Sofia yanked her hand free and slipped under the table, her knees brushing the floor. Miller froze, though he knew perfectly well that he should stop her now. His mind clung to the last remnants of control, while his body begged for her to touch him just one more time.
Her fingers unbuttoned his trousers, slowly pulling them down, and his penis sprang free, half-erect, its head glistening, veins prominent. As if paralyzed, he watched her movements, afraid to breathe.
She gripped his shaft firmly at the base, making him draw a sharp, surprised breath.
"You're mine," she whispered, and her lips brushed the tip, tasting him. Her tongue eagerly explored the coronal ridge, teasingly caressing the frenulum. He felt completely at her mercy, powerless to resist. Blood rushed to where her tongue played, and nothing else mattered anymore.
Suddenly, a knock came, and without waiting for an invitation, his colleague from the department, Steve Voightman, poked his head in.
"Hey," he said quickly. "Here are the papers we talked about."
"Thanks," Miller said, straining to keep his voice casual. "Just leave them on the table, please."
"You okay?" his friend asked, noticing the odd expression on Miller's face.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine, thanks," David replied quickly.
Voightman placed the documents on the table and left.
In a panic, Miller reached for the drawer, pulled out a bottle of whiskey. A swig on an empty stomach burned his throat, the heat spreading, amplifying the chaos. His penis hardened to its limit.
Sofia's lips, which had paused for a moment under the table, resumed driving the professor mad—they closed around him so tightly that he forgot who he was or where he was.
She moved her head slowly, saliva dripping, moistening his skin. Miller felt the world fade away—the warmth of her mouth, the pressure of her tongue sent electric shocks through his penis, up his spine, and to the back of his head, where a dull ache pulsed.
His legs trembled, the fear of losing control mingling with a desire he'd never known. Her hand stroked his stomach, fingers brushing his navel, and he flinched, whispering, "My God."
Every millimeter of his penis reveled in the movements of her tongue, her lips. Sofia's moans—soft but palpable—blended with his, intensifying the madness. He recalled her dreamy gazes during lectures, how she blushed at consultations, how she "accidentally" brushed his hand when they passed in narrow corridors, and it broke him: no one had ever wanted him the way she did.
Sofia quickened her pace, his penis sliding into her throat. She swallowed, tightening her muscles, and his hips jerked. It felt like the moment was imminent, but she pulled him out of her mouth, pausing for a second or two that felt like an eternity, then hungrily licked the tip, running her trembling tongue along his entire length. Her fingers caressed the skin beneath his penis, his stomach, his thighs, his hands…
Then she suddenly engulfed him again, like a vacuum, and Miller growled, "God," his hands trembling as sweet pain surged through his body, from his penis to his chest, to his throat.
His release flooded her mouth, thoughts vanished, leaving only bliss.
Sofia, eyes closed, slowly swallowed, savoring the taste. Then she wiped her lips, crawled out from under the table, and her fingers gently brushed his cheek.