Chapter Text
Feyre didn’t intend to fuck her professor.
Really, she didn’t. She didn’t think about him when she got dressed in the morning, the short pleated skirt and thigh high socks so at odds with the sweatpants she normally wore to class. She didn’t consider the fact that she was usually the only student who bothered to show up to his office hours, and that, more likely than not, it would be only the two of them in his secluded office on the third floor. She didn’t darken her lashes with mascara and swipe on a layer of lip gloss, and she certainly didn’t hope her plump pink lips looked kissable as she examined herself in the bathroom mirror.
She didn’t.
She forced herself not to show up right on time to his office hours, lest she look too eager. Her heartbeat sped up as she approached the open door to his office, a whole eight minutes after the start of his designated office hours. The door was half ajar, and she pushed it open, taking a moment to drink him in while he was lost in the notes he was scribbling in a leather-bound notebook.
Dr. Rhysand Night.
The first time she’d laid eyes on him from her seat in the lecture hall, she knew he was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen. His lips were a perfect cupid’s bow, his nose proud and straight, and his midnight blue eyes crinkled at the corners with every easy smile he flashed. His hair was raven black, peppered with subtle grey that reminded Feyre he was too old to even look in her direction, to be interested in anything more than a professional relationship. That didn’t stop her from religiously attending his office hours, sometimes armed with a bullshit question about the class materials, other times just showing up and hoping for the best. Once, she had even gone so far as to order him a coffee with her usual afternoon green tea, and he had taken it gratefully, sipping on it as their conversation turned away from Ancient Greek Art and Architecture and onto more casual subjects.
During that conversation, Dr. Night smiled openly. He asked her personal questions that toed the line of what was proper between a professor and his student. He listened, and he laughed, and he cared.
So here she was, five days later, at his office hours once again. If he noticed the inches of thigh between the top of her socks and the hem of her too-short skirt, he didn’t show it as he finally looked up from his notes and smiled broadly at her.
“Feyre,” he said, and Feyre tried to ignore the chill that ran down her spine at the sound of her name on his tongue.
“Hi, Dr. Night,” she said, stepping into the room and half-closing the door behind her. She wanted to close it all the way, wanted there to be no prying eyes that could witness the things she wanted him to do to her, but she knew where they stood. Professional. She could be professional.
She smoothed her skirt down over her ass as she sat, the wood of the chair cold where her bare skin touched it.
“No coffee today?” he asked. “I had hoped that would become a regular occurrence.”
“Sorry, Dr. Night,” she said, her face flushing.
“I was only joking,” he said, undoubtedly noticing the way her cheeks were stained pink. “I’m perfectly capable of getting my own coffee. Although it was a very thoughtful gesture.”
“It was nothing,” Feyre said, that damned blush refusing to subside from her cheeks.
Dr. Night looked at her for a long time before he spoke. “Is there something I can help you with today, Feyre?” he asked.
Feyre stuttered for a moment, wishing she’d thought of something remotely related to class to talk to him about.
“You know…” he began. “I host office hours twice a week in hopes that the students who are struggling will take the time to get the help they need. Only, it never works out that way. I know, Feyre, that you have the brightest mind in that classroom, and yet here you are, week after week. Why is that?”
Feyre’s face burned. “I’m– I’m sorry–”
He barked a laugh. “Sorry? Feyre, darling, it’s the highlight of my week when you show up here and I get to talk about something other than my profession for an hour or so. Free coffee or not.”
Feyre settled back in her seat, willing the flush to fade from her face. “It’s the highlight of my week, too,” she said softly.
“I don’t believe that for a second,” Dr. Night said. “Surely you have more exciting things to do than spend your time with an old bore talking about Greek mythology.”
“I don’t,” she admitted. “It’s mostly class and my art, and sometimes I’ll go out with my friends on weekends, but honestly…” She didn’t know how to finish her sentence. She wanted to tell him that the time she spent in his office was the highlight of her week, too, that she spent more time than she’d like to admit fantasizing about feeling those violet eyes on her, the way his voice would sound murmuring soft and low in her ear.
Dr. Night studied her for a long moment. She felt the weight of those eyes, the way they lingered for just a moment on the bare skin between her skirt and her socks. Her stomach flipped. She must be imagining it. She must be.
They lapsed into silence, Feyre resisting the urge to squirm under the weight of his gaze.
“A thought for a thought, Feyre?” he asked, his voice low and rumbling in his chest.
“You go first,” she said, cursing the breathlessness of her own voice.
“I’m thinking…” he began. And she must be imagining the war that raged behind his eyes, the words on the tip of his tongue he bit back so hard she could see the tension in his jaw. The slight slump in his shoulders when he surrendered. “I’m thinking that in all the time we’ve been working together this semester, I’ve never seen you dressed like this.”
This time, she knew she wasn’t imagining his eyes lingering on her thighs.
“I’m even thinking, Feyre, that you knew exactly the effect that skirt would have on me,” he continued.
“What effect is that?” she asked, hoping she sounded coy.
His eyes flashed to hers. “This was a no questions asked invitation.” A sensual smirk tugged on the corner of his lips. “A thought for a thought.”
She could leave. She could maintain the distance, the professionalism, keep dancing around this desire until she reached the end of the semester and would never see him again.
She could.
She didn’t.
“I’m thinking I should close the door,” she breathed.
His smile widened, a flash of white teeth, a wolf cornering a doe in the forest. “I think you’re right, Feyre, darling.”
Feyre stood too quickly from her chair, tugging on her own leash sharply as a reminder that she shouldn’t look too eager, no sudden movements, lest this fragile thing slip through her fingers like smoke. She walked slowly, intentionally to the door, her hips swishing with her steps maybe more than was strictly necessary. She didn’t need to look at him to know he was watching.
She glanced into the hallway quickly, noting gratefully that it was completely deserted, then pushed the door closed. The lock snapped shut with a click that reverberated through the quiet of the office.
When she turned back to Dr. Night, he was still seated in his chair, leaning back. Were it not for his heated, half lidded stare, she would think he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Come here,” he said, the cool command in his voice sending a wave of chills down her spine that she fought the urge to shiver against.
She rounded the desk, his dark eyes devouring her every movement, until she stood in front of him. He reached out and gripped her by the hips, tugging her until she was in his lap, straddling him, close enough that she could feel his breath on her lips. He smelled divine, like citrus and the sea, and she wished she could bury her face in his chest, be surrounded by that scent, live in it.
His eyes met hers, and for a moment they just watched each other, his hands still resting on her hips.
“You want this?” he asked.
She didn’t trust her voice to work, so she nodded.
“Use your words, darling,” he purred. “I need to hear you say it.”
“Yes,” she said. “I want– I want this.”
Her hands rested on his chest, and she felt his heart pick up speed, beating wildly against his ribs.
“Kiss me, Feyre,” he murmured.
She did.
The first brush of his lips against hers sent fireworks exploding through her veins. She slid her hands upward, one cupping his jaw, the other tangling in his silky hair, and deepened the kiss, parting her lips in invitation, an invitation which he obliged with a sweep of his tongue into her mouth. She moaned at the feeling of his tongue sliding with hers, and she felt his fraying self control snap at the sound, his hand sliding down to grip a handful of her ass.
“Beautiful little tease,” he groaned against her lips. “Thought you could come in here dressed like that and I wouldn’t lose my mind.”
She ground down against him, a little thrill shooting through her stomach when she felt how hard he was, his thick length straining against the fabric of his trousers. He nipped at her lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth.
“Rh– Rhysand,” she moaned.
“Rhys, darling,” he said. “Call me Rhys.”
“Rhys,” she said, the name fitting so nicely between her teeth. She ground against him once more, wishing there was less fabric between their bodies, wishing she could feel every inch of him sliding through her wetness.
As if he read her mind, he stood, lifting her as he did so, not breaking the kiss for a moment as he blindly swiped everything from his desk and laid her on it, heartbreakingly gentle. Her skirt flipped up as she laid on the desk, and she saw his eyes darken at the sight of the midnight blue lace panties she had put on, praying he’d see them, never believing her prayers would actually come true.
He ran his fingers lightly over the seam of her cunt, a low, clenching heat building as he rubbed slowly at her clit through the fabric.
“These are fucking soaked, Feyre, darling,” Rhys said, more a growl than anything.
“Touch me,” she gasped, arching her hips toward his hand, desperate for relief.
“Can you be quiet?” he asked, adding pressure, slow, sweet circles over her clit that drove her insane.
“Yes,” she breathed. “Please.”
He met her eyes and smirked again. “So polite,” he crooned. “Such a good girl.”
He hooked his fingers into the sides of her underwear, tugging them down her legs slowly, revealing her neatly groomed curls, the shine of her slick cunt aching for him.
“Pretty little pussy,” he muttered, half to himself, as he dropped to his knees between her legs.
Feyre gasped at the first lick of his tongue through her folds, and he let out a soft moan in approval of the way she tasted, the reactions he was eliciting. He swirled his tongue over her clit skillfully, making her back arch off the desk, making her gasp and moan when he moved lower and curled his tongue inside of her before licking his way back up to her clit. She bit her lip, hoping to stifle the moans, but then he sucked her clit into his mouth and she cried out, tangling her fingers in his hair.
With no warning, he tore his mouth from her, looking up at her from between her thighs.
“I told you to be quiet, pretty girl,” Rhys said.
Feyre panted, struggling to catch her breath. “S- sorry,” she said.
Rhys clicked his tongue in false sympathy. “You need something in your mouth to keep you quiet, don’t you sweetheart?”
Feyre nodded emphatically. “Yes. Yeah, I– I need something,” she babbled.
Rhys stood, leaning over the desk to press his lips to hers, a searing, burning kiss. He pulled away, only to press a bundle of fabric to her lips, wordlessly instructing her to open. Midnight blue lace, she realized only as she parted her lips and allowed him to stuff her own panties into her mouth. She tasted herself on them, the musky heat of her own arousal. The taste should not have set fire to her the way it did.
Rhys settled back onto his knees. “Be quiet, now, pet, or I’ll have to punish you.”
Some small part of Feyre wanted to know what his punishment would be, if it would feel as exquisite as his devotion. Later, she promised herself. I can push him later.
She prayed there would be a later.
He ran his tongue over her once more, eyes fluttering closed at the taste of her. He ate her like a man starved, like a sinner seeking absolution at the altar of her hips. Like the only path to salvation was buried in her cunt. The bundle of lace in her mouth muffled her pathetic mewling, the whines that he drew from her with his expert ministrations.
He met her gaze as he pressed a finger to her entrance, his eyes devouring the shifts in her expression as he pressed in to the first knuckle, the second, the third. He withdrew his finger, only to add a second alongside the first, sinking inside, opening her up.
She was keening now, her underwear in her mouth thoroughly soaked in her spit, as he kept licking at her clit, flicking his tongue in a motion that made her back arch off the desk. He did it again, and again, and Feyre began to feel her orgasm coiling around her spine, ready to snap.
Rhys didn’t stop, curling his fingers against a spot inside her that made her see stars, his tongue on her clit building her higher and higher, until finally, she fell, her orgasm crashing over her, filling her veins with starlight.
She kept coming, and coming, and Rhys was working her through it, and then he was speaking, but she couldn’t make out any words over the roaring in her ears, the pleasure that threatened to drown and burn and consume.
She came back to herself slowly, picking up the end of the stream of praise spilling from Rhys’s lips.
“-such a good girl for me, so pretty when you come, so good, Feyre.” He pressed kisses to the inside of her thighs as he spoke, his hands stroking soothing circles on her skin, his eyes closed and face flushed.
He stood, then, gently pulling her underwear out of her mouth and pressing his lips against hers, so soft, tasting of her. She sat up, hands fumbling with the front of his pants, trying to undo his belt. His hands grasped hers, soft but commanding, and pried them away from his belt buckle.
She looked at him, an expression on her face that could only be described as pouting, frustrated she wouldn’t be able to return the favor.
“Not here,” he said, pressing his lips to her nose gently. “When I fuck you, Feyre, I want to be able to make you scream.”
When, he had said. The assuredness in his tone made her stomach clench, a fresh wave of arousal she didn’t know she could feel so soon after such a world-shattering orgasm.
She stood from the desk, knees buckling, all trembling fawn legs, and he reached out, hands on her waist to steady her. She reached toward her underwear, discarded on the desk, but he snatched them up first. His eyes danced with amusement as he shoved them into his pocket.
“I’ll give these back at my place,” Rhys said. “Tonight.”
Feyre thought about walking home with nothing beneath her skirt. The thought thrilled her more than she expected, as did the thought of what would be waiting for her at Rhys’s house that evening.
“Okay,” she said.
He smiled, a soft, gentle, heartbreaking thing, the corners of his eyes crinkling.
He picked up a pen and a piece of paper from the floor, writing something quickly and folding it in half.
“Nine o’clock, Feyre, darling,” he said, pressing the piece of paper into her hand.
She took it, and stood up on the tips of her toes to press her lips to his once more, relishing in the feeling of his hands coming to rest on her back, pressing her closer. She imagined he struggled as much as she did when it came time to pull away.
She picked up her bag, discarded on the floor, hoping he could see beneath her skirt when she bent to retrieve it.
“I’ll see you later,” she said, standing before the door as he straightened his clothes, ran his fingers through his hair.
“I’m looking forward to it, Feyre, darling,” he answered.
With nothing else to say, she slipped into the hallway, hoping no one was there to see her leave his office, hair askew and makeup running, undoubtedly looking thoroughly fucked out. The click of her shoes on the tile and the feeling of air on her bare cunt were all that kept her company as she fantasized about what tonight would bring.