Page 66 of Wicked Pickle

Diesel sits on the desk to watch as I tear a piece of paper out of the notebook and shove a stick of gum in my mouth.

“I knew you were a sharp one,” he says.

I chew enough to get the gum soft and stick it to the top of the paper. “We make a good team.”

The wad of gum sticks nicely to the glass, and the paper easily covers the frame.

I guess I’m doing this.

When I turn around, Diesel already has a condom wrapper out and waiting on the desk. “Get over here, you naughty little schoolgirl.”

My pulse jumps. This man keeps pushing buttons I didn’t know existed.

I take my time approaching him. “Will I definitely get an A after this?”

“Fuck, yeah,” he says. “Now take off those panties.”

I lift my skirt enough to hook my fingers inside the lace edge.

Diesel’s eyes follow my every move, but I don’t give him a show, working them down below the knee-length skirt. I kick the panties aside.

“Mmmm,” he says. “Come over here.”

I move closer, and he reaches out, one hand coming behind my neck to drag me close and the other going directly beneath my skirt.

His mouth takes mine, and my breath catches. Diesel is always so much, so assured, so intense.

His fingers slide in and grip me, holding tight. I’m instantly slick.

The kiss is heady, deep, and flavored with nothing but him, his heat, his unique taste.

He curves his hand inside me and hits the spot that makes my knees go weak.

I gasp against his mouth. What does he do down there? He finds things BOB has never reached.

“You want to come now or with me inside you?” His words caress the edges of my mouth.

“Both,” I tell him.

“Done,” he says, and his grip shifts again, fingers fluttering, then gripping me again.

Oooh, shit, he’s got me. He knows me too well. I cling to him, my legs turned to water, panting against his shoulder. Theorgasm zigzags through my body, passing through my vision in shards of light.

I clamp down on his hand. It’s so intense. I wonder if I could crush his bones.

But he holds on to me, keeping me steady with a grip at the base of my head.

The spasms keep coming, but my legs get sturdy again.

Then he lets go of my neck and slides his hand under my shirt, releasing my bra with practiced ease.

Then my buttons are flying apart in front. He squeezes a breast, shoving aside the bra so he can lower his head to a nipple.

This is completely too wild. My addled vision spots an old reverse globe in the corner, the surface mostly black, and I realize I took my US Constitution class in here.

I can almost see myself, first semester of grad school, taking notes a few steps away.

And now, Jesus, Diesel whips me around to face away from him. I’m pushed over the edge of the desk, my naked chest pressed against the shiny surface.