Her blushes, her smiles, her orgasms – they were all for him. But her hangover from Dr Dishcloth Douche-Twat meant she was holding back from diving into anything super-serious. Because that’s what it would be, that’s what it was – serious.

Him and her, together. A partnership. There were no other women, no post-Lila.

Not for him. There was a black ball of anxiety sitting low in his stomach.

What if he wasn’t good enough for her? He was highly strung, difficult, not in touch with his emotions.

He was sharp and particular and obsessive.

The last thing he wanted to do was tarnish her shine.

Because he knows that’s what he’d do if he was too… him.

“Hey man, go easy,” his partner said, stumbling back after a particularly good front punch.

“Sorry.”

Head in the game, Rhys.

The Fellowship application was ready and waiting for a press of the send button.

An email that should have dictated the rest of his life, but it no longer did.

The Fellowship application should have been the absolute pinnacle of his academic achievement, should have been the only thing he could think of, where all his ambition, drive and thoughts were.

If he didn’t get the Fellowship, he’d have to return to Dallimores, sell his soul for a corporate office and a suffocating tie and be back under his father’s thumb.

But this time, with all the considerable weight of familial disappointment pressing down on his shoulders, pushing him underwater. At least, that had been the deal.

If Lila could rebuild her life, reassemble herself after her gas-lighting wanker of an ex-boyfriend, then he could, as a thirty-two-year-old man, choose what the hell he wanted to do with his life. Why did he need to go back to Dallimores if (when) he didn’t get the Fellowship?

Answer: he didn’t. He had a decent job that enabled him to do his research. He had a rented flat that was affordable on his salary, good friends (well, Dan), and best of all, Lila.

Eventually, his father would get over himself.

Elin was much more suited to corporate life.

Somewhere along the line he had just stopped caring what his father thought.

A father should be supportive of his choices, even if he disagreed with them.

It wasn’t like he was selling his soul to the devil to be able to play the blues.

No, he was simply researching Henry II and his sons.

Just because his father didn’t understand his passion, did not mean it wasn’t valid.

Rhys did not need his father’s approval.

“Hey man, good class,” he said to his skinny partner after the class. “Sorry if I got a bit carried away.”

“No worries,” he said. “You here next week?”

“Yeah.” Rhys stuffed his towel back into his kit bag.

“See you then.” The guy clapped him on his shoulder and with a smile, off he went.

Rhys pulled out his phone as he headed to his car.