Work Text:
“Tell me what you see,” Rafayel murmurs into your ear. His latest work, as yet unfinished, stands on the easel before you, fresh paint glistening in the light of the setting sun. It’s beautiful, but you can’t concentrate under these circumstances; he has you locked in place with his left arm, your back pressed so tightly to him you can feel his growing arousal against the swell of your ass, and the gnawing hunger between your thighs is impossible to ignore.
“It’s stunning.” An understatement, but your lust-addled brain won’t allow you anything more eloquent at the moment. Rafayel sighs in disappointment, his warm breath dancing across your throat so lightly it gives you goosebumps.
“No, cutie, not ‘how does it look,’ I asked ‘what do you see?’”
You gasp as his soft fingertips slip under your pleated skirt and slowly make their way up your thigh. When his hand slides fully between your legs, exerting a gentle pressure against your clit through your damp panties, you can’t stop yourself from pitching forward in pleasure. Your reaction draws a little chuckle from him.
“Such an eager student. Now go on, tell me what you see.”
Your mind goes completely blank, heart pounding in your ears like waves crashing on the rocky shore. The steady rhythm of his hand makes your back arch, every nerve in your body on fire from the friction of wet silk against sensitive skin.
“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Raf, I can’t think when you-”
“A little respect, please,” he says gruffly. “When we’re in the middle of a lesson you should call me Professor.” He hasn’t slowed at all, the heat in your core building with each passing second.
“S-sorry, Professor.” You moan as the pressure increases slightly; a little reward for being so compliant. “Do all your students get this personal attention?”
“No,” Rafayel replies, his voice a hoarse whisper. “I admit, I’m playing favorites just this once. Don’t tell the dean.”
“Of course not, Professor.” Your head falls back against his shoulder as his mouth burns a trail down the side of your neck. Biting back another moan, you briefly wonder how much time you have before Thomas shows up with the cake before Rafayel recaptures your attention.
“Now, for the third and final time, tell me what you see.”
How can he expect an art critique when his fingers are making your legs shake? You dedicate yourself to the bit as best you can, casting your gaze over the canvas in front of you. Varying shades of blue fading into purple, with a vibrant pink dashed daringly through the middle of it all. Is it the sea? The Deepspace tunnel? An abstract depiction of your mind fracturing into a thousand pieces as he pleasures you into insanity? Might as well tell the truth, you figure.
“B- bold strokes,” you finally manage to whimper, and you feel his lips curl into a wicked grin against your jaw.
“My specialty.” His touch intensifies, pressing your now soaked panties between your folds, fingertips dragging so expertly over your clit that you can’t help but cry out. “What else?”
“The most beautiful shade of pink, p-penetrating the depths.” Your breath comes in ragged gasps; a high, needy whine escapes your lips as his hand suddenly pulls away from you. “It plunges into the waves again and again-”
Yes. The sound of a zipper, then his arm slips under your right leg, hoisting it up until your bent knee comes to rest in the crook of his elbow, and in one swift movement his hand dips back down and pulls your panties aside.
Fully open and dripping with need, the intensity of the pleasure leaves you screaming as his cock pushes into you inch by inch until you’re completely full of him. Without missing a beat, he recedes and surges, recedes and surges, inevitable as the tide. Fully consumed by his heat filling you over and over again, you can’t fathom how he’s managing to keep you both upright.
“You’re exactly right, Miss Hunter. Very good,” Rafayel purrs, his free hand sliding up under your sweater. Shaking and unable to speak, you reach up as well and pull the cups of your bra down under your breasts, shuddering as your stiff nipples graze the soft wool as they bounce with each of his thrusts. He cups your breast, kneading it in his nimble hand for a moment before rolling the aching nipple between his fingertips.
You teeter on the precipice, so close to climax you think you could fall off the edge any second, but somehow his cock keeps pushing you closer and closer to the brink without sending you over. Your moans echo off the walls of his studio, drowning out the wet slap of his skin against yours in an unbroken rhythm. Rafayel nips at your earlobe, then alternates bites and kisses downward from jaw to collarbone, one hand pinching your nipple until the pleasure becomes unbearable.
“Please!” you gasp, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes. “Please please please.”
“You mean your assessment is finished? You missed something, Miss Hunter.” A hint of desperation in his voice undercuts his attempt at levity, and you know he’s close to breaking, too. “Should I tell you?”
“Yes! Yes! Please. Please, Professor!” You pulse around him as he continues to drive his thick cock as deep as he can get, pounding into you like waves on the shore. “Please. Please.”
“There’s a glimmer of white there, too, small and easily missed by those who don't know where to look.” You can barely hear him over your own pleas as you beg him for release, your cries growing increasingly frantic. “A perfect, precious pearl… right… here.” His right hand brushes down your abdomen and stops where your thighs meet, then his graceful fingers find your clit and circle once, twice- on the third you shatter, his name catching in your throat as your body jerks and spasms. It’s all he can do to hold onto you, but he refuses to alter his rhythm as you writhe in his arms, your walls tightening around his cock until he sees stars.
Lost in pleasure, you’re blissfully unaware of his struggle until fresh heat blooms within you, thick and sticky, and now you don’t know whether this is a second orgasm or an ecstatic extension of the first. Your voices weave together, calling out each other’s names in a harmony of passion until his knees finally give out and you sink to the floor together in a tangle of limbs.
“Sorry,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your damp temple. “I tried to wait but you felt so good I couldn’t help it.”
“I don’t know how you managed as long as you did.” Your whole body is shaking from the exertion, so you can only imagine how he must feel after keeping the both of you on your feet for so long. As it begins to cool, you’re suddenly aware of the evidence of his pleasure smeared between your thighs and dripping from you onto the cloth-covered marble floor. “I’m afraid I made a mess of your studio, Professor.”
Rafayel looks down and chuckles, apparently pleased by the sight. “This isn’t a mess, cutie. It’s art.” Hands on either side of your hips, he leans forward and captures your lips in a kiss. “Our masterpiece.”
“What’s my score on the assignment?” you ask coyly. “100%?”
“Of course. Top marks for my favorite student.”
“What would I have to do to get extra credit?” You reach out and twirl his lanyard around your finger, your stomach twisting as he looks up at you with renewed hunger.
“Extra credit? You really are a teacher’s pet, y’know.” His eyes widen in surprise as you shove him roughly, pushing him onto his back and straddling him before he has time to react.
“H- how many points d’you want?” he pants.
Your eyes flick up to the clock before you answer. “Let me think… Thomas will be here in about 25 minutes with your birthday cake.” You make quick work of the buttons on his shirt, peeling it away to expose his heaving chest as you smile wolfishly at the work of art laid out before you. “I think I can get at least another hundred by then.”