by Ivy Collins
“I’m going to fuck you harder than anyone has ever fucked you before,” he informs me, in that crisp accent of his. “You are going to scream for me, Miss Eddings. And then, I am going to come inside you, and you are going to thank me.”
The tip of his cock presses just slightly inside me, and I’m already dizzy with desire again. I want him inside me so badly, and I know it shows openly on my face.
His fingers dig into my thighs. His breathing is quick again. “In fact,” he tells me harshly, “you’re going to thank me right now, for making you come. Say it. Say thank you for making me come, professor.”
I can’t even take this. My blood is pounding, my face is warm, my head is dizzy. This is so fucking hot. I didn’t know I could even be this turned on. “Thank you for making me come, professor,” I whimper.
His cock jerks at the words. His breath catches in his throat. But he leans in closer. “I didn’t hear you, Miss Eddings,” he admonishes me. “Say it louder.”
Oh, god, I want him inside me. I’m squirming again, so desperate, but he has perfect control of my hips. “Thank you for making me come, professor!” I gasp out, louder this time.
He kisses me hard. “You’re welcome,” he breathes into my mouth.
Elijah slams himself inside me, and I’m already seeing stars.
He wasn’t exaggerating before. He fucks me hard and deep, taking exactly what he wants from me. I scream obediently—not because I’m trying to follow instructions, but because I’m already close to coming again. I can’t get enough of the feeling of his big, hard cock pounding into me, stretching me out. I hear him moaning too, obviously enjoying himself, and it pushes me higher. I love that sound, almost as much as I love the feel of him inside me. He slams into me one last time, letting out a ragged groan, and I feel him come hard, spilling his warm come inside me.
I come again with him, gasping out his name. It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever experienced. It comes with a tangled mess of wild, unexpected emotion. I want to cry again. I want to kiss every inch of his face. I want him to hold me—and he does, shuddering against me as his cock continues to twitch inside me.
He kisses me breathlessly. Somehow, he finds the presence of mind to pry loose the knots holding my wrists above my head. I immediately slide my arms around him, and break away from that kiss to bury my face in his shoulder.
I have never in my life felt quite so full, so perfect. His fingers tangle in my hair. He kisses me gently over and over, tugging me free from my shirt and my bra, so he can feel my bare skin against his. I sigh in blissful relief.
“You’re so beautiful,” Elijah murmurs. There’s a distant wonder in his voice as he says it. He strokes the skin of my arms, my back. “My Sophie.”
Those words make me shiver. My Sophie. I repeat them in my mind over and over, relishing the sound of them.
“Are you all right?” he asks me sleepily.
I grin, feeling dazed and satisfied. “No,” I tell him. “I’m pretty sure you fucked my brains out. I need those for tomorrow—I have an exam.”
He laughs at that, and kisses the top of my head. I snuggle into his arms, just enjoying the moment. I try to hold myself awake so I can savor it fully—it’s the best I’ve ever felt, and I don’t want it to end. But I’m so relaxed that I slip into unconsciousness, with my leg thrown over his hip and my face nuzzled into his neck.
8
Sophie
I wake up alone in bed. I can still feel the warm spot where Elijah was—I’ve cuddled into it, pulling his pillow into my arms. I blink slowly, collecting my mind. I can smell coffee, wafting in from the kitchen-living room area outside the bedroom. It’s what woke me up, in fact.
I don’t want to leave that warm bed, but I’m eventually lured out by the promise of that coffee. I snatch up one of Elijah’s shirts and pull it over my head, and slip out in search of caffeine.
There’s a tiny coffee machine on the kitchen counter. I’m almost positive it wasn’t there yesterday—Elijah prefers tea, after all. The coffee machine is just large enough to hold one or two cups worth; the pot is full, and the little red light shows that it’s been warming on the burner for the last bit. There’s a single empty mug next to the coffee machine, with a cheap red Christmas bow stuck to it, and I smile stupidly as I realize it’s there for me. He must have picked up both things yesterday, while I was finding myself some clothing.
I fill up the mug and savor the first few sips of coffee, glancing around the condo. At first, I wonder if Elijah has left to go somewhere. But the office door is slightly cracked, and as I wander toward it, I see him inside, sitting at the desk. His hair is still messy from bed, but he’s thrown on a loose Oxford and slacks already, and there’s a steaming mug of tea next to him on the desk.
He’s booted up a laptop and linked it up to the other monitors there. One of them shows an email client; another one has an IDE open. The laptop shows an SSH terminal; it’s dumping some continual output to the screen. I’m not able to parse through it very quickly, since I’m not sure of the nature of the program he’s running, but his bored expression suggests that it’s going more-or-less as-expected so far.
I knock at the door, and he glances over toward me. His lips curve upward as he sees me, and my heart flip-flops again. “I should just let you keep that shirt,” he muses. “It looks fantastic on you.”
I’ve still got that stupid grin on my face from finding the coffee. After that comment, I’m now smiling so hard it hurts my face just a little. “I think I’d better wear a different shirt to class today,” I tease him.
Elijah raises a speculative eyebrow at that, as though entertaining the image in his head. “Now I’m half-tempted to see what would happen,” he admits. “But no, you’ll probably have to change.”
I slip inside the office, glancing curiously at the screens again. “Is this one of your research projects?” I ask him.
“After a fashion,” he says. He leans back in the office chair, and pats his lap. I laugh, and take the proferred seat. He loops an arm around my waist to steady me, looking cat-like and contented. “I run the start-up lab, so I mostly help those students with their projects. A lot of my work is just making sure that promising students end up in contact with companies that want them on their projects, and occasionally stepping in when they get stuck.”
“Huh.” I blink. “I’ll admit, I’m surprised. I figured with your reputation, you’d be doing your own research.”
Elijah grabs his mug and takes a sip. “Oh, don’t get me wrong, I have personal side-projects waiting for me to work on them. But at this point, most of my value to the university is in my business connections. I couldn’t possibly work on every project people want me to work on, so I train students that can do the work instead. Every time someone tries to lure me away to their company, I’m able to suggest they put their money into the lab and get a group of students on it.”
I have to work to get my head around the concept, but I nod slowly. “You’re essentially training a bunch of baby AI interns,” I say.
He kisses the back of my neck, and I can feel the curve of his smile there. “It lets me dabble much more than if I were working on just one thing,” he says. “And of course, I do enjoy ordering people around.”
I shift in his lap at that, blushing. I set my mug down, and turn to look at him. He’s got one of those knowing smirks on his lips already.
I clear my throat. “Last night was... um...” I can feel myself turning beet red. “It was really good. Really good.” I press my lips together to try and hold in my embarrassment. “I think it was exactly what I needed. Thank you.”
Elijah’s smile turns oddly soft. It’s another new expression on him that I wasn’t expecting to see. “I thought that might be the case,” he admits. “But there’s no need to thank me. I quite enjoyed myself.”
I lean in impulsively, brushing my lips across his. It’s not a bedroom sort of kiss, or a hungry one. It’s just... affectionate. I
like the casual feeling of it.
He’s still looking at me with that softer expression when I pull back. His fingers stroke absently at my back. “I think you should know,” he tells me. “I was planning on asking you to join the lab next semester. I don’t normally bother asking bachelors students, but I thought you’d do well there.”
I’m told you have an incredible future ahead of you. That’s what Linda had said to me on the phone call. Now I’m sure it was Elijah that told her that. I’m so touched by the revelation that my smile wavers, turning just a little bit watery. “Oh,” I manage softly.
“Obviously, that seems like a conflict of interest now,” Elijah sighs. “But I did want you to know. You’re one of the smartest, most hardworking students I’ve come across yet. Even if you don’t end up in AI, I’m sure you’ll excel at whatever you do choose. I’m not the only one who thinks so—Professor Winslow adores you. She said if I don’t snatch you up, she might try to lure you into the computer side of law enforcement.”
Professor Winslow? I frown as I remember the severe, steel-haired professor in question. I finished my final in her Computer Crimes class only three days ago. I find it hard to imagine that old ex-cop adoring anyone—but if Elijah thinks it’s worth mentioning, then I suppose Professor Winslow must have said something at least vaguely resembling those words.
I lean my head against Elijah’s shoulder. It’s hard to look at him while he’s complimenting me like this. I’m so used to him throwing barbs my way that it’s a bit shocking to hear the opposite.
Still, a hint of habitual insecurity weasels its way into my mind. I don’t feel like a smart student. I work hard, of course, but I’ve often looked around at my fellow students and felt like I fall short. They all have such fantastic side-projects—building little robots from scratch, contributing to open source distributions. I’ve never had the time or the money to pursue that sort of hyperfocused passion. And if I’m utterly honest with myself, I’m not sure that I want to. I didn’t go into computer science because it was something I loved. Compared to the students who do genuinely love it, I feel like a fraud.
“I appreciate that,” I tell him. “I really do. But... I’m not passionate about my degree.” It’s a quiet, shameful admission. “I chose it because I thought it would get me a secure, decently-paying job. I just... I was so lucky to get my scholarship. I didn’t want to waste the opportunity, and end up without any options. But I don’t know if I’m ever going to be any kind of real expert.”
Elijah is silent for a moment. His thumb keeps rubbing across my back, and I wonder what he’s thinking. Finally, he says: “I don’t think passion has anything to do with it, Sophie. You don’t have to be utterly obsessed with something in order to be good at it.”
He shifts me so that he can look me in the eyes, and I see a thoughtful look there. “People tell me I’m at the top of my field. I still think that’s rubbish. Most days, I feel like I’ve somehow fooled everyone—that anyone could do what I’m doing, if they read enough textbooks and whitepapers, and wrote enough code.”
I can feel my eyebrows rising as he speaks. I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Holy hell. Elijah Oliver isn’t exactly a movie star—but within certain small technological circles, he might as well be one. If even he feels like a fraud, I find myself wondering if anyone in our industry believes they’re worth anything.
He takes a long breath, and fixes me with a hard look. “But not everyone is doing what I’m doing, and that’s the point. And at the end of the day, the reason I’m in demand isn’t because I’m a genius. It’s for a very different reason. Can you guess what it is?”
I frown. I can hear in his tone that he expects me to actually try and answer the question. He wants to know whether I can puzzle out his line of thought. I knit my brow, and chew on what I know of him personally.
A potential answer comes to me. I’m not certain of it, but I turn it over a few times and decide that it’s still an interesting answer, even if it’s not the right one.
“Your contacts,” I say finally. “You know a lot of people by now. And... I think people actually like you, on the whole. Even though you’re a bastard to most of them.”
Elijah’s lips twitch at that. “I’m afraid that’s one of my advantages you can’t emulate,” he tells me. “Americans will endure just about anything if you say it in a British accent.” He tickles lightly at my side, as though to demonstrate, and he smiles as I squirm. “More realistically—I’m good at trading favors. I know my limits, and when I hit an area I’m not equipped to handle, I go and ask for help with it. And when I see an opportunity to do favors for other people, I do them.”
I blink as a few things click into place all at once. I remember something else that Linda said: Professor Oliver happened to have my number, and I owe him a number of favors now for straightening out my computer.
“You gave IT support to Linda,” I say.
Elijah shoots me a lopsided smile. “Ah, you caught that,” he says. “You’re right, yes. I had a meeting with her when I first came on at the university, to go over the standard boilerplate agreements. I noticed she was having trouble with her computer monitor, and I made a few suggestions. She was so immediately grateful that I told her she could call me in the future if she needed anything.”
“That’s kind of crazy,” I laugh. “There’s a whole department at the university she could call for that. It’s probably not even within your expertise.”
Elijah raises an eyebrow at me. “It’s not as mad as you might think,” he says. “Linda is a very accomplished woman within her field. It embarrasses her to admit that she doesn’t know things, even when they’re not supposed to be within her expertise. It makes her feel better to call someone she knows personally when she has questions. That way, there’s no ticket in the system, and no IT interns gossiping about how stupid she is over their lunch breaks.”
I bite at my lip, thinking that over. It’s an unexpectedly empathetic answer. I’m honestly surprised that it came from the man in front of me. “That’s very kind of you,” I tell him. Some of my skepticism must come out in my voice, because he grins.
“It’s both kind and selfish, all at once,” he replies neatly. “I don’t just do favors for important people—you never know who might become important later. But I can’t say that the networking aspect of it doesn’t figure in. Anyway, this is all to say... you ought to remember that even if you don’t feel special, you still have your own sort of superpower, as a technologically literate woman. People like Linda trust that you hang the moon when it comes to anything computer-related. If you take pains to solve those little problems for people, you’ll also find it a nice balm for your confidence.”
I slide my arms around his neck, shifting for a more comfortable position. I’m still thinking about what he’s said. It niggles at me for some reason, and I’m not sure why.
“...I don’t like asking people for favors,” I admit finally. “It just rubs me the wrong way for some reason.”
“Oh, believe me, I’ve noticed.” There’s a hint of a long-suffering air to the words as Elijah says them. “You are so terribly determined to be self-sufficient, Sophie. Sometimes I wonder if you’d ask someone for a bottle of water if you were literally on fire.”
I roll my eyes. “It’s not fair to ask other people to handle my shit,” I tell him.
Elijah tucks his arms around me. I feel safe again. I don’t like to admit to myself that he is, in fact, handling my shit. But it all seems so reasonable from his perspective, when he lays it out for me. I also hate that. It makes me feel like I’ve spent my life so far being obstinate for no reason, instead of considerate of others, like I’d believed.
“Why haven’t you called up your parents for help, Sophie?” Elijah asks me suddenly. From the sound of his voice, I can tell he knows he’s hit on something important.
I close my eyes. This is another subject I don’t particularly want to face. But it’s relevant to m
y situation. “I had a very bad fight with my father.” I say it evenly, though the reality of the situation is far, far worse. A fight with family is normally where you disagree and get snappy with one another. This one involved far more screaming and throwing of breakable objects.
I take a breath. “He’s a very... conservative man. That’s a mild way to put it. I guess he’s what you’d call a fundamentalist. When I got my scholarship, I knew it was my chance to get out of the house and never come back. I told him as much. Maybe I shouldn’t have, but I spent years holding my tongue, letting him tell me what to do. It was just so freeing to be able to tell him to fuck off and leave me alone forever.”
Elijah leans us both back in the chair. I can feel that quick-witted mind of his ticking through things, formulating connections, but I’m not sure I know exactly where it’s headed.
“Do you know what I think?” he says finally. “I think you’re predisposed to avoid asking for help. If it’s always come with such controlling strings attached, it makes sense that you’d avoid tangling yourself up with someone else who might use it to control you.”
I blink. That’s... a very reasonable hypothesis, actually. “I guess that’s possible,” I admit. “I’ll have to think more about that.”
“Hm,” Elijah murmurs. “Think more about it while you finish your coffee. And... preferably, while you study.” He slaps me across the ass, and I yelp in indignation, scrambling off his lap. “You won’t be getting an A just because you’re sleeping with the teacher. I might consider extra credit if you write me another limerick, however. I admit, I found that entertaining.”
I shoot him a dirty look. “I think it’s fair to remind you that you kissed me,” I tell him. “It’s not like I walked into your office and offered you a blow job.”
