Jan Week 2: Friday "Fuck—Please don’t stop!" She moaned.

"Oh Fuck--Please don't stop!" Leah moaned leaning back--so close to climax. So. Fucking. Close.

Mr. Howard didn’t need any more encouragement. Her plea lit a fuse in him—a man who’d been sitting on a volcano every day of his professional life, and now, with Leah writhing and pleading in front of him, he finally let it erupt.

He looked up at her as he worked, his eyes dark and triumphant, the lower half of his face shining with her juices. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. His tongue returned to her clit, more relentless than before, and she broke. Her orgasm hit like a car crash; she slapped a hand over her mouth to muffle the scream, but her whole body shook, her thighs clamped around his head, trapping him there as the spasms ripped through her in waves.

His hands gripped her thighs, fingers digging in deep enough to bruise, and his mouth never left her. He lapped with abandon, with the kind of single-minded, tunnel-visioned hunger that bordered on animal. He sucked her clit, then alternated with savage, teasing flicks of his tongue, fucking her with his mouth until she lost all sense of rhythm or decorum, until her body shuddered and thrashed against the surface of his desk.

He kept going until she came again, this time so violently she almost knocked over his laptop and definitely shattered any illusion of teacherly composure. By the time her vision cleared and her breathing slowed, he was already standing and unbuckling his pants, exposing an erection that looked painful in its urgency. Leah stared at it—she’d seen it before, of course, but in the fever pitch of the moment she registered it anew: thick and veined and flushed dark, crowned with a bead of pre-cum. Then he was lining it up and pushing inside her, one swift, inexorable thrust, filling her so completely she nearly blacked out again.

She clamped her legs around his waist, locking him in place, and he started to fuck her—no, to make love to her, as if each stroke was etching this memory into her bones. He used his leverage to pull her down the desk, trapping her wrists above her head with one hand while the other gripped her ass, guiding the friction and angle with ruthless precision. He drove into her with the focused **** of a man who knew exactly how hard he could push, how deep he could go, how wet and ready she was.

He leaned down, lips at her jawline, then her ear, kissing and sucking and biting.

“You feel so fucking good Leah.” He breathed ragged little bursts as he bathed in the pleasure and intimacy. His words sent an electric pulse straight through her, and she squeezed down on him even harder, using her internal muscles to milk every inch of him.

She could feel his balls slap against her, the entire length of his cock moving in and out, and she was horrified and thrilled by how much she wanted it, by how much she needed this. She clung to him, digging her nails into his back, her moans and cries steadily losing all shape and melody as she built toward another orgasm. Mr. Howard sensed it; he sped up, slamming into her with reckless abandon now, his own control fraying at the edges.

She did. It hit her like a tidal wave, wracking her body with tremors, and as she bore down on him, he lost it too—his rhythm faltered, then he slammed deep with a guttural grunt, hot and thick inside her as he came, pulse after pulse, until he was empty.

They clung together in the aftermath, panting, covered in sweat and each other’s fluids, the desk a disaster zone of toppled office supplies and sticky notes plastered to Leah’s bare thigh. For a moment, neither of them could speak; the only sound was their ragged breathing and the faint hum of the school’s ancient fluorescent lights.