The Psychology of a Good Cling novel · Chapter 2 of 12
Chapter 2: Group 1104
I walked into Room 1104 with the inside of my skirt still damp and Ulises Cordero’s ID clenched in my fist.
I sat in the third row, by the window.
It was exactly seven.
He walked in at seven oh four, a folder pressed to his chest and his glasses clean.
He’d washed his face.
He’d combed his hair with water.
He didn’t look at me.
“Good morning. I’m Ulises Cordero, your teaching assistant this semester.”
His voice trembled a little on the word semester.
Thirty first-year students, all eighteen, stared at him with their eyes fixed on him.
I stared at him with my thighs pressed together.
“I’m going to take attendance. Say ‘here’ and give your full name.”
He got to the letter M.
“Mondragón, Anahí.”
“Here.”
He looked up for the first time.
It lasted a second.
Then he went back to the list, his neck red all the way up to his ears.
The class lasted ninety minutes.
He talked about how the brain learns to trust the touch of other bodies, and I wrote down every word and understood none of them.
When it was over, I waited for the room to empty.
I walked over to his desk with the ID in my hand.
“You dropped this on the bus.”
He took it without touching my fingers.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, professor.”
He closed the folder.
“Mondragón, you need to switch sections. There are other TAs. I can take care of it today.”
“No.”
“I’m not like that,” he said, lowering his voice. “Never. I’ve been riding that bus for three years, and I’ve never laid a finger on anyone.”
“It’s never happened to me before, either.”
“Then this was a mistake.”
“A forty-minute mistake.”
He laughed despite himself, covering his mouth with his hand.
“I didn’t sleep last night,” he said. “I finished an article. I was half asleep and pressed up against you, and you responded, and I…”
“And you kept going.”
“And I kept going.”
“Because I responded.”
“Because you responded,” he repeated, staring right at me. “That’s my rule. If the other person’s body doesn’t respond, I stop. That’s the only thing I know about this.”
“Well, I responded.”
He took a step toward me.
Then he took another step backward, until he hit the blackboard.
“My office is on the second floor,” he said, barely above a whisper. “Room 214. There’s no one around on Mondays until noon.”
“Good to know.”
He left first.
I counted to sixty, then followed.
Room 214 was the size of my bathroom, with a desk covered in papers, two bookcases, and a window looking out onto a tree.
He locked the door as soon as I came in.
We stood there looking at each other.
“Tell me what you want,” he said.
“I want you to lift my skirt.”
He came toward me slowly and took me by the waist.
He kissed me.
It was a deep kiss, tasting of coffee and mint, the kind you feel all the way down to your knees.
I let my backpack fall.
My hands yanked his shirt open, button by button, revealing a broad chest covered in dark, warm hair.
He gave me a shove onto the desk, and the papers went flying to the floor.
“The exams,” I murmured.
“To hell with them.”
He lifted my skirt to my waist.
He went still, looking at my underwear.
The hole.
The cotton, worn out from so many washes.
My face went hot.
“I know,” I said. “Don’t say anything.”
“I was going to tell you you’re beautiful.”
“Don’t make fun of me.”
“I’m not.”
He knelt in front of the desk and kissed the inside of my thigh, right beside the ripped seam.
He slipped a finger through the hole and carefully opened it a little wider.
“I love it,” he said against my skin.
“What?”
“That the hole was already there, waiting for me.”
I let out a nervous laugh that cut off abruptly when his tongue found me.
He swept over the fabric, hot and wet, then through the hole, straight to my skin.
I gripped the edge of the desk.
He licked me slowly, from bottom to top, with his whole mouth, then focused on my clit, circling it with the tip of his tongue.
“Ulises.”
“Call me professor.”
“Professor,” I panted, and felt him smile between my thighs.
He slid in two fingers, curling them and pressing upward as he sucked me.
My head fell back against the bookcase, and I knocked a volume of Piaget onto the floor.
No one heard.
My voice broke into one long, breathless moan.
I came in his mouth, my thighs squeezing his head, and he didn’t stop until my whole body went limp.
He stood up, his lips shining.
I was already undoing his belt.
“Your turn.”
“Anahí.”
“Now.”
I pulled down his pants and briefs in one go.
His cock sprang out, hard and thick, curving upward, so gorgeous in the window light I wanted to pray.
I took it in both hands.
It was burning hot.
I stroked him slowly, my thumb over the wet tip, and he closed his eyes.
“You’re going to kill me.”
“Not yet.”
I guided him between my thighs.
He braced one hand on the desk and held the back of my neck with the other.
He slid all the way inside me, slowly, looking me in the eyes.
We both let out our breath at the same time.
“This is what it feels like when no one’s pushing us,” he whispered.
“It’s better.”
“So much better.”
He started moving.
Slow and steady, working his hips so the desk creaked in time with every thrust.
I dug my heels into his back so he wouldn’t pull away.
"Harder."
"There are neighbors here."
"Harder, professor."
He let out a muffled curse and thrust hard.
The desk banged against the wall with a dull thud, once, then again, and again.
I bit my shoulder to keep from screaming.
He bit my neck for the same reason.
Each thrust hit me deep in my belly, with a wet, obscene sound that had no place in such a tiny room.
I felt another orgasm building, deeper, bigger.
"Don’t stop," I begged him. "Don’t stop, don’t stop."
"I’m not stopping."
He squeezed my hip, lifted me a little, and changed the angle until he hit exactly where he needed to.
I came apart.
My whole body clenched around him, and a cry escaped me that he swallowed with his mouth.
His kiss muffled my orgasm, and his cock throbbed inside me as he came deep, with a low, drawn-out moan I felt in my chest.
We stayed pressed together, breathing, our foreheads resting against each other.
Outside, in the hallway, footsteps sounded.
Two sharp knocks on the door.
"Ulises," a woman’s voice said. "Are you there? I need the archive key."
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