Page 8 of Teach Me (Deviant Players #1)

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’t have 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. His windows. 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 hand wrapped 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?

Unzip his trousers?

I knew I had him enthralled. Forgoing his drink to watch me play with myself, Dr Braithwaite moved closer to his window.

Spurred on, I scooted backwards on the desk and propped my heels on the edge.

He could see all of me now, my bare breasts and my soaked pussy.

I made sure he could by spreading my wet folds and slowly sweeping my fingers up and down.

He wanted me. I could feel his blazing gaze on me.

Felt it in every inch of my body as I slid two fingers inside and fucked myself slowly in front of him.

The glass remained in his hand as I sucked off my fingers before dipping in for more.

His other hand moved to his crotch, a quick adjustment that made me smile.

When I moved my fingers to my clit, I gasped at the sensation.

I was so damn close already. My hips rocked against my fingers as I increased pressure and speed.

Biting my bottom lip, I tried to hold back my moans – and to keep myself from coming too soon.

A door slammed nearby, startling me. Heart pounding, I looked towards the study room’s door where a dark silhouette stopped outside its frosted glass.

My stomach dipped. This was it; I was going to get caught.

Move , a voice screamed at me in my head.

Cover up. Get off the desk. But I couldn’t get my body to move.

Couldn’t do anything but stare at the figure outside the door until their footsteps faded in the distance.

I giggled. Too close for comfort. Part of me was annoyed with the thrill of almost getting caught, but it was also surprisingly exhilarating. I wasn’t sure what to think about that. Dr Braithwaite would find it amusing. I squinted to check.

It might have been my imagination, but he seemed to know exactly what had happened.

He also appeared pleased that I’d stayed in position.

Lifting his glass, he tried to hide his grin as he waited to see what I would do next.

Did I want to leave? Hell, yes, but I couldn’t until he invited me to cross the street.

‘Prudish,’ I muttered to myself as I resumed touching myself. ‘I’ll prove you wrong.’ I slid two fingers inside, then let my knees fall to the side. He needed to see how well I followed his orders, so I worked for my reward.

I bit my lip to stifle a moan as my fingers circled my clit, my eyes not leaving his.

He watched every rock of my hips against my hand.

Watched as I threw my head back and moaned.

Did he wish he were here with me? My teeth dug deeper into my lip as I flicked my clit.

Yes, he did. I could see it in his eyes.

In the tension in his body. He wanted these fingers to be his.

He wanted to taste me again. He wanted to…

I closed my eyes, lost in the moment, lost in my fantasies about him.

I imagined him stepping up between my legs.

He’d watch me pleasure myself until he couldn’t take it any longer.

He’d pin my hands to the table, then he’d drag his tongue, hot and demanding, from my entrance to my clit.

With long licks and deep sucks, he would take me to the edge of what I could handle.

My pleas and moans would fill the room. I would clutch his hair and buck my hips against him as he tormented me with his wicked skills. Then he would grab my hips and…

I arched my back as my orgasm hit me. For a long, blissful moment, I was lost in the waves of pleasure, lost in my head with him.

Then I slumped back onto the desk, utterly spent.

The wooden surface was cold against my skin, soothing as my heart pounded.

Another giggle escaped me. I couldn’t believe I’d just done that. Worst of all, I’d loved every minute.

I pushed onto my elbows, blew my hair out of my face, and searched for him across the street.

The overhead lights now illuminated every inch of his office.

Heat crept to my cheeks as Dr Braithwaite’s gaze met mine.

Dressed in his usual dark suit, he looked every bit like a professional, well-respected academic.

He had discarded his glass and now stood with his arms folded across his chest, a wry smile curling the corner of his mouth.

He was too far away to see if my performance had affected him. But it must have.

I sat upright, straightened my clothes, and lifted a brow in a silent dare for him to invite me over.

Instead of a crook of his finger or even an approving nod to say I’d risen to the challenge and pleased him, he gave a soft but determined shake of his head, a move I recognised well from being his student for so many years.

Apply yourself, Ophelia , his deep voice said in my head, echoing our last meeting. You have so much potential.

My lips pressed thin in defiance. I had applied myself. I’d followed his order of getting off in the library. Maybe I hadn’t done it for the thirty minutes he wanted, but that wasn’t my fault. I’d been too caught up in my fantasy about being with him to hold off my orgasm long enough.

Dr Braithwaite’s smile widened. He cocked his head to the side, like he had a hundred times before, and it worked. It always did.

I huffed. Fine. If he wanted a thirty-minute show, I would give it to him. I would make him beg me to cross the street. Better yet, I could make him regret not inviting me sooner. All I needed was a willing participant.