I Kissed A Girl and I Liked It #08 - Scene 3

Aaliyah's bedroom door clicks shut like a ledger snapping closed. Ember's shoulders jerk. Her pulse is a rabbit's beneath the collarbone, visible. Aaliyah lifts the corner of a single paper—the latest midterm—and lets it flutter back to the desk. No word spoken. Only the weight behind it. Ember swallows. She knows that weight. Tuition on a wire, scholarship dangling by a thread, Aaliyah's soft mouth stretched into the slightest of smiles. "I could pull the numbers," the dean says at last. Her tone is all velvet and quiet numbers. "Or we could make new ones." Her fingernail traces the collar of Ember's thin sweater and the skin tightens beneath it. Ember's breath catches, but she doesn't step back. Instead she steps forward, knees brushing the seat of the leather chair where Aaliyah sits. Heat radiates upward from the older woman's silk-clad thighs. Ember drops slowly, deliberately, until her mouth brushes the inside of Aaliyah's wrist, tongue flicking once against the pulse. "Yes," she whispers, already breathless with it, already yielding to the sweetness of surrender and the punch of power she feels giving herself away. "Help me." Aaliyah answers by gripping the back of Ember's neck, tugging her upward, and sliding two fingers between her lips. Ember sucks them without hesitation, slick tongue eager, cheeks hollowing. Her gaze is glassy now, glazed with the turn they've taken. Each movement is generous—hands, mouth, cunt—all offered without bargain, given for the heat of being taken. Below them, the pulse of the party bleeds through the floorboards. Glasses clink. Janice laughs, pouring something bright into a girl's cup. She doesn't hear the sharp, needy sounds that echo from upstairs as Ember does exactly what she was brought up to do: make her dean, her lover's partner, happy to help.