I Locked My Professor's Office Door, and Left Belonging to Three Men novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: Office Hours

Marcello lays Hannah on his desk and takes her with his mouth while the other two watch, and then says it is ten to seven and Claudia has set her place.

Marcello kissed me with his glasses gone and his hand spread across the back of my neck.

He tasted of black tea and pencil shavings.

I made a sound against his mouth that I had never made in front of anyone, and I felt him smile.

"There," he said into my lips. "I've been wondering what that sounded like."

"You could have asked."

"I'm asking now."

His other hand found my hip and turned me, and the edge of the desk met the backs of my thighs.

I put both palms flat on the blotter, and my chapter slid away under them.

Marcello caught it before it reached the floor.

He squared the pages and laid them on his chair with his glasses on top.

The gentleness of that undid me more than the kiss.

"Terms," I said. My voice came out ragged. "I have terms."

"Of course you do."

"Thursdays. With the door locked."

"Yes," he said.

"Nobody decides for me. Nobody tells me when to stop. I tell you."

"Yes."

"And I finish the chapter," I said.

"Hannah." He cupped my face in both hands. "You will finish the chapter if I have to sit on you."

I laughed, and it broke in the middle.

Over his shoulder I could see the sofa.

Nathan sat with his hands on his knees and his notebook on the floor between his shoes.

His face was open and still, and he did not look away once.

Colin leaned on the bookcase with his arms crossed.

His big hands were fists under his elbows.

"They can go," Marcello said, low, against my ear. "Say the word and they're out in the hall."

"They stay."

"You're sure," he said.

"I want them to see."

Marcello's breath left him in a rough laugh.

"Then let them see you," he said.

He undid my cardigan one button at a time.

He took his time with it, and every button was a decision.

I understood at last why he wrote so slowly in my margins.

The cardigan went onto the chair.

My blouse had eleven small buttons, and he opened the first three and stopped.

"Look at me."

I looked.

"Two years you've been good for me on paper," he said. "Every page."

His thumb stayed on my collarbone.

"Every sentence I asked you for, you gave me, and better than I asked."

His thumb brushed the hollow of my throat.

"Let me see if you're as good for me out loud."

He opened the rest.

My blouse fell off my shoulders.

I had worn the good bra, the black one, and I had told myself all week that it was an accident.

Marcello looked at it and said a single word, quietly, in a voice I felt in the desk under my hands.

"Christ."

Nathan shifted on the sofa.

Colin went still.

Marcello bent his head and put his mouth on the swell of my breast above the lace.

His beard stubble scraped, and then his tongue, and then he drew the cup down with one finger and took my nipple in his mouth.

I arched into him.

My hands went into his hair and held on.

"That's it," he said, against my skin. "Hold on to me. Let them hear what I'm doing to you."

He sucked hard, and I cried out, and he made a low approving sound.

"Good girl. There it is."

I had not known a voice could do that.

It went through the soft inside of me and tightened everything it touched.

He moved to the other breast and took his time there too.

His hand went up under my skirt and stroked the inside of my knee.

"Open for me."

I opened my knees.

His fingers climbed my thigh, slowly, and stopped at the edge of the cotton.

He pressed the heel of his hand against me through it, and I was so wet it shamed me.

"Oh, you're soaked," Marcello said, almost tenderly. "How long have you been like this? Since you came up the stairs?"

"Since March."

He closed his eyes for a moment.

When he opened them, he went down onto his knees on the worn rug in front of me.

I watched him do it.

I had watched this man stand at a lectern for three years.

Now I watched him kneel with his shirt cuffs rolled, and the room tilted.

He pushed my skirt up to my waist.

He hooked his fingers in my underwear and drew it down my legs.

I lifted one foot and then the other, and he set it aside on the chair with my chapter.

Then he put his hands under my knees and spread me wide on the edge of his own desk.

"Look at that," he said. "Look at you."

I could not breathe.

Behind him I saw Colin's hands come out of their fists and spread flat against the bookcase.

Marcello's mouth found me.

He started slowly.

He kissed the inside of one thigh and then the other, and his breath was hot on me, and I said his name.

"Marcello. Please."

"Say what you want," he said.

"Your mouth. On me. Now."

"Good," he said. "Tell me like that."

He put his tongue flat against my clit and drew it up in a long slow stroke, and my whole body jolted.

He did it again.

Then he found a rhythm, light and steady, and when I started to shake he slid two fingers into me and curled them.

I cried out and my head fell back.

"There," Marcello murmured, and the word buzzed against me. "That's the place. You're doing so well. Don't stop talking to me."

"Oh, God. Right there."

"Right there," he said.

"Don't stop. Please, don't stop."

"I won't. I've got you."

His fingers pressed and pulsed inside me, and his tongue circled and flicked, and the pleasure climbed in me in tight bright steps.

I heard myself babbling.

I heard Nathan say, very softly, "Look at her face."

I heard the sofa creak as Colin pushed off the bookcase and came three steps closer.

"Colin," I said, and my voice cracked on his name. "Not yet."

He stopped dead.

"Not yet," I said again. "Stay there. Watch."

"Yes, ma'am," Colin said, hoarse.

Marcello's mouth smiled against me, and then he sucked my clit between his lips and curled his fingers once more, hard.

I came with a shout I could not have stopped.

The desk shook under me.

My thighs clamped around his head and my hands tore at his hair.

The pleasure went on and on, wave after wave, while he held me through it and murmured into my skin.

"That's my girl. That's it. Let it go. Let me have it."

When it ebbed I was gasping and the lamp was swimming.

I thought it was over.

Marcello did not stand up.

He kissed the inside of my thigh and licked me once, slowly, and I jerked.

"Marcello. I can't," I said.

"You can."

"I just came."

"You can," he said, and his voice dropped, warm and low. "Twice. For me. You've been so good all semester."

He took my clit in his mouth again, gently this time.

He rubbed it with the flat of his tongue until the sore ache turned into something deeper.

His fingers worked inside me, slow and sure.

I came apart a second time in the lamplight, shaking, crying out his name, and this time I heard Colin groan from across the room.

I looked.

He stood with his head back and his jaw clenched and his hands pressed flat to his own belt, and he was shaking too.

Nathan had not moved.

Nathan's eyes had not left my face.

He had said nothing at all, and I felt that stare on my skin more than I felt Marcello's mouth.

Marcello drew back.

His mouth was wet and his hair stood up where I had pulled it.

He rose to his feet, and he took my face in his hands and kissed me, and I tasted myself on his tongue.

"Again," he said against my mouth.

"I can't."

"Look at Nathan."

I turned my head.

Nathan sat forward on the sofa with his elbows on his knees, and his lips were parted.

Marcello's wet fingers slid back into me from behind my knee, and his thumb found my clit and circled it, slow and certain.

I rocked on his hand and gripped his shoulders.

"Let him see you," Marcello said, low, against my temple. "You're beautiful like this. Do you know that? Every inch of you."

"Marcello."

"Come for me. One more. I know you've got it. That's my brave girl."

I looked straight at Nathan, and I came on Marcello's hand with my forehead against his shoulder and my cry muffled in his shirt.

Nathan's mouth shaped one word, and I could not hear it.

I thought it was my name.

Marcello held me up until my knees worked again.

He wiped his chin with the back of his wrist and looked down at me.

"Good?" he said.

"You know it was good."

"I want to hear you say it," he said.

"It was the best thing anyone has ever done to me."

He rested his forehead against my stomach.

For a moment his shoulders shook, and I thought he was laughing, and then I felt that his hands on my thighs were trembling.

I put my fingers in his hair.

I slid down from the desk onto unsteady legs, and I reached for his belt.

He caught my wrist.

"Not tonight," he said gently.

"You're hard."

"I am extremely hard," he said. "Not tonight."

"That was my term. Nobody decides for me."

"It is your term," Marcello said. He kissed my knuckles.

"And I'm asking you to let me have one thing. Today was for you."

I opened my mouth to argue.

Then I looked at his face and saw how hard he was holding himself.

He was giving me the one thing he had that he could not take back.

"Thursday," I said.

"Thursday."

He stood, and put my blouse around my shoulders, and fastened the buttons himself with fingers that shook.

I looked past him at the sofa.

It was an old green velvet sofa with a sag in the middle.

Marcello had told us once that Claudia found it at an estate sale the year they married.

They had carried it up the stairs themselves.

I stared at it, and my stomach turned over with something I did not want to name.

"Marcello," Nathan said, from the sofa, mildly. "It's gone six."

Marcello glanced at the clock over the door.

He drew a long breath and picked up my cardigan and held it out to me.

"Dinner is at seven," he said. "Claudia has set your place."

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