Show Me

She didn’t knock, but she did flick the lock on the door as she closed it behind her.

“Is it time for your lunch?” Danni asked, as I sat open mouthed watching her settle into my guest chair, propping her boots up on my desk. Right on the pile of papers I’d been avoiding grading.

“Is it?” she asked again when I failed to answer her. This time with an edge that made me clench my thighs.

I nodded. Swallowing down the lump that prevented me from answering her properly.

“You get an hour?”

It clicked what she was here for—her hour— and I shifted in my seat. “You can’t—You won’t—We shouldn’t—“

She cut me off with a raised hand and a tone that matched the sharp action, “Do. You. Get. An. Hour? It’s a simple question Dr Martin.”

“Miss Fairley.” I whispered the words. Her mouth hooked up in a feral grin. She nodded. She understood. I didn’t want to be Dr Martin. I needed to be Miss Fairley again. I need her to make me back into Helena Fairley.

She let her booted feet drop to the floor with a thump. Slapping her hands down on the tight black denim encasing her thighs she leaned forward. “The hour doesn’t start until you answer me Miss Fairley. I have all day to wait until you cooperate. Do you?”

“I have an hour. I get an hour now.”

Danni stood. Placing her hands on the edge of the desk she leaned into me. “It’s not your hour though is it Miss Fairley? It’s mine. It’s the hour you owe me.”

I nodded.

“Stand up.”

I followed her orders. Pushing back the chair and standing. “Come here,” she said, tapping the desk in front of her, “Come sit around here, in front of me.”

I moved around the desk, step by step, my body responding to her as if she’d lassoed me to her.

She settled back down into the chair. Legs spread, boots planted firmly on the floor. Her hands on her knees, she leaned forward, looking me over.

“Show me your tits.”

I gasped and a hot pulse of wanting settled, wet heat between my thighs. I wasn’t going to defy her, but I hesitated, wanting to hear the words again.

“Show me your tits. Now!”

Shaking hands went to the buttons of my blouse. From the top I undid each tiny pearl, pulling back the soft fabric as each button opened. I had a stretch camisole underneath. Flesh pink, it was trimmed with sheer lace at the top.

“Pull it down.”

I did, exposing the cups of my bra.

“That too,” she ordered, motioning with a wave at of her hand at my chest.

I slid my fingers under the straps, sliding them down my shoulders until the cups were loose, exposing my nipples.

“More.”