Count to three: My affair with my dynamics professor (teacher x student)

Chapter 71

And then she climbed on top.

Slowly. Like she had all the time in the world. Like she was centering herself in the act of it. Her thighs framed Frida's hips, her hands planted beside her head. That long, dark hair hung loose and wild, strands falling around her face, casting sharp shadows across her cheekbones. Her green eyes locked on Frida's with a heat so focused it burned.

Frida swallowed, her voice shaky. "What are you—"

Inés leaned in, her mouth brushing the edge of Frida's jaw. Her voice, when it came, was low and smooth and devastating.

"Shh."

She kissed her. Not desperate — not anymore — but intentional, claiming her with the kind of control that made Frida arch under her before they even moved.

And then — without ceremony — Inés reached down and gripped Frida's jaw. Not roughly, but firmly. She tilted her face up and looked at her.

"You're going to stay right here," she murmured, thumb dragging across Frida's bottom lip, smudging it red. "You're going to take what I give you."

Frida whimpered.

"Use your words."

"Yes," she whispered. "God—yes."

That was all it took.

Inés kissed her again — deeper this time — and her hand trailed down, palm skating across Frida's collarbone, her sternum, her stomach. She didn't stop until she reached the inside of her thigh, and when she touched her, Frida twitched.

"You didn't cool down at all, did you?" Inés murmured against her neck. "Still fucking burning for it."

Frida's fingers dug into the sheets. "I can't help it," she gasped.

Inés bit her just under the ear, slow. "I know."

She kept her touch feather-light at first — maddening. Dragging fingertips through the slick between Frida's thighs but not pushing in, not giving her anything real. Just reminding her.

Frida writhed. "Please—"

Inés didn't answer. She just moved higher, lips trailing hot kisses up her throat, over her chin, until her mouth hovered just above Frida's again. Their breaths mingled — sharp, uneven, laced with the weight of what was coming.

And then Inés's hand slid around the front of Frida's throat.

Not to hurt. Just to hold.

Her long fingers splayed out across her neck, thumb pressed just beneath her jaw. The pressure was soft, almost reverent — but unmistakable.

Frida's lips parted, her whole body arching like something ancient had just been struck inside her.

Her voice was hoarse. "Inés..."

"Yes, mi amor?" she asked, so calm it made Frida want to cry.

"I want—" She couldn't finish. Just moaned. Just offered herself.

Inés's palm tightened slightly — not enough to scare, just enough to command.

"Don't ever run from me," she whispered.

And then she moved.

She slid down just enough to press against her — skin to skin, no pretense, no barrier. Their bodies lined up like they'd been cut from the same shape. Inés gripped Frida's thigh, hooked it high over her hip, and ground into her, slow and firm, forcing their slickness to smear between them.