Teaching Their Omega novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Lesson Two: Mouth

Declan drops the diagram and learns Lowen's body with his mouth on the teacher's desk, and finds a hunger the Handbook never gave him.

Thursday, at ten past five, the last student left and Declan locked the Grange door himself.

Rhett had been called to the Council office by his uncle, which was exactly what Osmund wanted.

I had not planned for a lesson alone with one brother.

I stood by the teacher's desk in a green wool skirt I had put on that morning for no reason I wanted to look at.

Declan turned from the door.

He had the Handbook under his arm and his black notebook in his hand, and he looked like a man walking up to a surgery.

"Lesson two," he said. "Mouth."

"Put the book down."

"I'd like to refer to the diagram first. Figure nine, page one hundred and four. It shows the clitoris in cross section."

"Declan."

"It has labels."

I laughed, helplessly, and his mouth twitched.

"Bring it here," I said.

He crossed the floor and I took the book out of his hand.

I opened it to figure nine and looked at the little grey drawing with its arrows.

I set it down open on the desk.

Then I sat up on the desk beside it, hiked my skirt to my hips, and put my bare thighs wide.

I was wearing white cotton underwear and nothing else under the skirt.

The room went very quiet.

"The diagram is wrong," I said. "It's missing me."

Declan's breath left him.

He dropped to his knees on the stone floor.

He did it so fast, with such complete lack of ceremony, that I felt it in my belly.

He put both hands on my thighs and looked at the white cotton, and then up at me.

"Take them off," I said.

He hooked his fingers in the waistband and drew them down my legs very slowly.

They caught on my ankle, and he lifted my foot to free it.

His thumb stroked the arch of my foot.

I had not expected it.

I had not expected his hands to shake.

I had not expected him to fold my underwear into his pocket.

He looked at me bare and open and wet in the bright light of a schoolroom, and he said nothing at all.

"You're looking," I said.

"Yes."

"Do you want to look, or do you want to taste?"

"Both," he said, hoarse. "I want everything."

"Then start. Slowly. Use your tongue flat. Start low and go up."

He pressed his mouth to the crease of my thigh first, and kissed there.

Then he went higher.

He put his tongue flat against me and licked up, one long slow stroke from my entrance to my clit.

I made a sound I couldn't have stopped.

He stopped, his mouth still against me.

"Again," I said. "Don't stop. That's right."

He licked again.

And again.

His eyes were closed, and his hands gripped my thighs hard enough to bruise.

He licked into me.

His breath was hot and fast against my wet skin.

"Declan," I said. "Open your eyes."

He did.

His grey eyes looked up at me over my own body, black with want and glazed, and I felt something in my chest give way.

"Keep them open," I said. "Watch me."

I slid my fingers into his short hair and tugged him toward me.

"Here. Right here. Find my clit with your tongue. Circle it. Around, not across. Yes. Like that."

He did it with the same terrible concentration he gave everything, and then, because it was Declan, he got better.

His tongue circled, slow, then a little faster.

He watched my face for every flinch and gasp and shiver.

Every time he found a place that made me moan, he went back to it.

He was learning me.

He was getting an A in front of my eyes.

"Suck," I whispered. "Gently. Just the tip."

His lips closed around my clit and drew, soft and wet and careful.

My back arched off the desk.

"Oh, fuck," I said. "Yes. That. Don't stop that."

He made a low, rough sound against me, a vibration straight into my core, and my hips jerked up to meet his mouth.

He took hold of my ass with both hands and held me there.

I hadn't told him to.

He just did it, and he sucked harder, and I stopped being able to talk.

I gripped the edge of the desk with one hand and his hair with the other.

"Two fingers," I gasped. "Inside me. Now."

He pushed two long fingers into me, slow, deep, and I clenched around them and heard myself cry out.

"Curl them. Like Rhett did. Toward the front."

He curled.

He found the place on the first try.

I came apart.

It broke over me, sudden and overwhelming.

I shuddered against his mouth and cried out his name, and the sound rang off the schoolroom walls.

He didn't stop.

He kept licking through it, slower and gentler as I shook.

He drew every last pulse out of me, until I was boneless and panting and dazed.

He lifted his head.

His mouth and his chin were wet with me.

He didn't wipe it off.

He looked up at me with a naked wonder that made my throat close.

"Is that what it's like?" he said in a hushed voice.

"That's what it's like," I said, wrecked and laughing. "You're very good at this."

He rose onto his feet between my knees and I grabbed his shirt and pulled his mouth down to mine.

I tasted myself on his tongue, salt and sweet, and I moaned into the kiss.

He groaned back, deep in his chest.

"You taste like that," he said against my lips. "I could do that all night."

"Then do it better," I said. "Use your fingers while you do. Two, slow, the way I showed you."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Teacher," I said, and bit his lower lip.

"Yes, teacher."

The word made heat run through me from scalp to toes.

I decided right then that I would make him say it again.

He pulled back from the kiss and looked down at me.

"I'm not done," he said.

He sank back to his knees.

"Declan."

"The diagram says the sensation can recur within minutes. I'd like to test it."

I stared at him.

His ears were red.

His mouth was wet and shiny and soft.

"Then test it," I said.

He dropped his head again.

This time he did not wait to be told.

He licked with the flat of his tongue and then the tip, and he swirled and sucked.

He slid his fingers back inside me in a slow, thorough rhythm that hit exactly where I needed it.

I fell back on my elbows, panting.

"God," I said. "God, your mouth. Declan. Declan, please."

"Please what?" He murmured it against my clit, and the vibration of the words nearly killed me.

"Don't stop. Please don't stop. I'm going to..."

"Come for me," he said. "Come on my mouth. I want it."

The words went through me.

I came again, harder, in a long shuddering convulsion.

My knees drew up and clamped his head between my thighs, and I cried out into the empty room.

My whole body clenched around his fingers.

He drank it in, and when it finally subsided he rested his cheek on my thigh, breathing hard.

His hair was damp.

His shoulders were trembling.

For a while, neither of us said anything.

Then I reached down and stroked his jaw.

He turned his face into my palm, and I felt his lips press the center of it.

"Stand up," I said gently.

He stood.

His shirt was rumpled and his lip was swollen and his eyes were wild and unfocused.

And I saw it.

The front of his grey trousers was straining, tented, with the unmistakable thick length of him pressed against the fabric.

He saw me looking.

His face went stark white.

"Lowen," he said, and his voice was barely a whisper. "I need to tell you something."

"What?"

"That has never happened."

"What hasn't?"

He put the heel of his hand against his trousers and looked at it, and looked at me.

"I have never been hard from wanting someone. Not once in my life."

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